my own version of a master list! aka since there’s no “save for later” or bookmark function and my app frequently refreshes and I’m losing fics, im making this as my reference!
these will either be fics i’ve read and want to easily revisit, or fics that i intend to read and don’t want to lose. i will make sure to tag all authors and blogs! so thankful for y'all updating your own masterlists bc just creating this for myself is a bit of a pain lol
know wherever you will be, so too shall i be | garrett graham
Home really is where the heart is, he realizes as he finally looks at you—not from the tiny screen on his phone, not from the photos you send him throughout the days, not from the video calls you sneak in during your free time—as you stand right in front of him.
contents — hurt/comfort, long-distance relationship, garrett’s relationship as told through hannah’s pov, hannah and logan bcs they had a great chemistry in the show <3, essentially a series rewrite but not really heehee, idk anything ab how away games work and how unis in the us work bcs i have never stepped foot in any part of the country | word count — 4.3k | title — you’ll be safe here by rico blanco
gabby says — this is a repost from my old blog, @fictionallygabby. i have decided to start my blog all over, so please feel free to read here for the explanation.
The first time Hannah Wells saw Garrett Graham anywhere other than Malone’s was in the boys’ locker room while she was cleaning. He was sitting on the bench with his phone in hand, a soft, not very Garrett-like smile on his face. A woman’s voice—your voice—drifted from the phone’s speakers, speaking animatedly about something Hannah could not fully understand.
“I miss you,” Garrett suddenly spoke, and you stopped talking. “I can’t wait to see you, baby.”
“I miss you too, honey,” you said softly. “Just a few more months away, Gare.”
“Why do you have to be on the other side of the country when you could be right here in Briar with me?” His voice was light and airy as he laughed, but his eyes held an unmistakable longing.
“I’m sorry, baby, I would stay with you if I could,” you said. “But you know how my dad is. He wants me here just until I graduate college, and then I’m off to wherever I want after graduation.”
“I know, baby.” He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “And I respect your parents’ decisions. That doesn’t mean I can’t spend every second missing my girl.”
“You miss me? I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for the hundreds of messages and voicemails you send me every day.” Your tone dripped with sarcasm, but Hannah noticed there was no real heat behind your words—only affection for your (presumably) boyfriend.
He laughed softly, the sound far from the sarcastic, arrogant laugh he had on the ice. The sound then was genuine—a very brief glimpse of who Garrett Graham is behind closed doors. “I’ll see you soon, baby,” he said, his voice quiet and intimate. “I’ll be counting the days until I see you again. I love you. Please take care of yourself.”
“I love you too, GG.” Your voice turned sharper—stricter. “You take care of yourself, or I’ll have Tuck dragging your ass into the kitchen to shove real food into your mouth.”
Hannah almost laughed at that because she could definitely see Garrett being bossed around by a headstrong woman then. It might not seem like it at first glance, but the more she heard them, the more she believed it.
“Baby,” he groaned. “The last time he did that, I gained at least three pounds. Coach Jensen was on my ass the whole week.”
“So don’t even think of skipping meals this time.” You laughed freely. “I really have to go now, babe, I have my first class in ten minutes. Bye-bye, love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Not possible!” You said before the phone clicked as you hung up, leaving Garrett sitting there with a lovesick smile on his face.
Hannah saw the man’s face harden, the tension returning to him with full force. She watched as he stared at his dark screen, as if replaying the brief memory of your face and your melodic voice. She watched as Garrett stared at the dark screen for several moments before his eyes lifted to where she stood.
“Can I help you?” He asked, his voice devoid of the warmth he had with you, but not unkind. His facial expression was tense, a far cry from the soft, fond look he had earlier. It wasn’t that Garrett Graham had an attitude—it was just that no one had ever seen him that soft.
Hannah jumped and blinked a few times. “Oh, sorry, I…” She gestured vaguely around the locker room. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just waiting for you to finish so I can… clean up.”
Garrett’s face slackened in slight surprise, and he nodded, standing from the bench and slinging his large duffle bag over his shoulder. “Sorry, lost track of time.”
Hannah watched Garrett leave—his tense frame, his hunched shoulders, and lowered head were significantly different from the man in front of you just minutes prior.
Huh, Hannah thought. She did not even know Garrett had a girlfriend in the first place, but it totally made sense—to her, at least.
—
The next time Hannah saw Garrett was in their philosophy class as their professor returned their papers.
“Perfect. Another D,” Dexter said beside Hannah, turning to her expectantly after looking through their own paper. “So… how’d you do?”
Hannah looked at her paper, shook her head hesitantly, and said, “Not good.”
“Girl.” Dexter looked somewhat apprehensive because *Hannah Wells—not doing well? The girl was quite literally a music prodigy and a smart cookie in general, but then again, Hannah was known to be humble—too humble. “Really?”
“Yeah, I wrote it in like an hour, so…” She left the rest of her sentence unsaid.
She heard him before she saw him.
“Fucking hell, you aced it?”
Garrett Graham was a *fucking loudmouth, and if Hannah did not know before, she definitely did then.
“I knew it,” Dexter said from beside her. “Show me.”
“Do you mind?” Her brows furrowed as she turned to look at him.
“What?” He smirked—that annoying, cocky smirk he always had. “Only you get to eavesdrop on conversations you shouldn’t?”
Garrett was still grinning by the time Hannah turned back around with a deep sigh and a roll of her eyes.
After that, Garrett had found Hannah in front of the building.
“Mona!” He called out from a few feet away. “Mona,” He said again once he was right behind Hannah.
“Uh, who’s… who’s Mona?” Hannah asked her friends.
“I think… you.” Dexter raised their eyebrows, taking a slight step back.
“I… I’m not Mona,” Hannah said, almost awkwardly.
“It is an M though, right?”
“Not even close.”
“Sorry about that.” Garrett grimaced. “I’m not… very good with names.”
“What do you want, Garrett Graham? Petals to walk on? Maybe another fancy gym that costs thousands of dollars even though the theater department is literally falling apart.” Allie rolled her eyes from beside Hannah, who turned to her with a sympathetic smile.
Meanwhile, the hockey captain had an amused smirk on his face.
“You guys are late for scene study.” Hannah grinned. “Go, I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Bye, Mona.” Dexter teased with a grin, wiggling their fingers in a wave as they practically pulled Allie with them.
“Could you please, with a sugar on top, help me study, so I don’t fail spectacularly?” Garrett immediately asked as soon as Hannah turned back to him.
“Didn’t know you had manners in you, but no,” she said as quickly as possible, starting to walk away from Garrett—and hopefully from the conversation.
“Come on, do me a solid,” Garrett, like the annoying little shit he was, followed after her. “I mean, for feminism?”
That pulled a laugh from Hannah. “Now, what are you actually on, Garrett Graham?”
“I’m serious,” Garrett said, “I have to ace the oral presentation, or I can’t play.”
“Believe it or not, I have priorities that have nothing to do with hockey,” Hannah said with a chuckle. “Find another tutor, dude.”
“Look…” He started, but realized he hadn’t even gotten her name yet. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” she deadpanned. “But it’s Hannah Wells—not even close to Mona.”
“I mean, it kinda is,” he mumbled, before shaking his head. “Look, it’s really important that I play this next game.” He was literally about to get to his knees and beg if that was what it would take for Hannah to agree. “We are playing against UCLA in two weeks, but that’s not what’s important. Hear me out, but my girlfriend lives halfway across the country, and… drumroll please…” He actually paused, to which Hannah raised an eyebrow. “She studies at UCLA. That’s why I really, really need to play.”
“I still hardly see how that is my problem?” Hannah backtracked immediately. “I’m sorry, it’s just I already am holding three jobs down right now, and I really, really can’t afford another job. You’re a good guy, Garrett, I’m sure you can find another tutor.”
“Okay, uh…” He rubbed his forehead briefly before his face literally lit up. “I can pay you.”
“I think that’s what having a job entails.”
“No, I mean, I can pay you however much you need,” he said, “Just name your price, Wellsy.”
“Wellsy?”
“That’s literally not what’s important.”
Hannah mulled his words over, and she would be lying if she said his offer was not tempting, but she didn’t know him, and she didn’t know how far he would be willing to go. “If I, hypothetically, agree, how long and how often would our sessions be?” She asked.
“Hypothetically, would 2 hours work for you?”
“It would,” she said slowly, “And if I, hypothetically, ask for fifty dollars per hour?”
“Then I would hypothetically agree.”
“Dude, seriously?” She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Do you know how much the minimum wage is?”
“Yeah,” he easily said, “But the whole point of this is that you are not to be paid the minimum wage, Wellsy.”
“Then…” She sighed deeply before reluctantly nodding. “Then I guess it’s a deal.”
—
Hannah found herself standing by the hockey house’s front door, her fist raised as she knocked—almost pounding on the wood to make sure she was heard over the game blaring from the speakers.
“Turn that down for a moment!” She heard someone yell from inside, his voice sounding closer as he walked over. Soon enough, the door swung open, revealing Logan.
“Hannah, hey! Didn’t expect to see you here.” Logan greeted Hannah with a twinkle in his eyes Hannah could not quite understand.
“Hey.” She waved, the gesture a little awkward and shy. “Uh, is Garrett here?”
“Garrett?” Logan’s brows furrowed before it dawned on him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You’re his tutor!” He opened the door wider to let the girl in. “Come in. Is it okay for you to wait in the dining room while I call him down?”
“Yeah, for sure.” Hannah waved him off politely. She wandered through the house, looking around their shared space—which was surprisingly neat for a bunch of college athletes—until she found an unoccupied space on the farthest side of the dining table.
“Hey, Wellsy.” She heard Garrett greet as he descended the stairs and walked into the dining room. He was looking down at his phone, but looked up briefly to turn to the guys. “Can we have two hours of peace and quiet? Just two hours, guys.”
“Yeah, for sure.” Birdie put the controller down and turned the television off.
“Yeah, no, I gotta get started on dinner too.” Tucker rose from the couch. “All of you, except G, are on dinner duties. Get up now—right now.” There was an immediate commotion, but Tucker heard none of it. “Dinner duties or no dinner.”
“Wow, now I know why the house is tidy,” Hannah said as Garrett took a seat across from her, placing his phone face down on the table. “He runs a strict program here.”
“He really does.” Garrett laughed, eyeing her notes with a bit of interest. “Take it away then, Wellsy.”
As Hannah began talking, Garrett slowly lost what little interest he had at the beginning. He jumped every time his phone pinged on the table, his face lighting up slightly as he immediately picked his phone up, only to be disappointed every time.
She spoke when he picked his phone back up for the third time. “You know, I’d really appreciate it if you paid more attention,” she said, but not unkindly. “I don’t think you’d pass the oral presentation—or the class—if you don’t even try to understand what this is all about. Garrett, you told me you needed this, so please take this a bit more seriously.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Garrett sighed, turning his phone to do not disturb. “Sorry. Can you backtrack?”
Two hours had passed quickly after that, and Hannah had been packing her stuff when Garrett’s phone rang. She watched as tension quickly left his body.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” he said quickly and picked up without waiting for her to respond—not that she minded. They were already done.
“Hi, GG!” Your voice came from the phone speaker soon, and Hannah couldn’t help but take a subtle peek into Garrett’s phone screen. “Sorry, I just got off my last class. It was hell, but anyway, how are you, baby?”
“I’m alright, baby.” He smiled softly—the same smile he had in the locker room, and the one he had when he was talking about her just the day prior.
Enthusiastic greetings and your name echoed behind Garrett as the guys scrambled towards their friend.
“Hi, guys!” You said as your boyfriend turned the camera over to the rowdy bunch. “Oh my God, you reek of testosterone so much, it reaches me all the way over here.”
“Hey! Garrett’s tutor is here with us!” Dean spoke up from behind Logan. “And she’s a woman, so that essentially cancels out the testosterone.”
Your eyebrows raised in surprise and excitement. “She’s there? Please, I need to see her!”
Garrett laughed, looking at Hannah. He turned the camera over towards her when she nodded, and watched as your face softened.
“Hi, oh my God! Finally, another woman!” You grinned, introducing yourself to Hannah. “I’m this doofus’ girlfriend, unfortunately.”
“Hey!”
“Hi!” Hannah laughed, her heart warming every second she talked to you. She honestly did not expect you to be this warm and welcoming, especially since you had a bit of a mean girl vibe at first glance. “Hannah Wells. I’m Garret’s tutor, unfortunately.”
“I am starting to regret this, just so you know,” Garrett grumbled behind the phone.
“Oh, that is unfortunate.” You giggled when your boyfriend turned the phone back to his face. “Baby, I am proud of you, and I’m glad you’re getting the help you need.”
“Babe, I have a tutor, not a therapist.”
You ignored his words. “But it is unfortunate for Hannah because you are as stubborn as a mule.”
“You are so lucky I love you.”
Hannah ended up staying for another hour before you finally ended the call, borderline threatening your boyfriend to drop her off up to her dorm room or else.
But Garrett had other plans, unbeknownst to her.
“So, uh, Wellsy,” he said. “My ride’s actually not in a good shape right now, so I probably can’t drop you off, but Logan here can.”
Logan looked at Garrett with wide eyes behind Hannah, to which he responded with a knowing grin.
“Oh, is that okay? I actually have my bike, so I can just, you know, bike,” Hannah said, trying to look at Logan without blushing.
“No, it’s late, I’ll drop you off,” Logan said with a charming smile. “Your bike will most probably fit in the truck, so…”
“Oh, that is so nice of you. Thank you!”
Meanwhile, Garrett was cheekily sending you a message.
Garrett: So
You: So?
Garrett: I didn’t drop Hannah off
You: 🤨?
Garrett: Pls hear me out
You: I am listening…
Garrett: Logan likes her, like likes her…
You: Okay…
Garrett: So I asked him to drop her off.
Garrett: You know, so they bond. 🙂↕️
You: You scheming dick 😟
You: I love it. Let me know what Logan says after 🤭
—
Hannah buckled her seatbelt in, waiting for Logan to enter his truck after strapping her bicycle in the pickup.
“Sorry for the wait,” Logan said as soon as he opened the door, quickly buckling in and turning the engine on.
“Oh, no.” Hannah waved him off. “I should be thanking you for the ride.”
“It’s nothing.” Logan started driving. “It’s late and dark out. Bare minimum, really.”
Hannah only smiled in response, and there was a few minutes of silence, only the sound of the radio filling the slightly awkward air between them.
“So…” Hannah began.
“So…” Logan repeated.
“Garrett and his girlfriend…”
“Oh, them?” Logan grinned. “As far as I know, they’re childhood sweethearts. Her family moved to Boston when they were around six and left in the second semester freshman year due to her dad’s relocation at work. They’re as thick as thieves, I’m telling you. When they were together, they were inseparable and they were both menaces. There was no peace with those two around. If you think Dean is bad, you should see them together.”
“That’s… actually really sweet.” Hannah smiled wistfully as she imagined you and Garrett together.
“It really is.”
They soon arrived in front of Hannah’s dorm building.
“Well, this is me,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride.”
“Yeah, no worries.” Logan, too, unfastened his seatbelt and exited the car to help Hannah with her bicycle.
Once the bike was chained safely onto the pole, they both stood there awkwardly.
“Uh…” Hannah gestured to the main entrance. “I’m gonna go in. Thank you so much again for giving me a ride. Drive safely on your way back. Message me when you get home?”
“Thanks, but, uh…” Logan put his hands in his pocket, not knowing what to do with them. “I don’t have your number.”
“Oh!” She chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry, I can… give it to you now.”
“Yeah, sure.” He handed her his phone, and she quickly typed her number in before handing the phone back to him.
“Here. Thanks again.”
“Anytime.”
Hannah smiled and slowly walked toward the building, waving at Logan shyly as he stood there with an almost dopey grin on his face.
—
It had been about two months since Hannah had tutored Garrett. He was able to ace his oral presentation in their philosophy class, and was ultimately permitted to play against UCLA.
From what Hannah had heard from Logan, you had watched the game wearing Garrett’s jersey, despite being a UCLA student, which had caused a bit of commotion with your friends.
You and Garrett were able to spend a few days together before they had to essentially pry your boyfriend off you.
It had been two and a half months since then, and now, here they all are at Malone’s. Hannah is serving their table, Garrett is drinking his sorrows away a few days away from Thanksgiving, and the guys are there for emotional support.
From what Hannah had heard from Garrett himself as he very loudly (and drunkenly) announced to practically the whole diner, he was supposed to be flying to California to spend Thanksgiving and the rest of the break with you and your family. Unfortunately, his dad had required him to spend at least Thanksgiving with him in Boston, only for his world-class asshole of a father to cancel at the very last minute.
Garrett, having canceled his flight ticket to California during one of the busiest times of the year, had to wait another three weeks for the next available flight because all flights were booked. On top of that, you hadn’t been responding to any of his calls and texts in the last few hours, which felt like a lifetime for a heartbroken man.
Hannah watches as a tear falls from Garrett’s eye after prolonged hours in the diner and a drink too many. Soon, more tears are streaming down his face as he sobs and hiccups.
“Fuck, I miss her so much, man.” He says to no one in particular. “Honestly, fuck my dad, and fuck the airlines and the planes. I will build my own fucking plane if I could.” He is hiccuping in between his words, while his friends look like they don’t know whether to laugh or sympathize with their friend.
“Call her,” Tucker mouths to Dean over Garrett’s shoulder.
“She’s fucking unreachable, dude!” Dean whisper-yells in a slight panic, not loud enough for Garrett to hear over his own heartbreak. “I’ve been trying for hours!”
“Well, try again!”
“What am I, a miracle worker?”
“Considering that a miracle is what we need right now, yes.”
“Choke.”
“Stop fucking talking!” Garrett interrupts with a sob—very out of character for the cold, untouchable captain of the hockey team. “My girl is across the world and I’m alone… I’m so lonely… I miss her… I miss my baby…”
“Dude, it’ll just be three weeks.” Logan tries to soothe his crying friend. “Time will pass quickly, I promise you.”
“Three. Weeks.” Garrett’s words slur together as he speaks. “Three whole weeks, Loge. I can’t wait that long. I will die. I will literally die.”
“No, you won’t, G, you’re being dramatic.”
“Fuck you, Dean. Try being away from your girl for your whole university life.”
“…Okay, fair.”
Another hour passes, and they finally manage to drag Garrett out of Malone’s with a (slightly empty) promise of having you on the phone by the time they get home, to which he easily agrees.
But Hannah, having clocked out of her shift just in time to come with the guys to the hockey house, takes the wheel after Garrett threatens to jump out of the moving car if he had to spend another second without you.
Hannah does not know whether to laugh at Garrett or to cry with him as he continues babbling and slurring in the backseat. The man she is seeing is significantly different than the hockey captain the rest of the world sees, but it somehow makes sense to her that he gets to this point of distress when it comes to you.
About fifteen minutes pass quickly, and Hannah finally pulls over and kills the engine, while Logan and Dean try to drag a very uncooperative, very uncoordinated man into the house.
They are halfway through the front door when Tucker comes to a halt—an actual, sudden stop that causes Garrett’s head to bump into his back.
Hannah instinctively scans the room trying to find the reason why Tucker froze, and that is when she spots the unfamiliar pair of shoes in the rack, two large suitcases beside stairs, an unrecognizable coat draped on the backrest of the couch.
Dean and Logan, completely focused on Garrett, do not immediately notice the slight changes around the house, but Hannah and Tucker do.
“Fuck, man, warn a guy next time—” Dean’s words are cut off abruptly when he finally sees the reason for Tucker’s sudden pause. “Holy fuck.”
Hannah’s jaw drops as her eyes land on you lounging on the sofa, the wide smile on your face faltering when you see the state your boyfriend is in.
“Oh God, what happened?” You stand from the couch to rush over, your hands immediately finding your boyfriend’s face. “Baby, what happened to you?”
Garrett looks up, his bleary, unfocused eyes staring through you, and he drunkenly laughs. “Shit, I miss her so much I’m hallucinating.”
You fight back a smile at his words.
The guys and Hannah exchange quick pleasantries with you as you let them drag Garrett into his room with a promise to spend more time with you once your boyfriend has had his time.
You hug each of them swiftly. “I have some stuff for you in the pink luggage.”
“You are a lifesaver.”
“We literally love you.”
“You are amazing,” Hannah suddenly says, which makes you stop. “Even more amazing in real life. I hope you know that I adore you already, and I hope to get to know you more.”
“Babe, I love you, and please, let’s go out sometime. I would love to know the person who saved my boyfriend’s career.” You grin, giving her a quick hug before entering Garrett’s bedroom.
Soon enough, it’s just you and your drunk boyfriend in his room. He is lying on his back, spread out like a starfish, and you snap a quick photo before moving.
You wet a washcloth with warm water and gently wipe him clean when he starts groaning and trying to push your hands off him weakly.
“Stop it, I have a girlfriend,” he mumbles, barely able to roll over. “She’s the only one I want. I love her and I miss her so much.” He almost starts crying right then and there.
“I’m sorry,” you say with a grin. “I’m sorry, I won’t touch you again, but can you please move over? Can you leave a space for when your girlfriend comes?”
“Mkay,” is all he murmurs as he rolls over to his own side on the bed, before promptly falling asleep.
You tidy up swiftly and crawl into bed with him, exhaustion taking over just as quickly.
—
Garrett regains consciousness slowly, but the pounding in his head quickly makes itself known. He winces slightly as the memories rush through his head with them ending right before his friends had dragged him home.
He raises a hand in an attempt to rub his eyes free of sleep, only to realize that his whole arm is pinned on the bed. He slowly turns to look, and his eyes immediately land on a mop of hair—your hair—and he feels the air leaving his lungs when he realizes that you are lying right there, on his bed, with him. You are not sleeping on your own bed across the country in California, but right here in Hastings.
A smile spreads across his face, his hangover completely forgotten as he leans down to wake you with gentle kisses on your skin.
He does not stop until you wake up, and he definitely does not—cannot—keep his hands off you—not when you shower together, not when you leave his bedroom and make your way downstairs, not when you walk into the kitchen, not when you talk with your friends, and definitely not when you spend the entire break with him.
Home really is where the heart is, he realizes as he finally looks at you—not from the tiny screen on his phone, not from the photos you send him throughout the days, not from the video calls you sneak in during your free time—as you stand right in front of him.
Follow Up to:
The Loophole: Dark Wedding
A Solstice Sacrifice
The Debut
Little Bite One: Spend. His. Money.
Mating Rituals
Little Bite Two: The Nightmare
A Danforth Wedding Tradition
Little Bite Three: The Twins, 2000
Little Bite Four: White Feather Hawk Tail Deer Hunter
Summary: Titus takes you on a private Babymoon to his family's England estate, the place where the Danforth's first met Mr. Le Bail. But in the dark corners awaits an old foe ready to get what they think they're owed.
Tags: age gap, pregnancy talk (not explicit but i know not everyone is into that), graphic violence, attempted murder/threats on reader's life, Priscilla gets her own warning lol, murder!, so much blood!, stabbing!, sex in the woods!, choking!, sex covered in blood (again lol), slapping, rough sex, daddy kink!, subby titus, and then kinda dommy titus lol, mommy stuff mentioned but explicit, mentions of other sexual situations, non-con voyerism idk how to describe it but priscilla is a creep who watches...., so i guess also stalking, idk!, fluff!!!!, HAPPY ENDING!!!
A/N: guys this is the FINAL PART!!!!!!! :((((((( but it's been such a fun journey, i love all of y'all for coming with me!!!!! Now let's kill Priscilla lol that's not really a spoiler y'all know it needed to happen ;) almost 19K words...
AO3 Link if that's your preference.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Priscilla Cavendish is not used to being rejected.
Her family, though not members of the High Council, has been given a relatively privileged life thanks to the gifts of Mr. Le Bail, and she has spent her whole existence reaping those benefits.
She got every car, horse, designer dress, and vacation her heart desired. She wanted to go to a prestigious school? Her parents bought a library and she never had to fill out application. She wanted to be head Cheerleader? No other girl would dare challenge her anyway. Boys and Men? She’s tall and gorgeous and thin and rich, why would anyone ever say no to her?
They didn’t. That’s the thing. She got everything and everyone she ever wanted.
Titus Danforth was not an exception. For many years, he was not an exception. Sure, there were times where even she got tired and bored of his bratty behavior, times where they’d break up and she’d find some other toy to play with, but she was always able to grab his attention again.
This last break up was a little more...definitive than others, sure. Annoyed at his lack of commitment, as she usually was, Priscilla decided to try her luck with Ignacio El Caido instead.
He was a widower who lived the fast life, and was on the High Council as well, so she figured he’d be an easy mark. They hooked up a few times, he bragged to Titus about it, but instead of awakening any sort of jealousy in the man, Titus Danforth simply laughed and wished them both good luck.
Needless to say Priscilla was livid. He didn’t care at all. She’d spent so much time trying to get her hand on the Danforth name, and he only ever saw her as a hobby. The things she did for him too, sexually. She lived up to almost every weird appetite of his, in ways she knows his other flings would never dare to, and still he threw her out.
And then came you.
First, you encroach on Francensca’s territory by stealing Alex Le Domas, and you don’t even have the decency to die during Hide and Seek. Then, you fucking steal Titus Danforth right out of bachelor life because? What? You’re young and pretty and in a desperate spot?
Priscilla will never understand what he sees in you. Sure, you suffer from some similar mental psychopathy that he does, but you’re...you’re an outsider. Mr. Le Bail tried to kill you twice.
Maybe you’re some sort of witch and you’ve cast a spell over Titus. Whatever you are, she will never accept that you’ve won. In her mind, you haven’t.
This is just a pause. Time to recover after hours of plastic surgery to prevent scarring from where you’d smashed her face with glass, like some deranged gremlin. She’s waited patiently, face bandaged until her beauty returned, holed up in her family’s old country estate in England.
She read that article about Felicity and Fitz’s deaths, anger rippling through her chest. A drunk driving accident? Sure. She knows what happens after a Danforth wedding. Priscilla just knows you’re the reason she’s lost another ally in that family.
And now you’re with child. A halfway unworthy spawn of a girl with no important name, no important family, will one day rule this world?
No. Not if she can help it.
Not when she finds out the two of you will be coming right to her.
+
+
+
They call it a Babymoon.
From what you’ve read, most people save it for a month before the baby is due, but of course Titus Danforth has to go above and beyond for you.
After all, you are carrying the next set of Danforth Twins.
So, at only just under four months along, he whisks you away on the private jet to the family’s oldest home in the countryside of England. The little castle where everything began.
You told him he didn’t need to take you on any trips yet, he’d already given you enough gifts to celebrate your pregnancy. From an entire new yet-to-be-released designer maternity wardrobe, to an in-house personal chef to specially make all of your meals, to a revamped 1960 pink Cadillac, Titus has not been stingy on spoiling you.
Your morning sickness has mostly subsided, so the travel wasn’t so bad. You have a little soreness, but so far everything is going easy. Titus doted on you the whole ride over, giving you orgasms and kisses to your little bump.
“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we will be making our descent in just under an hour,” the captain’s voice said over the intercom.
You sat up from where you’d been laying on Titus’s lap, a pout graces your face as you look at the door, like you’d be able to frown at the pilot through it. At least this jet had a private bedroom for you to enjoy your flight at all.
“Darn, it was just about to get good,” you sigh, “Well, good again.”
Titus looks up at you with a smirk. “He said an hour, Baby, that’s plenty of time to go one more round.”
“Hmmm, I guess we should enjoy our free time while we can,” you purred, laying your body back down over his, grinding your hips down into his lap. Titus’s hands fly to your ass, grabing you hard and moving you at a slow pace. “Once they arrive, we might be too busy for each other for a while.”
“I’ll never be too busy for you, Little Lamb,” Titus grunts, breath coming out in short huffs, cock already stirring again. “We’ll hire a nanny just to look after them whenever I need to fuck the shit out of you. You know, so we’re not disturbed.”
You snort. “That’s ridiculous,” you say as you giggle into your next kiss.
“You’re right, we’ll make Ursula do it,” Titus says, flipping you over onto your back. His hand slides down to your tummy, then past your bump to pull at the bottom of your dress.
You shiver as his thick fingers press to the skin on your inner thigh, and you grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself, eyes closing and mouth dropping open. Your voice is breathless and higher when you continue teasing him. “You wouldn’t let them be left with some stranger, anyway.”
“Fuck no,” Titus grunts, teeth grazing your neck.
He wasn’t raised by nannies, not really. Violet and Chester paid for the best tutors and coaches that money could buy, but the Danforth children were never left to learn their important life lessons from random European women.
Not until Violet died, but by ten years old they didn’t need to be watched all the time, and were old enough for boarding school. So that’s what Chester did. He sent them off to school, and when they were home he made sure to be the one instilling his believes and life lessons in them, no matter how cold those lessons were.
“Of course not,” your voice breaks into a whine when you feel his fingers at your folds, and your legs spread for him. “They’re going to be all yours,” your voice is light, “just like me,” and you nudge him into a kiss.
His breath is swallowed into your moans, as his fingers enter you slowly, thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Titus’s warm body ruts against yours, cock rubbing deliciously against your thigh. “Yeah, Baby, ‘d do anything for you, for all of you.”
“Hmm, I know,” you sigh, rolling your hips down onto his fingers, the wet squelch sending a rush of pleasure up your spine. “You’ll be such a good Daddy.”
Suddenly, Titus lets out a low, stuttered groan, and his movements stop as his eyes roll back. “Shit, Baby.”
You feel a patch of wetness against your thigh and your eyes go wide with a shocked smile. “Did you just...”
Titus doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed. “Okay, you can’t ever call me that in front of other people.” His fingers are still inside you, and he flexes them in that way that drives you crazy. “Gimmie a minute, Baby.”
You start to giggle, laying kisses to his cheek. “Or what, Daddy?”
“Fuck,” Titus groans, dick twitching slowly back to life in his pants. “Keep going like that and I’ll be able to fuck you again real soon...”
When he’s finally able to get it up again, he lasts all of two minutes inside you. After the first “Fuck me so good, Daddy,” he’s a goner.
+
The Danforth Castle, which has been in Titus’s family for centuries, sits along a river, hidden away in a vast wood, in Suffolk England. The area is remote and quiet, but almost never empty, various members of the Danforth family staying in its expansive halls throughout the year. There’s also live-in staff, of course, some grounds keepers, and minor security.
None of the family are going to be staying there right now, however, and the staff has been briefed already on staying hidden. Titus wants you to have your privacy, with absolutely no stress from nosy family.
The halls of the castle are made of old dark grey stone, which have been finished and refinished over the decades to accommodate updating technology, electricity, and all that. They’re lined with old paintings, family portraits, weapons, taxidermy animal heads, and statues of armor. You feel like you’re on some movie set about Tudor era England.
There’s a cold air that passes around you, not eerie but rather an echo of how old the building is. Your feet make a clacking sound that bounces off the stone as you’re led into a great foyer, brightly lit by tall stained-glass windows that arch all the way up to the ceiling.
You’re not looking at Titus as he watches with a proud smirk the way your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open. A row of butlers whisk passed you with your bags, and three maids wait at the bottom of a winding staircase with warm smiles.
They’re the ones who’ve been here the longest, the ones who have watched Titus grow up, the ones who have been at the mercy of his brutish ways and attitude many times, and the ones who were relieved when they heard he fell in love with someone who apparently tamed him. Of course, you haven’t really tamed anything, just given him something to channel all obsession into, a reason to be just a little nicer.
“Master Titus, it’s so lovely to have you back here,” one of the maids, and older woman with short white hair greets. She smiles at you, bowing her head just slightly. “And you must be Mrs. Danforth, it’s wonderful to finally meet the new Mistress, I’m Winnie, the head of the house.” Her eyes fall to your belly, where your bump is a just barely visible swell under your dress. “You are simply glowing.”
“Thank you, Winnie, it’s so nice to meet you,” you say, shaking her hand.
She introduces you to the other maids, and then leads you two up the stairs to the Master Suite. It hasn’t been stayed in by any other members of the family since Chester’s last visit, but now it is rightfully yours.
Again, a movie set comes to mind. Where your old fashioned Estate in Rhode Island looks like a classic americana turn of the century mansion, the Master Suite of this Castle looks like something Queen Elizabeth would live in.
Winnie and the other maids roll in a cart and pour you some fresh tea, something to settle your stomach and calm the babies after the flight, and then leave the two of you to decompress.
Titus helps you out of your coat, and you let out a relieved groan as you flop down on your back on the bed. You stare up at the ceiling, arms outstretched on the satin sheets, as you breathe in the scent of old wood.
“So...” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at your husband. “Just how haunted is this place?”
Titus snorts, shrugging off his own jacket to leave himself in just a white button up, and he starts to roll up the sleeves as he approaches the bed. “Pretty fucking haunted, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen any ghosts.”
“But you’ve heard them?” you ask, scooting over to make room for him to lay at your side.
His hand goes to your stomach, fingers softly spreading out. “Oh sure, all kinds of creaks in the floorboards and wind moaning through the walls. Winnie used to bust me sneaking around at night trying to catch a specter.”
You let out a small giggle. “I can picture it. Little baby Titus with crooked teeth and mischievous eyes, hiding in all the dark corners...you probably just scared the staff half to death.”
“Hmm, well, I was just practicing,” he says. “You know for later when I’d have to hunt down and kill all these people who try to get into our family.”
Or, even better, the ones he now hunts down to sacrifice for each season. The Spring Equinox hunt had been especially riveting, since the chosen sacrifice was the Priest who’d told Felicity your business about the mating ritual. Titus had taken immense pleasure from breaking each bone in his body before bringing him to the Black Temple for the sacrifice. He even cut out the man’s tongue and burned it in the fire.
Titus shifts down the bed, lowering himself so he can kiss your stomach. One of your hands immediately goes to his hair, twisting your fingers into his soft, silver curls. “You know,” he starts, “This is where it all began for my family. It wasn’t always a castle, though, it started as a small cottage. It’s said Mr. Le Bail walked out of the darkness of the woods, while our ancestor was hunting down a bear or a wolf or something, and he asked if he could join in on the fun.”
You haven’t actually heard this story before, even though you assumed Mr. Le Bail had been a patron of the family for a very long time.
“They caught the creature together, killed it, slit its throat and all that, and Mr. Le Bail had such a fun time, that he offered The Deal. Our family would sell their souls to him, play his games when needed, and he would give them all the riches and the power in the world. They didn’t have much, so they agreed. Built this up, expanded into High Society and all that, and here we are.
The part of the woods they met in is still marked off, my great grandfather or whatever had some stone memorial made for it.”
“I want to see,” you say.
Titus smirks as he presses his lips to your belly again. “Of course you do, and you should. Mr. Le Bail’s favorite should get to see where it all began.”
You squirm a little at the comment. There had been a short time where you didn’t think Mr. Le Bail cared anymore about the one person who outsmarted his games twice. But then you remember how his hands had been on you, how his eyes had seared into yours from where they appeared in flames, how soft his lips were when he kissed your face...Titus has no idea just how favored you are.
“Tomorrow, will you take me on a tour of the grounds then?”
“I don’t want to tire you out, you shouldn’t be on your feet for too lo—”
“Titus,” you whine. “I’m not that far along, I’m still perfectly mobile. At least take me to the memorial, or I’ll just run out there and take myself.”
His body freezes up, hand tensing where it lays on your stomach. “Little Lamb...I’ll take you, but you need to promise me you’ll be good, don’t exert yourself.”
“Oh, okay,” you say, rolling your eyes. “So it’s okay to exert myself on the jet while you make me come like, ten times in a row, but I can’t just go on a nice walk in the woods anymore? How does that make sense?”
“Are you saying you didn’t like that?” He asks slyly, shifting his touch down your belly, to the hem of your dress.
Your breath catches and your eyes widen just slightly, legs subtly spreading on instinct. “N-no...”
“No? You didn’t like it?” he asks, as his body moves again, settling comfortably between your legs, hands more boldly pushing at your dress. “So, I should stop?”
“I-I,” you stutter, sucking in a deep breath when you feel him grab your thighs hard, and pull them apart even more. You can barely make a sound as he lowers himself down, nosing along the hem of your panties, humming into the fabric. “No, no don’t stop, please—ahh!”
A high-pitched whine cracks through your words as he kisses along your already soaked panties, licking his tongue over them to suck up what juices he can. “That’s what I thought.”
Titus pushes your dress up passed your stomach, pulls your panties down over your legs, and goes to town. He licks and kisses and moans into your dripping pussy like a man starved. You try to hold in your sounds, not wanting to scare this household staff on your first day, but it’s hard when he knows just what you need, knows how to make you feel so good your brain goes fuzzy.
You’re late for dinner.
+
You can’t sleep.
All that jetlag and Titus keeping you up for the flight has your mind completely alive in the middle of the night.
So naturally you beg Titus to take you on that tour of the grounds right now under the stars. You’re both so used to being out in the dark anyway.
The forests of the English countryside are so much different than back home. Maybe it’s because the spirits that fill them are so much more ancient, the trees have witnessed the violent actions of man for so much longer. You feel like they all have eyes watching you as Titus leads you through the dark path, his hand laced in yours. They loom over you, blocking out most of the stars in the sky, the light of the moon cascading down in clear rays through their deep branches.
The path he takes you down is written with old cobble stone, lined with a stone wall about three feet tall. It twists and turns deep into the wood, the same path Titus’s ancestor had taken the day he met Mr. Le Bail. Every turn is a surprise, winding deeper and deeper, until the orange light of the Danforth castle is just a small fleck when you turn back to it. For the first time in a long time, you feel unsettled in the wilderness.
But still...
A familiar chill runs through your bones. Shadows dance in the corners of your mind that you feel like you’ve seen before. Even the sounds of animals, from owls to distant howls of wolves, sound like you’ve met them at some point already.
The path ends, and Titus walks behind you, a hand on your lower back to lead you into the trees, and he takes you a few feet into a clearing.
Your heart nearly stops as you take it in. There’s a circle of trees around a small boulder and a tree stump. You know you’ve been here before, and yet it’s impossible to be true.
“That is where they met,” your husband’s gravelly voice rumbles close to your ear, lips caressing your skin.
He points to the boulder, where a small message has been etched onto a gold plate. There’s a small goat carved into the metal, at the center of a pentagram. A Latin phrase lines the top, one that translates to Loyalty Through the Fires, and below that a message in English:
THE MEETING PLACE OF A TRUE GOD TO MEN, THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP. SWORN THROUGH BLOOD. FOR ALL BRANCHES OF THE TREE.
You don’t remember this being here last time. You don’t know why you should remember it at all.
“This is where it all began,” Titus continues. His head rests on your shoulder, unaware of the nerves that have overtaken your body. “Two men meet in the woods, and now I stand here with you, someone I wished for, my perfect equal...” his hands slide over your sides until they rest on your belly. “Mother of my children, the next leaders of our family line.”
You hum softly, eyes closing as you let your body fall into his, the cold of the night can’t reach you here in his arms. You’re about to say something about the weird feeling, but Titus continues speaking.
“I’m so glad I could take you here while it’s just us,” he mumbles, kissing the low end of your neck. “It’s so isolated out here, nobody to bother us, nobody to stick their nose in our business.”
A soft laugh escapes your lips. Anyone else, any other circumstance, and it would sound like he’s brought you here to kill you.
“How far is the closest neighbor, anyway?” you ask, eyes open again and scanning what you can through the dark tree line.
Titus shrugs. “About five miles up north are the Whitmore’s, they’ve got a nice little hunting ground and cabin. East is the water, when you finally hit that there is a small fishing village. Ten miles west is the Pembroke Mansion, they’ve been here almost as long as we have, but they’re not in the organization. And then south is—"
Titus stops suddenly, body tensing as he backs up from you, and you hear him swear under his breath. Your arms cross over your torso as you turn around, suspicious frown on your face. “What’s wrong?”
“Shit,” Titus lets out a long sigh, running a nervous hand through his hair. He looks up at you with uncharacteristically worried eyes, lip bit between his teeth. “Okay, don’t be mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad?” You ask slowly, keeping your voice even.
“Well...” Titus groans. “Listen, Baby, it’s no big deal, their property is miles away and the woods are very dense here...”
“But...?”
“But...” he exhales, grabbing your hands and squeezing them tightly. “Well, six miles south of here is the old Cavendish estate. That family acquired it in the mid-nineteen hundreds from some down on his luck lord or whatever. I’ve probably only been there a handful of times, years ago.”
“Okay?” You say, pursing your lips. “Cavendish?”
“As in...Priscilla Cavendish.”
You immediately drop his hands with an angry gasp, backing up a foot as you laugh incredulously. Your hands come to your face, ignoring Titus’s repeats of your name as you continue to back away from him. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Titus’s voice is tight and desperate as he approaches you, “Baby, it’s not a big deal—"
“Not a big deal?” You spit. “Your ex, who hates me, who tried to hook up with you and steal you back in our house, who was friends with your piece of garbage cousin, lives right next to your family estate, and you think that’s not a big deal?”
“She doesn’t live there, her family owns it. She may not even be at the estate,” Titus says.
“The last we heard, she was in Europe! I doubt her family owns as many houses as yours does!” You groan and look up from your hands, hormones causing a well of tears to bubble behind your eyes. A chill surges through you as you finally realize why this place looks familiar, and you cover your mouth as your gaze darts around the trees. “Oh my god, this is just like my dream, my nightmare. Th-this is where she...where you.”
Titus quickly gathers you into his arms at the look of fear on your face, “No, no that wasn’t real, Little Lamb, nothing is going to happen to us.”
One of your hands flies down to your stomach, and you think if it weren’t for the twins you’d already be sprinting the six miles to the Cavendish estate to finish this once and for all. “Y-you don’t know that. If she’s there, and she finds out we’re here...she’s going to do something, I just know it. W-we can’t stay! We have to go home, we—"
“Stop, stop it!” Titus hushes, placing his hands on your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him. “We are not going anywhere. I am not going to let anything happen to you.” His hand joins yours on your tummy, pressing down comfortingly. “None of you. I’ll call in extra security, and we’ll send someone to the estate in the morning to see if she’s there.”
“And if she is?”
Titus lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “Then...then we’ll go to London instead, to the Townhome in Westminster. I’m not letting her ruin our trip.”
“Titus, I don’t know if I can stand being in the same country as her.”
He chuckles, kissing your hair. “Well, I can call Ursula and see what we can do about getting her kicked out, but that still might take a day.”
“Titus, that’s not funny.”
“Yes, I wasn’t joking.”
Of course he wasn’t joking, you should have known they’d have influence in all world governments. “Let’s just...let’s just wait until we know if she’s there.”
“Alright,” Titus says, tightening his grip around you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wasn’t thinking...I was too excited to bring you here.”
“I know,” you sigh. You stand up on your tip toes to kiss his cheek, and you let him capture your lips instead.
There’s no way your jetlag is going to be solved now, and as you make it back to your room and lay down in the bed, Titus’s arms are wrapped around you as your eyes stay wide open, staring at the wood ceiling.
+
Outside the Cavendish Estate is a gravel horseshoe-shaped drive, surrounded by a line of prickly pink rose bushes. A black sedan drives up to the house, observed by the doorman, who is smoking a cigarette.
He’s completely unmoved by the large security agent who exits the passenger side sporting a very large machine gun strapped to his chest.
The doorman throws his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out under his boot. “Can I help you, sir?”
The security agent looks past the doorman and up to the windows of the estate instead, surveilling what he can through the dark glass. There’s no movement inside, from what he can see. “Are there any members of the Cavendish family staying at the estate currently?”
“I don’t think I have to answer that,” the doorman snorts. “Who’s asking?”
“Titus Danforth.”
The doorman’s eyes go a little wide, but he keeps his same dry tone. “No. We are not expecting any family until after the summer season is over. I believe most of them are at the Hamptons.”
“Is Priscilla Cavendish currently staying at the estate?” The security agent asks.
The doorman sighs. “No. Like I said, no members of the family are expected until after summer. You are welcome to come check the home and the grounds, if you feel the need.”
“We do, actually.” The agent looks over at his shoulder and nods to the other guys in the sedan. Three more men and big guns join him at the door. “Lead the way.”
The doorman takes them inside, leading them men all through the house, stopping at every corner for them to point their guns around in case of an ambush. He takes them upstairs, opens the doors to every bedroom, bathroom, closet. Takes them to the lower level where the wine cellar is, into the food storage, the regular storage. Takes them through the kitchen and out the backdoor, where the small garden waits. He waits while they follow the treeline and check in the small shed. Nothing.
He shoos away any maids, cooks, groundskeepers (of which there are very few) that comes across them. Every single one of them is ID checked, in case Priscilla is trying to get away with a disguise. But they’re all just the servants.
When every single inch of the estate has been checked over, the security agents join the doorman at the front of the house once again.
“Like I said, the Cavendish family is in the Hamptons,” the doorman says, pulling out another cigarette. “Can I do anything else for you boys?”
The head agent gives the doorman a stern look, before shaking his head and leading the group back to the sedan.
The doorman watches, craning his neck to make sure the car gets all the way up past the gate, before putting out this cigarette and running back into the estate. He heads to the small library, and pulls out one of the sconces from the wall, releasing a secret opening behind a set of bookshelves.
“Miss Cavendish, they’re gone,” he calls into the dark room.
Priscilla emerges with a wicked smile on her face. She pets at the man’s cheek, long perfectly manicured nails scratch softly at his skin. “Thank you, my darling. You’ve done a very good job for me.”
+
“So, she’s not here?” you ask.
You’re sitting at the end of a long dining table, poking at your breakfast and morning tea, as Titus receives the report from your security.
“Correct, we searched the whole grounds, and then had our guys in the states follow up in the Hamptons. It appears her whole family is at their beach house. There is no photo evidence of her being there, but that is on parr with her behavior since, um, well last year.”
Titus and you share a smirk. Yes, she’s been in hiding from the public for several months, ever since you busted her face up.
“We have no reason to believe she is in this country.”
“Thank you,” you say quietly, sipping from your tea with a little more energy.
“Get me pictures, however you can, just in case,” Titus instructs, before waving them out so you can have your privacy again. “See, Little Lamb, I told you there is nothing to worry about.”
“Fine, but you still should have told me about her house before bringing me all the way to a foreign country. You’re gonna have to do something big to make it up to me.”
Titus licks his lips, hand reaching for your thigh under the table. “Think I can come up with some equitable solutions.”
Before you can respond, your phone goes off from where it sits on the table. You hold up a finger to silence him when your husband’s mouth drops open to protest, as you pick it up to check the text.
“Do not answer a text from my sister while I’m trying to fuck you,” Titus says, staring at you with bewildered, annoyed blinks.
“It’s Ursula updating me on the babies’ suite. She said the painting should be done by the time we get home, so we won’t have to worry about fumes or anything. Isn’t that nice?”
“I guess,” Titus mumbles.
You shoot him a stern look before sending a thank you in reply. As a gift to you and Titus, Ursula is having an entire portion of your wing of the house torn out and rebuilt to the ultimate nursery for the twins. You told her what you wanted theming and coloring wise, but you’re letting the end result be a complete surprise from her.
“Maybe we should go down to London to do some shopping for the suite ourselves, you know? Ursula is going to have most of it covered but we could find some little stuffed animals or decorations we like,” you say, putting your phone down and running a hand into Titus’s hair, soothing the annoyance out of him.
His lips twitch and he smiles, gently grabbing your hand to kiss your palm. “How about this weekend? We’ll look for gifts for the babies...go to the designers’ show rooms and get something nice for yourself...but just one night, okay? The point of this trip is to keep you to myself.”
“You always keep me to yourself,” you joke. It’s not that true, anymore. You’ve made a couple friends in the organization, you’re much more social than you used to be, but also you’d be the last to complain about being tucked away in the giant Danforth Estate with only Titus’s attention. “What plans did you have for us here, anyway?”
“Well, we have horse stables, you can still ride if we take it slow,” he licks his lips and you roll your eyes at the double entendre. He wraps his foot around the leg of your chair and jerks it towards him, pulling you closer. “We can get in the pool, send the staff away to do some skinny dipping...or I can just take you skeet shooting or something boring like that.”
You burst into a fit of giggles. “Skeet shooting? Seriously? I thought that was something rich people only did on like TV shows.”
“Yes well, I think you know real rich people do all that kind of shit. Father used to make us do it as part of training.”
“Of course he did,” you say with a frown.
Titus stares at you, lips pressed together in a stressed line. “What?”
He’s told you about his father. Emotionally distant for most of his life, raised him and Ursula to be ruthless killers, everything you know about Chester Danforth makes him sound like a monster. “Your father...I don’t understand him. I don’t understand how you can...”
“Love him?” Titus asks, voice quiet. His expression is pulled in, brow furrowed and eyes worried, looking so young like he always does when he’s stressed. “It’s complicated, but he wasn’t so bad. We aren’t like normal families, we couldn’t be. He needed me and Ursula to be ready for this part of our life. The part where he’d be gone and we would take over the High Seat. And I wish he...” Titus’s voice trails off, eyes growing distant. He wishes his father would have seen him more, would have treated him equally to Ursula, prepared him and trusted him in the same way. “He was my father and I loved him. It’s too late to care about everything else.”
You crinkle your nose, running a hand softly over your husband’s cheek. “I’m sure it must have been terrible, having to kill him.”
“It had to be done,” Titus says. “He was old and weak. And if we’d let him fight for the High Seat, he would have just died anyway. And you...fuck, Little Lamb, who knows what would have happened to you, to me?” Titus reaches a hand onto your belly. “Everything happened the way it was supposed to.”
You give him a small smile, placing your hand over his. “Still, I don’t want to raise them like how you were. I don’t mind the training and all that, I want them to be fighters, I want them to know how to survive. But I’m going to love them for whoever they turn out to be.”
“We will,” Titus insists. “I want to be a better father than mine. I want our children to know for sure that they’re loved, just as much as I love you.”
Your smile grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips and kiss his palm, before sliding out of your seat to stand above him. “So, skeet shooting?”
“You really want to try it?” Titus asks with a smirk.
You shrug, “Sure, it always looked fun in the movies. Besides, I think I’m a pretty good shot already, you’re going to have very stiff competition.”
+
The day passes slowly, sun bright in the sky, birds singing, creatures running through the trees around the two of you. Titus showed you how to shoot, but his teaching was wasted considering you’d been forced to have plenty of practice in your past hunts. He did his best to hide his frustration at losing to you.
After the skeet shooting, the two of you relaxed poolside, enjoying tea under the sun and just sitting in each other’s company. Ursula called to video chat before dinner, taking the two of you on a virtual tour of the work in progress on the nursery suite. You sat by and giggled as Titus and Ursula argued over one of the babies being named after her.
“Should we just name them Titus and Ursula two? Both of them? That’s incredibly stupid.”
“No, just name the girl Ursula, the boy doesn’t need to be named after you.”
“They’re my children! Not yours! Your name shouldn’t come in at all!”
“I’m going to be their favorite aunt—"
“You will be their only aunt!”
This went on for some time, and you giggled at them the whole time, until finally you broke it up by reminding them that you actually get the biggest say, and you haven’t even begun narrowing name options down.
Dinner was held in the dining room, just like at home the two of you sat together at the end of the table, catching each other up on gossip, making plans for the next couple days. Instead of an after dinner cigar, Titus has done what he’s had to do the last couple months and have an after dinner glass of whiskey, while he waits for you to finish your night time routine.
But also like he has the last couple months, he gets impatient and lures you out of the bathroom with sweet words from his smooth voice, gets you on the bed so he can worship you the way he knows you deserve.
And after a couple of orgasms, you’d fallen asleep almost instantly, left Titus with the task of carefully cleaning you up, dressing you, and tucking you into bed. He fell asleep not long after with you in his arms, the smell of your freshly cleaned hair seeping into his nose.
Which is why his heart nearly stopped when he woke up at about 3 AM, cold and arms empty, you nowhere in sight. “Baby? Where did you go?”
His calls cannot reach you as your feet carry you away. In your mind, you’re wandering into the woods, sun shining above you, morning doves cooing in your ears.
Your dream has you following Titus’s voice in the opposite direction, down the hill, across a stream, and slowly in and out of a winding path. You think he’s just up ahead, but every time you make a turn, it’s like you’ve just barely missed him. His teasing laughter comes from the trees, and you just sigh as you call back to him.
“Titus! You’re not being fair!” You say as your feet start to hurt. You’re wearing your flowy white nightgown, which is now stained green at the bottom from the grass.
Beams of sunlight part through the trees, guiding your way as you continue to chase your husband’s voice. You stumble down a hill, just barely keeping your balance once you reach the end, and you spot another clearing just up ahead. The sound of his laughter is closer now, as the trees seem to part for you to enter.
You hear Titus call your name, over and over, both in the distance and right in your ears. Your face scrunches in confusion at the different levels, but as you enter the clearing, you see him only feet away. Your hands reach up as though to embrace him...
When suddenly he’s right in front of you, yelling your name right in your face, and your whole body jolts. In an instant, light changes to dark, the smile on your husband’s face turns to a concerned frown, the beautiful trees morph into dark, painted walls, and the warmth of the sun dulls into the chill of night.
Your head hurts and your eyes feel strained as you blink them, Titus’s hands gripping hard at your arms as he shakes you awake.
“Little Lamb? What are you doing?” He asks, voice filled to the brim with worry, eyes darting all around your body.
Your mouth drops open and you shiver, vision adjusting to the dark as your head shakes. You look down at your bare feet, your completely clean white nightgown. “I-I don’t...where am I?”
“You’re downstairs, my love, almost out the back door,” Titus says slowly, looking over his shoulder at the grand wood door that leads to the back garden.
“H-How did I get here?” You ask, voice shaking as you begin to hyperventilate.
“You were sleepwalking,” Titus concludes. He doesn’t miss the stress and worry on your face, and pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping tight around you as you press your face into his warmth. “You’ve never done that before, have you?”
“I-I don’t think so...” you whisper, eyes wide as you look at the back door. Something inside tells you that your real destination lies far beyond it. “I was dreaming that I was following you into the woods.”
“Like your nightmare?”
“No...no it wasn’t like that at all,” you say, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “It was day time, and you were laughing, and nothing bad happened, but you were leading me somewhere...I think.”
You watch as his face twists through confusion and worry, studying your face and your words. He’s never encountered anything like this, not from you anyway. Maybe mother experienced something like it when she was pregnant with him and Ursula? Did she ever tell him a story like this? Did Ursula? He can’t think of anything. He can’t remember reading anything about it either, not in any book about any ritual or family member.
“M-maybe...maybe because we’re far from home. We’re in a sacred place for the family and Mr. Le Bail...” his voice trails off. Why would Mr. Le Bail try to trick you into going anywhere with Titus, especially when you carry the heirs to the High Seat?
“Yeah...maybe...” you say, though you sound just as unsure. “It wasn’t a bad dream. I-It must be some weird side effect or something.”
“Right,” Titus sighs. Neither of you are confident in your conclusions. But he kisses your cheek and scoops you up into his arms to carry you back up the stairs, your own wrap around his neck tightly. “Let’s just get back to bed, Little Lamb. I’ll lock the door in case it happens again.”
“Okay,” you respond, voice small, as you keep your eyes on that back door the whole trip up the stairs.
Titus tucks you back in bed, arms tighter around you this time. He stays awake to listen to your breaths even out until he knows you’re back asleep, and then he remains awake for the rest of the night.
+
Mere meters into the woods, far enough that she won’t be seen from the home or security, but not so far that she cannot cast her control, Priscilla huffs out her frustration through gritted teeth.
The white smoke of the totem she lit fades away, as the time limit for the hex runs out. You were so close to the door. She almost had you.
Her jaw clicks as she throws the totem to the ground and stomps it under her foot, before burying it under a large stone.
She knows there are no protections over the home, but Titus being able to wake you from the Hex Sleep was an unforeseen obstacle. He must really love you after all.
No matter, she thinks to herself, I’ll just have to try a stronger spell next time.
+
After another nervous and quiet morning breakfast, Titus and you try to shake out of the looming dark thoughts from your sleep walking by taking the horses out.
The Danforth’s have a long history of breeding horses in England, and have even worked with the former Queen on creating prize winning racers. There is a branch of cousins who specialize in it, and spend the most time at this family home out of the year to take care of the horses, but of course a few are especially raised for Titus and Ursula to ride.
The twins’ horses are, naturally, two twin black stallions, with white hair on their ankles and tails, named Azazel and Nyx. The only difference between them is the little white star shaped spot in the middle of Azazel’s forehead, which is why Titus had chosen him.
Now, Azazel comes with a mate. For some time, the trainers say about a year, he has refused to breed with any other horse but a beautiful grey and red mare named Lilith.
And Lilith took to you so quickly.
You’d taken one look into her eyes and you could have sworn there was understanding looking back. She’d let you pet a hand down her hair without any hesitation, and when you climbed onto her saddle, she stood extra still to give you no trouble.
“Do they have any foals yet?” You ask the trainer on hand.
“Not yet, but she’s in month eight right now, so you’ll both have to treat each other gently.”
You give Titus a bright smile as he mounts Azazel, and leans over to give your cheek a kiss. At the same time, you watch as the horses lean their own faces towards each other, nuzzling at each other’s necks.
“They’re precious,” you coo, patting Lilith’s side.
“She’s perfect for you,” Titus says. “When the babies are here, we’ll come back so you can really ride her around the land. I hear she’s a real spitfire.”
“Is that horse trainer code for pain in the ass?” You ask with a smirk.
Titus winks, then snaps his reins to direct his horse out of the stable. He keeps the pace slow as he leads you and Lilith through the forest path, until you hit a clearing to a long field over some hills. It’s a bright day, warm but not too hot, clouds covering most of the sun, and the grounds look extra green. Titus’s silver hair shines as the sun reflects in it, and you can’t stop thinking about how beautiful he truly is.
You two ride all the way into the small town, where Titus pays for you to have full privacy in a little pub for lunch. It’s dark and old and the food is amazing, and the owners leave you two in a corner to your own devices until you decide you’re ready to go.
This happens all the time, Titus and you renting out an entire space for just the two of you, part of the perks of being the richest and most powerful family. The magazines and tabloids have tried to follow you, tried to get some sort of scoop on the most elusive Blue Blooded, Old Money family in America, but Titus buys his way into full privacy.
Times like now it feels more romantic and overprotective.
You ride the horses back the same way, as the sun begins to set in the sky, turning everything orange and pink and picturesque. Any worries you have about ex-girlfriends and sleepwalking completely leave your minds.
Before dinner, you video chat with Penelope, who has been going a little overboard with buying baby presents. She shows you every single designer outfit she’s already collected, from newborn to toddler.
That night when it’s finally time to sleep, Titus locks the door again, and holds you tight again, but he falls asleep a few hours later when it’s clear you won’t be trying to go anywhere again.
The sleepwalking doesn’t come back for the next couple days, actually. And Titus accepts that maybe it was just a weird one-time thing. He has the security around the estate reduced so your privacy can return...mostly so he can go back to fucking you by the pool or in the woods without having to worry about the security agents as an unwanted audience.
+
The trip goes by without any other weird incidences for you.
A doctor comes by to check in before your weekend excursion to London, and everything with the babies is perfectly healthy. Titus makes him do extra tests on you, but everything appears to be normal, so his anxieties finally settle.
The flat in London is just as beautiful as the country home, if less private, but you imagine none of the neighbors are going to argue with Titus Danforth of all people over his wife being too loud in the throws of wild sex at midnight.
He takes you to designers’ show rooms during the day, and you buy a whole wardrobe for the babies, as well as maternity clothes for yourself. You even make Titus pick out things for himself, and he’s so adorably annoyed when it’s you who treats him like a doll to dress up for once.
But secretly you know he loves to be doted on. He loves that he has your attention constantly, loves when you go to fix his hair or his suit jacket, in ways that when Ursula used to do it made him feel like a child, from you it makes him feel loved. From you it’s not about having to put on a show or not embarrass the family, but rather because you want him to look his best for you.
The same way you love to look your best for him. The same way you love to sneak into a high-end lingerie store while he’s finalizing a new car purchase, just so you can pick out some sets to show off to him later that night.
And oh boy, he loves the surprise from you after your shower, when you come into the bedroom in nothing but a silk robe, which is promptly dropped to the floor to reveal a gorgeous red lacy set. Titus’s mouth waters at the sight of heart-shaped cut outs around your breasts, and a matching heart over your already dripping pussy.
His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest when you climb onto his lap, rounded tummy pressed to his, and you push him down roughly on his back.
Your voice is low and sultry when you start to whisper about how protective he is, how safe he makes you feel, how he takes such good care of you, and you bite the shell of his ear. Your hand reaches between your bodies to rub at his bulge, and he moans as he kisses your neck, grabs your jaw to keep you still to look right into your eyes. But you slap his hand away before slapping his cheek, and you grab his jaw instead.
Your fingers carefully free his cock from his boxers, as your wet tongue licks up the side of his face, and you moan in his ear, “Lay back, Daddy.”
A full body shiver climbs through Titus as he moans and his eyes roll back, cock twitching fully to life in your hand. He does what he’s told, laying back on the bed, eyes still intensely on yours the whole time. Your start to inch of his body, and his eyes widen with sheer excitement as he realizes your destination.
“Fuck, yeah baby, gonna sit on my face?” Titus says, hands flying up to your thighs. He licks his lips, tilting his chin. “C’mon, Little Lamb, use me.”
You whimper at the first feeling of his tongue on you, at the hungry groan your husband lets out as you ride his face.
By the time you’ve come twice on him, and Titus is able to take back control to bring your cunt down on his cock instead, you’re pretty sure the neighbors had to have put noise canceling headphones on. There’s no way they’d be able to sleep through all the cries of pleasure he brings out of you.
+
Getting back from London, in a different car than what you’d left in, feels like coming back home for you. Already your mind and body have adapted to ownership of places you’re barely familiar with that hold the name of your husband’s family.
It’s nice coming back to the quiet, and for the next week, things continue on peacefully. Titus teaches you how to use every old weapon in the family’s arsenal, you take the horses out a few more times, you spend peaceful afternoons around the pool to escape the hot sun, and you indulge on everything you could possibly want from food to jewels to insatiable sex with your incredibly hot husband.
It’s just the break from everything you’d needed. Back home, you’re still working with Ursula, still tending to Violet’s garden, still keeping up with responsibilities. But here on this quiet hideaway, Titus treats you like the princess he always refers to you as.
The fact that the staff of this house are good about actually leaving you two alone, and there is no chance of interruption from Ursula has been incredibly freeing for both of you.
Back at home, Titus never lets you skinny dip. His whole hang up about people seeing his wife’s naked body gets in the way.
But here...there really are no prying eyes, so he doesn’t put up a fight when you throw your bikini top at him. He’s trying to read the paper poolside, and it gets completely ruined by your wet suit. Titus isn’t exactly mad though, when he sees your tits, already growing from the babies, wet and welcoming, nipples peaked, as you wade towards him in the water.
“Come on, Ti, get in here with me,” you call with a pout. “It’s too hot to stay out there all by yourself.”
He looks like a giddy teenager as he tosses his paper aside and climbs down into the water with a toothy smile. “Aww, my baby, you don’t have to beg.”
You watch him closely as he climbs in, sun shining on his freckled body. You bite your lip and you feel a warm tightening between your legs, as your eyes follow a line of scars down Titus’s torso. He’s so...thick. Everywhere. All that muscle. You’ve seen his body a million times by now, but something about having him in the sunlight just accentuates every piece of it.
His body is strong, hard, a wall of warmth when he’s got you under him, or up against a wall, or a tree...wherever he can get you. His body is littered with grey scars from hunts and fights over the years, and fresher ones from you, especially your nails and teeth. His body is...decorated with sprinklings of grey hairs, but that’s the only indication of his age, with the way he takes care of himself he manages to have the body of a much younger man.
You float up on your back and swim backwards away from him, and Titus follows you through the cooling water, all the way until he has you backed into a corner. The water splashes around you when he grabs you hard by the hips and pulls you into him, and you giggle into the kiss he lays on you.
Your hands reach between your bodies and under the water, where you make quick work of undoing the tie on his swim trunks, swallowing the vibrations of his moan into your mouth.
“So fuckin’ needy, Little Lamb,” Titus chuckles, lips tracing down from your mouth to your neck.
“We gotta enjoy it while we can,” you whine, tossing his trunks out of the pool. You feel his cock under the water, already half hard, and you wrap your hand around him, giving it a few tugs. “You just look so good, want you all the time, Daddy.”
“You got me whenever you want, Baby,” Titus groans, tongue licking into your mouth as his hips buck into your hand.
He reaches down and rips your bottoms off, letting them float away as he hoists you onto his lap. Your legs wrap around him as your kiss deepens. Titus’s fingers dip between your folds, and you whimper as he starts to rub circles on your clit. Titus wraps an arm around your back, using it to cushion your body against the side of the pool, as your hips start to roll down against his fingers.
You pull back from the kiss with a gasp, mouth dropped open as stuttered breaths escape your lips. You look into Titus’s eyes, met with his usual determined hunger, the look at sends excited shivers surging up your spine. Water circles around you from the movement of Titus’s arm, and your eyes fall to the rippling muscle of his bicep, before rolling back in your head.
“Ti, oh god, Titus I’m—” you gasp, heat pooling in your belly.
“Yeah, yeah, Baby, come on,” Titus goads you on, leaning down to bite at your neck, heat of his body encasing you.
Your legs shake and your hips buck as white sears your vision and you cry out his name, splashing water around as you come on his fingers. “Titus! Fuck, oh god, thank you, oh fuck—" pleasure ripples through you, but you’re not done yet, your legs tighten around Titus’s waist. “Fuck me, fuck me, please, Titus!”
“Fuck, gonna fuck you hard, Baby, don’t know how long I’m gonna last,” Titus grunts, jerking his cock under the water, rubbing the tip up and down your folds.
“Don’t care, want you inside me now,” you plead, eyes opening wide, wet at the corners with tears. “Just fuck me, Daddy.”
“Christ,” Titus swears, shoving his cock in you in one go, before grabbing onto the edge of the pool for leverage. “Definitely not gonna last, so fuckin’ tight, baby, so perfect for me, always.”
Water splashes all around you and out of the pool as Titus fucks you, no thought and all haste. Neither of you are interested in this moment in dragging this out, lost in the spontaneity and heat of the afternoon. No matter how long, every time you and Titus fuck it reassures and reinstates the love and connection between you. It’s spiritual, and beautiful, and fills your heart with pure love.
You can’t stop the rambling of Titus’s name over and over through your whines and whimpers, which grow louder and louder with each thrust of Titus’s hips. He moves fast but deep, fucking into you hard, cock kissing your cervix. He lifts you more against the side of the pool, just enough to get his mouth on your tits, and he whines from somewhere deep in his throat as his lips wrap around one of your nipples.
Your head is thrown back and you wrap and hand into his damp hair, breathy moans escaping your lips as he fucks you. The sunlight glistens on your wet skin, birds fly overhead, but the only thing you can feel is your husband all over you.
And you feel so free.
You’re distracted enough, isolated enough, that neither you nor Titus notice the pair of dark, rageful eyes staring at you from beyond the trees.
She’s getting sick of catching you two like this. Her stomach is in envious knots at the sight of his hands on you, his lips and tongue leaving marks on your body, your cries of pleasure from his touch. If there was one thing she could always count on with Titus Danforth, it was to be the best fuck of her life.
The fact that she’s been out here long enough to watch this little tryst from the start, from the moment your slutty, pathetic, attention seeking, gold digging hands threw your top at him, to now as you scream like some overzealous porn star, only tells Priscilla one thing;
Titus sent away the security, and you two are finally vulnerable enough.
Enjoy that sense of security while you can, she thinks with a terrible smirk on her face, as she slips into the darkness of the forest.
+
The moon is full, big and orange in the sky. The stars twinkle around it like little fairy lights. There’s barely a cloud in sight.
You and Titus are sleeping soundly in bed after a romantic, candlelit dinner and then about an hour of fucking on the dining table and the floor and the stairs on your way back up.
You only have two more days on this babymoon before it’s time to go home, and Titus doesn’t plan on wasting any second of them. As soon as you’re home it’s back to working and running the world, and Ursula pushing her way into baby prep, and you won’t be only his anymore.
These couple weeks of just the two of you have been paradise.
The door to the bedroom has been unlocked for the last couple nights. Titus believed the sleepwalking really wasn’t going to happen again. There was no reason for it to happen in the first place.
You have been sleeping soundly, especially tonight, tiny breaths on Titus’s neck lulling him into his own peaceful slumber.
In your dreams, you’re tending to the garden at home, watering the flowers and digging up weeds, rearranging the pots in the greenhouse so your carnivorous babies can get equal sunlight. You’re wearing a red sundress, that rides up to the top of your thighs, and gives a peek of your cheeks when you bend down or reach up high.
There’s a cool breeze around you as you carry supplies from one end of the garden to the other, and you smile as you spot Titus waiting for you up ahead.
“Going to actually help me, or just enjoy the view?” You playfully ask.
Titus answers with a smirk, but there’s something...uncanny in his smile. From far away, it almost looks too wide, too toothy, and you can’t see his eyes behind the shades on his face, but you can tell that the smile isn’t reaching them from the lack of crinkles.
“How about you take a break a join me over here? Got a surprise for you, Little Lamb.”
You’re pretty sure you answer verbally but your mouth feels like it’s full of marbles, and the words come out in a gurgle. The smile on Titus’s face doesn’t fade at all, hands reaching out to beckon you to him.
“Come on, my Baby, this way.”
Your feet carry you before your mind catches up to the action, and before you know it, you’re placing your hands in his. With a gentle tug, Titus guides you down the path and into the woods. You try to pull him closer, to take his sunglasses off and look in his eyes, to kiss him, but he moves like smoke wisping out of your grasp.
“Where are we going?” Your voice comes back again, but it sounds distant even from your own lips.
“Somewhere special,” is his only response, voice warped.
It causes your smile to fall just slightly, and you hesitate before stepping into the woods. There’s a darkness just beyond the first line of greenery, shadows fading to black nothingness, and all your movement stops.
Your head starts to hurt, and your neck twitches, as a buzz starts to form in your ears. “W-wait.”
“Come on, no need to be afraid, Little Lamb. You don’t ever need to be afraid again.”
His voice is syrupy, low and gravely like usual, but something is just off about it. You try to back up, the tiniest bit of motion away from him, but he yanks you forward.
With a gasp, you shove Titus away, and you stumble back as he disappears into the darkness of the trees. “N-no, this isn’t right. Y-you're not—”
“Not what?” Titus’s voice appears right in your ear, breath hot on your skin and it sends a shiver up your spine. You feel hands wrap around your waist, strong, tight, but still wrong in some way. Where Titus normally grabs you tight to connect to you, to make you feel him and his weight, these hands are trapping you, caging you. “It’s alright, Little Lamb, I’m right here.”
But something in the way his voice warps sets off all alarms in your brain, and you turn with a fist raised, but as you take a swing your hand meets nothing but air. Your feet catch on the ground and you trip in your effort to run away, landing hard on the ground.
The impact jolts you, and suddenly you’re surrounded by darkness and cold. The light daytime breeze replaced by the wind chill of night, owls hooting and crickets chirping in the sky.
Your home garden path is replaced by the forest path Titus had led you down the other day, the one that leads to the place his ancestor first met Mr. Le Bail. Your eyes adjust to the lack of light as your chest heaves, breaths coming out hard, sweat forming on your brow in your panic.
“Wh-what the fuck?” you gasp, head darting around in every direction to try to figure out how you got here.
It must be the sleepwalking.
But the doctor said it wouldn’t come up again...Titus said you hadn’t even tried to leave the bed since that night.
Titus had left the door unlocked.
You look down at your body, white nightgown glowing under the moonlight, feet bare and already a little cut up from rocks and sticks that you’d stepped on during your journey. Your hand instinctively flies to your stomach at the sound of a twig snapping behind you, and you whip your head around in its direction.
“Who’s there? What the fuck is going on?” You shout, voice cracking frantically, disoriented.
Another crack echoes from your side, and you turn to it, breathing deep to stop yourself from hyperventilating. Then another from the right, from behind you, all around, and you turn to each of them, twisting your body around, biting your lip to keep in any panicked sound you might make, heart racing so fast you think it might burst right from your chest.
“Show yourself!” You scream into the void of trees.
Everything goes silent for a few moments, until the sudden sound of cold, hollow laughter emerges from behind you.
You feel the blood drain from your face as a sick knot twists from your stomach and painfully up through your throat. You know that laughter.
“Good god, little girl, enough of the fuss,” Priscilla’s icy, reedy voice says through her laughter.
You quickly turn around, backing up as you swallow that knot and replace any hint of fear with anger. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re not supposed to be here!”
She’s wearing a white gown similar to yours, her long black hair slightly disheveled, black rings under her eyes. There is just the slightest hint of scarring on her cheek from your last encounter. Her smile is crooked and wild, the loss of her sanity shining through it.
“Hmm, no?” Priscilla mocks. “Why? Because the servants who have loyally worked for my family for decades said I wasn’t? Because they showed your idiotic security an empty house? I mean, they certainly showed them most of the house, but these old mansions have so many hidden passageways, it’s very easy to get confused and miss things.”
You suck in a breath, eyes widening just slightly. When you get back to Titus, you’ll have to tell him to add that head of security to the list of future sacrifices.
“Doesn’t matter, I was being nice before when I fucked up just your face last time,” you spit, fist clenching at your side. “Come any closer and I’ll make good on my promise to fucking kill you, I swear—"
A flicker of light at Priscilla’s side catches your eye, derailing your train of thought. Her smile only widens, sharp teeth glowing pearly white, as she lifts a long knife with a bejeweled handle up.
In an instant, Priscilla catches up to you, pressing the sharp point of the blade into your chest. “Did you think I’d lure you out here without being prepared for you? You’re a fucking savage monster who caught me off guard last time, but you’re not the only one who can fight.”
“L-lure me?”
Priscilla laughs again, loud and maniacal, shooting dread up your spine.
“Darling, you live in a world of Satan worshipping and rituals, and you never considered other dark magic might be out there? Sleepwalking hexes are so easy to put together.”
She twists the knife as she steps closer, not pressing hard enough to break your skin, but it doesn’t stop the bile from forming in your throat. You know the Danforth’s have all kinds of ritual books and grimoires in their collections, and you curse yourself for not looking further into them before.
She’s got you cornered, but you’ll be further damned if you let Priscilla sense your fear.
“Doesn’t matter, Titus will notice I’m gone any minute, and he’ll—”
“Come save you?” Priscilla says, cutting you off. She grabs you by the shoulder, dipping the knife down to your stomach as her boney hand digs into your skin. The knife is pressed right to the middle of your bump, and you flash back to that nightmare, to Priscilla plunging it into your womb, and you freeze. “That’s what I’m counting on, little girl.”
+
The sudden sound of his phone ringing lurches Titus out of his slumber and the very first thing he notices is that you are missing.
His arm reaches out to your side of the bed, frantically feeling around but coming up with nothing, and his body sits upright in an instant.
He shakes himself out of his confusion, rubbing sleep from his eyes as his phone continues to ring from the bedside table.
Unknown number.
“Hello?” Titus grumbles, voice raw from waking up.
“Ti?”
“Baby?” All feelings of sleep drain completely from him, and the hot, liquid feeling of dread seeping up his throat replaces it. “Baby, what’s going on? Where are you?”
“I-I’m at the place... Le Bail’s clearing.”
He’s already on his feet, throwing on his sweatpants and white undershirt, “What are you doing out there, sweet girl?”
His voice is far too gentle, far too even, but the hair standing up on the back of his neck, and the bumps overtaking his body tell him something is deeply, terribly wrong, and he has to remain calm.
Titus rushes to the duffle bag he’s kept on the other end of the room, one hand pressing the phone to his ear, while the other rummages through. He grabs his gun, shoving it in the back of his pants, and a long, serrated hunting knife.
“S-sleepwalking again—”
“Fuck’s sake, you’re taking forever! Tell him to get his sorry ass out here!”
Titus freezes, face going pale. He’d know that frigid voice anywhere, been on the receiving end of that ire many times. “Is that?”
“Yes,” you cut off quickly, a shake in your voice.
He swallows. She must be threatening you for you to sound so scared. His girl doesn’t scare easy, not at all actually. “Did she hurt you? The babies?”
“We’re okay for now. But you need to meet us here—"
“Fucking hell, give me that,” there’s a rustling on the other end of the phone, and Titus winces when he hears the sound of something thudding against skin, and your soft groan of pain. “Titus, Darling, we need to talk, now, or I’m going to carve your little bastard spawn from your whore’s belly and feed them all to the wolves.”
“Priscilla if you lay a hand on her—"
“Already have, idiot. Her pretty face just took a nice hit, not nearly close to what the little monster did to me, of course.”
“Priscilla, I swear on all the fires of hell, if anything else happens to her, I’m going to make you regret it.”
“Promise?” She mocks. “Don’t take too long, I’ve got a newly sharpened blade just begging to rip into Mrs. Danforth’s skin. Ta ta!”
Titus yells through the clicking of the phone. He grips the knife tight in his hand as he darts down the stairs, not bothering with socks or shoes.
His heart pounds as he runs into the dark of the night, the black void of the trees. He hasn’t felt this helpless since the night of your hunt, when he desperately chased after your path of carnage throughout the resort grounds. Just like then, all his thoughts are consumed by his need to get to you, to protect you.
+
Your hand cradles your cheek, a slight bruise already forming from where Priscilla had punched you when she snatched the phone. You still look at her with a dark scowl. “He’s not coming unarmed, you know.”
Priscilla clicks her tongue and traces the knife up and down your belly. “I don’t care. I’ve got the advantage no matter what, little girl,” she says as she slinks around your body, keeping the blade pressed against you. Her cold hand wraps around the back of your neck, as she secures her position behind you, and she yanks your neck back. “Just feel lucky I’d rather he watch while I gut you, or you and those things growing inside you would already be food for rats.”
Your breath hitches, but it’s not panic that runs through your veins. No, the adrenaline of a fight is surging through you, fusing with your blood cells as your mind races for a way out of her grip. You’re not some helpless thing, and you will not let this pathetic hag outsmart you.
If it weren’t for the babies, you’d already be risking a piece of your body against her blade. It wouldn’t be the first time you endured the highest pain, and you doubt she’d be anywhere worse than the Le Domas’s. But your hand stays firmly on your belly, where you can feel the softest fluttering under your skin.
You take in a deep breath, anything to keep your heartbeat even, so they don’t feel the danger you’ve walked them into. You can only hope Titus gets here soon to give Priscilla a good distraction.
+
Titus’s heart is racing, hot and big, thumping so hard in his chest it feels like it’s going to burst right out. His feet sting from the cuts he gets running over rocks and sticks, but he stamps down the feeling, not allowing himself to register it. The only pain that matters is the sting in his heart, the sick bile that burns his throat, as he runs to you.
His vision is in a tunnel, zeroed in on the path he’s walked hundreds of times in his life, the one that goes to where all of this began for his family. The place that used to bring him so much proud and truly connect him to his family’s power, now feels like a distant grave, haunting and heavy as he gets closer.
A beam of light shines down from where it reflects off the moon, and just ahead Titus can see the clearing, like a twisted version of his recurring childhood dream. Your laughter isn’t waiting for him beyond the trees, just dead silence.
He slows down his steps and raises his gun, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He takes smooth, methodical steps as he approaches, readying himself for anything he could find.
The first thing he sees is you, beautiful in your white gown under the moonlight, fingers tapping your tummy, almost angelic in the way you glow. The light catches through the fabric, and he can see your bare body underneath, wishing more than anything this was just a romantic moment for the two of you. But there is a fire in your eyes, a caged smolder as your lip is bitten between your teeth, face scrunched in anger and frustration.
You’re holding back, Titus knows, because his girl would never back down from a fight so easily.
Priscilla is behind you, hand around your neck and knife firmly pressed to your stomach, using your body as a human shield. Titus swallows a lump as the two of you make eye contact, your brows raising just slightly in relief that he’s here.
“Oh, Titus, so nice of you to join us,” Priscilla says, licking her lips. “I was beginning to think you finally came to your senses and realized the little thing was too much trouble.”
You scoff. “You haven’t begun to see trouble—"
“Shut it!” Priscilla hisses, squeezing down on your neck. “You stupid—"
“Hey!” Titus barks, clicking the safety off his gun. “Enough! Priscilla you’ve gone too fucking far, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Something in her face cracks, every muscle twitching at once, and Titus has never seen her like this. She’s completely deranged, gone completely mad, and when she speaks it's with an uneasy whine. “I’m taking what should be mine! You were supposed to be mine!”
Titus keeps his gun up, and his eyes quickly dart to you as you both share a look of understanding. There isn’t going to be any reasoning with her. Your body starts to buzz, the need inside to tear apart begins to wake up, that gnawing voice in your mind that wants to kill starts to sing. But the knife is still at your belly, and even though you can’t actually read his mind, you know Titus wants you to wait until he can open an opportunity for you to attack.
“You’re doing all this for my attention? To get me back?” Titus asks, voice softer than he’d ever thought possible. At least, he’s never spoken this softly for anyone but you.
“Yes,” she whines again, nails digging into your throat, but she’s not blocking your airway. “I-I’m sorry, Titus, I should have never let you go. Nobody is more perfect for me than you, and I was made for you. I always did everything you wanted, Ti, you remember? The amount of times I let you mutilate and defile my body, and I always wanted more, always gave in to your appetites.”
You watch as your husband’s jaw clicks, and your lips quiver into a frown. You know those appetites well, you’ve fed into them so many times, and craved them for your own body. You know he’d certainly tried to unleash his most sadistic fantasies completely on her, but he’d told you he could tell she wasn’t as into it. Not the way you are, his perfect, sick match.
“I can do all of that again, whatever you want. You want to tie me up in the ropes? You want to hit me with a paddle until I bleed? Choke me?” her voice drops in a tone more desperately seductive with each suggestion. “I’ll pet your hair while you suck on my tits and call me mommy. Or I’ll let you fuck me in the ass and call you Daddy, whatever. I just want you back. I want that life back!”
“And you thought this was the way?” Titus asks, doing his best to put on an air of pity to disguise the disgust he feels at her words. Sure, there was a time where her promising all of those things would have made him putty in her hands, but not anymore. Not when he has you.
You wish you could laugh at how easily she’s falling for his act.
“O-of course,” Priscilla sniffs, hands starting to shake. Her grip on you loosens subtly, and you know your chance to break away is coming soon. “I-I know you, Titus. I know your soul. I know what you need. You want someone who could be worthy of Mr. Le Bail? Someone who would do what needs to be done? That was always me.”
“Cill,” Titus coos, taking a step toward her. He pauses, then continues when she doesn’t try to back away this time. He looks to you for a moment, a pain flashing in his eyes at what he has to do, and your chest burns seeing him be gentle with someone else, especially her. “I know that. I know all of that.”
Priscilla gasps, lip wobbling as she pouts, “Th-then why...why are you bothering with her?”
Titus clicks his tongue, stepping into both your spaces. The hand that’s not on his gun subtly brushes your stomach, a movement so small Priscilla doesn’t catch it. She stands up straighter, looking up at Titus with wide eyes as he stands right in front of you.
“You know how I like to play my games, Cill,” Titus says. “Are you going to tell me you really forgot how I love to torture the mind just as much as the body? Look at you, look at how badly you want me, what lows you’ve stooped to, to get me.”
His face is so close, but his attention is all on her behind you, as he raises his gun and holds the barrel of it right to your head. A tear runs down her cheek as she sobs, “You’re so cruel to let it go on this long.”
“I know, Sweetheart, but it’s time to finish this, don‘t you think?” Titus whispers, and for just a split second, you can see a flash of revulsion in his eyes, before he dips his face down and presses a kiss to her lips.
She finally drops her hold on your neck.
At the same time, he carefully brings your hand to his pocket, where you feel the hard metal handle of his knife. That’s your signal.
You scream as you swing at her, and Titus drops his gun to back away with his hands up, smirking as he watches you nail her right in the face. Priscilla cries out in pain and lifts her knife to try to cut you in any way that she can, but you manage to dodge it in time, kicking the knife from her hand.
The force of it knocks her further to the ground, and you jam the heel of your foot onto her hand for good measure, crushing the bones with a delicious crunch.
“Ahh! You fucking bitch!” Priscilla screams in agony, broken hand clutched close to her chest.
She tries to go for the knife again, but you kick it away from her, turning to grab Titus’s from his pocket instead. She tries to get up in the one moment you take your eyes off her, but you’re back in time to hit the hilt of the knife onto her forehead, jamming it onto her skull several times while she falls to the ground, moaning and crying.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You spit down at her, grabbing her by the shoulders to yank her body off the ground.
“I deserve the life you’re living! I put all that fucking time in! You just walk in some broke, no-name, no-life, pathetic loser orphan, and think you get to be handed it?” Priscilla cries, the tears mixing with blood as they trail down her cheeks, and a huge gash oozes from her forehead. “Titus, baby, please, look at what she’s doing. She’s a fucking animal. You can’t bring children into the world with someone like—"
“SHUT UP!” You scream at her, punching her in the face, breaking her nose. The metallic smell of the blood has you licking your lips. “Do you know what I’ve done to earn my place? How many people I’ve killed?”
She tries to look behind you, to plead with Titus again, but he only stares hungrily at you. She knows that look, the ravenous, desperate starvation he would get when he had her tied up and seconds away from defiling her body in ways she’d only let someone of Titus Danforth’s status perform.
The things she let him do, only to lose out on all the power in the world to you.
And now he looks at you like that, the hunger coming from anticipation of violent acts you’re going to perform.
Still, she tries. “Titus!”
Desperation drips from her cries, but when he finally looks at her again, it’s with an emptiness of feeling. His eyes are indifferent to her, like she’s some object in the way of his goal. Like she’s a rotten fruit he has to waste time throwing in the trash. He wipes the taste of her from his lips with the back of his hand.
You’re tired of her looking at him like she has any entitlement to his soul. You own that soul, signed in blood.
You grab her by the jaw and force her to look at you, nails digging into her skin until it breaks, and the blood stains under your nails. “I told you, if you ever tried to destroy my family again, I would fucking kill you.”
Her eyes go wide, and she opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, as if there were any more arguments she could make that would actually convince you to spare her life.
All the wind is knocked out of her when you plunge Titus’s knife into her chest. A bright splatter of red flies through the air as you rip it from her, and her mouth drops open in a shocked, silent scream.
Time freezes, for just a moment. You stare into her terrified eyes, your heart beating so loud it’s the only sound in your ears, and you feel your body fill with a sick sense of strength. That fiery need to act, to attack until your limbs give out takes over. You felt it the first time you’d smashed Mrs. Le Domas’s head in with that stupid game box.
Senses flood back into real time, and you enter a trance as you raise the knife and lower it into her again.
You stab her over and over, eyes never leaving hers, blood flying all over your white nightgown, your face. You can feel the muscles of your cheeks twist and contort into a smile, and you hear yourself start to laugh, as the light fades from Priscilla.
Her body falls to the ground, lifeless and pale from loss of blood, the sound it makes it heavy as it lands. There’s probably about a hundred stab wounds from her chest to her lower belly, and this time you didn’t black out. You felt and saw every single one of them.
Behind you, Titus is absolutely rocked. His mouth is dropped open from heaving breaths, eyes blacked out, hands sweaty and twitching from the need to touch, to grab.
His eyes trail down from you to Priscilla’s body. Her eyes are blank, mouth opened in a scream, but completely baren. Her soul has already been ripped to hell, and he wonders if Mr. Le Bail smiled when he took it.
Titus remembers a moment they had very early in their...entanglement. He wasn’t sure at the time what they were, nor what he truly wanted from her, and he’d asked if she could love someone like him.
Priscilla had laughed.
“People like us don’t have any use for love.”
That was when he’d cut off any chance of trying to feel something for her. Their time became transactional almost, because she was one of the very few who could scratch an itch with him and come back for more. He knew why she would, he knew it was because she thought one day she’d sit next to him at the top of the world.
How wrong she was.
He looks back at you, the woman who loves him. The woman who is bringing his children into the world.
The woman who gives it to him just as good as he gives it to her.
Yes, Titus has great use for love.
You’re covered in blood, drenched in it so much that most of your white gown is stained pink. And you’re fuming, chest rising and falling quickly with deep, loud breaths, eyes looking wide and angry and wild.
Without a second thought, Titus practically floats over to you, caught in your trance as he takes you in his arms and kisses you.
You drop the knife and wrap yourself around him, whining into the kiss, eyes closed desperately tight. Priscilla’s blood coats Titus’s skin as you run your hands all around him, clawing your way to ripping his shirt off, so you can scratch down his chest.
He tastes that same blood on your lips in your kiss, and he resists the urge to lick up your face, clean you with his tongue. His lips trace down your neck, biting and moaning, reclaiming your skin, as you push your body flush up against his warmth, as though you could fuse to him. His cock is hard against your tummy and it sends an aroused thrill right to your core.
“Oh, my terrible little Lamb, my baby,” Titus whimpers pitifully, as he yanks down the straps of your nightgown, freeing your blood covered breasts. Your nipples are peaked from the cold air, and he looks at you with wide eyes, mouth dropped open and drooling from his need to latch onto them. “Such a fucking monster, so strong and so fucking sexy. Need you so bad, wanna fuck you hard.”
He tears down the dress the rest of the way, and it pools at your feet to reveal the rest of your naked body into the moonlight. Titus licks his lips at the sight of the glistening between your legs, the act of the kill has you dripping.
Before he can get his mouth where he really wants it, you grab onto his jaw hard, enough that your fingernails leave crescent shaped indents in his freckled skin. You force his face back, make him look at you, and he yields his control as you slap him on the cheek, the crack echoes loud through the night.
“You want to fuck me, Daddy?” You sneer at him meanly, grabbing his face again.
He nods his head and whimpers again, dick twitching in his pants. “Yes, baby, want to so bad.”
“Show me,” you say, voice low, seductive, pulling him closer to you. Your hands snakes around to the back of his neck, and you bring him in for another violent, biting kiss. It’s messy and wet and you don’t know who’s more desperately needy in their moans, but Titus dips his tongue into your mouth and you suck the mixture of blood from it willingly. Your grip moves to his shoulders and you push him back with both hands, eyes blown dark and wild. “Get on your knees.”
Titus smiles wide, white teeth shining like blood covered fangs as he drops to the ground, arms out and ready for your instruction. You think about the things Priscilla had offered to him, the ways she’d let him use her. All you think about is how you’ve done each of those, not just for his pleasure to appease him, but because they are all things that make you feel worshipped.
That’s all you want right now, a reminder that he is obsessed with you above all else, even the devil himself.
“I hated seeing you kiss her,” you say, pouting as your hand grazes down his cheek. “I know you had to, but you need to show me how you love me. Show me how you worship me.”
Titus already knows the way to show you, as he grabs you by the back of your legs and brings your body to him, kissing along the small swell of your belly. His fingers dip between your legs, and he moans at feeling of your slick seeping around his fingers. He takes a moment to rub the tips of those fingers along seam of your pussy, before dipping them between to slide into your entrance.
You moan, high and sudden at the way the fill you, so thick, and your mouth drops open. He’s looking up at you, eyes sparkling from the stars in them, lips pressed to your belly, fucking you slowly.
“I’ll worship you, my love,” Titus whispers, nuzzling his cheek to your skin. He lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder, and you grip into his silver curls for balance. “As long as I get to fuck you, but I already worship you for all time.”
"Make me come on your tongue the way I like,” you whine, “and you can fuck me as hard as you wish, any way you want. Be good for me, Daddy.”
And with a hungry grunt he’s on you. His fingers start to fuck into you hard and fast, curling up to that spot that drives you crazy, as his tongue dips between your lips to lick circles around your clit.
His moans are ravenous and low, vibrating into your pussy as he eats like a man starved. Eyes closed and lost in it, drowning in your juices as he works little whines and mewls from your lips. He uses all his strength to hold you up, as your balance starts to falter, while your head falls back and you roll your hips into his mouth, chasing that growing feeling of pleasure that pools in your belly.
“Fuck, oh fuck, that’s it Titus,” you moan, mouth dropped open, breath coming out in little catches. “Yeah, Daddy, just like that.”
Your legs start to wobble and your moans quickly shift into high pitched whines, chest rising and falling. Your fingers press harder into his hair, keeping him against you as he alternates between sucking on your clit, and rubbing with his thumb so his tongue can dip inside your pussy to drink you up like nectar.
His hand that grips your thigh is already leaving bruises, stained from Priscilla’s blood that covers both your bodies. He holds you tight to keep you up when there’s a turn in your breathing, and you let out a loud cry of his name into the night.
“Fuck, fuck, just like that, good boy,” you moan, as your pussy clenches around his fingers, and gush down his hand.
You quickly lose your balance, and collapse down onto his lap, legs on either side of him, where he easily catches you into another kiss. Your heart races, hands grabbing his cheeks, and you lick your slick from his mouth, the mixture with blood sweet on your tongue.
Below, you can feel Titus’s cock hard, twitching and aching to be buried inside your tight cunt. He’s holding you so hard by the hips, subtly moving you back and forth on his lap as the two of you make out on the cold ground.
“Baby, little lamb, so fucking good for me, all fucking mine,” he grunts into your mouth, voice cracking on almost every word from how desperate he’s grown. “Lemme fuck you, please.”
“Yeah, Ti, were so good for me, fuck me like you want.”
His muscles ripple as he quickly maneuvers you onto your back in the dirt, while he holds your wrists down with one hand. He doesn’t bother taking his pants off all the way, just shoves them down enough to get his cock out.
You scream out as he guides himself into your warm cunt into one hard thrust, smiling as he starts to fuck you roughly, no frills. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder as the other wraps around his waist, thrusting his hips in and out of you at a brutal pace.
He’s holding your wrists down above your head with both hands now, looking down at you with a dark, voracious intensity. “Look how deep you take me, Little Lamb. Pretty pussy just made to be ruined by me.”
“Yeah, Daddy,” you moan, fingers clawing at the ground below where they’re trapped. Your back arches up to him, and you can feel where the nature has scratched you up.
Titus lets out a long groan, eyes shutting as he tries to hold back from coming too soon, “Fuck, baby, c-can’t call me that, want this to last, shit. Doin’ so good for me.”
You smirk, but you hold to his request, also not wanting the moment to end too soon. It’s been so long since you’ve really been able to unleash on each other, and even now you can feel him holding back for the sake of the babies.
Still, the snarling and the growling and the moaning the mixes with the slap of his skin against you, the screams you release, and you know you must sound like animals.
Titus finally lets go of your wrists and you tug him down into a kiss, tugging hard at his curls as your pussy clenches around him. His hands are everywhere now, painting even more of your body in blood and bruises, covering you in his touch, erasing any sense of someone else on your skin.
"All mine, all fucking mine,” Titus repeats, whining frantically like he’s trying to remind himself more than you. He can’t shake the feeling of almost losing you again. His need to claim and to feel you, to keep you close and tangible, to make sure you both know that you’re still here, you’re always his.
His head dips down to your chest and he bites at your tits, sucking on your pert nipples, moaning and whimpering around them, while you beg him to fuck you harder.
“Say it, Little Lamb, say you’re mine,” Titus begs pathetically, sitting up to look at you.
You whine at the loss of his heat, and you bite your lip as your eyes go wide, nails scratching hard down his chest. You cover the angry marks from earlier with fresh lines, and roll your hips down into him, pussy pulsing from need.
Titus grabs you by the neck, stilling your movements in an instant as his own slow down. He fucks into you with slower, harder thrusts, cock hitting deep, and forcing the air from your lungs. “Tell me, Little Lamb. You already know I worship you. You know my soul is owned by you, nobody else, my sweet girl.”
His hand squeezes down for a second, and your head goes a little hazy as you smile. You hope his handprint is able to stay till the morning.
When he releases, you gasp for breath and choke, but your eyes are filled with a wild joy as you whimper, “’m all yours, Titus. My soul is yours, my body is yours, it’s all for you. Please, come inside me, fill this pussy, it’s all for you.”
“Shit,” his eyes roll back and he goes back to his rough pace, body collapsing on yours again. He can feel it building, that ball of pleasure that starts in his heart and climbs down, and he kisses you through it. “That’s it, Little Lamb, that’s right. My girl, come for me, my good girl.”
He brings a hand between your legs and rubs your clit, cock twitching inside you, body begging for release.
An entire night’s worth of adrenaline hits you all at once, white hot pleasure sparks through every nerve ending, and you let out a scream of his name again, back arching up into him, so you can feel his entire being consume you all over.
“Titus! Fuck!” your pussy clenches down hard, gushing around him as you come again.
You’re alive, truly alive, no matter what anyone has tried to do to you, tonight or all the nights before, and you feel it all the most right now, with your husband’s cock deep inside.
And Titus feels it too, biting down on your neck and crying, tears falling as his cock releases inside you. “Shit, baby, god you feel so fucking good.”
Both of you shake through it, coming down slowly as pleasure runs through both of your veins, energy passing between each other. Titus’s hand wanders down from your breast to your stomach, where his fingers spread possessively on the bump. You both take in deep breaths, as your hand joins on top of his, thumb running circles on his skin.
You kiss his cheek, drinking up the tears that fall. “Oh, my love, I’m still here.”
“Could have lost you, I’m a fucking idiot,” Titus mumbles, voice shaking like he’s a second away from sobbing. “Don’t know what I’d do with out you in this world. Can hardly remember who I was before.”
“I know,” you say, because you understand. Too often you have felt exactly the same. “But you haven’t lost me. You came for me, for us.”
You press down on his hand to make your point, and you feel his gasp on your neck when your tummy flutters under his touch. His babies, all three of you, are right where they are meant to be, here with him.
You lay together quietly for a few more minutes, your hands petting through his hair to calm him, his fingers tracing shapes on your tummy, until the bodily fluids that have covered both of you finally start to feel foul. Titus pulls out slowly, licking his lips at the sight of him leaking out of your cunt, one of his favorites to watch for as long as he can.
But quickly you tell him to get you into a bath, and who is he to argue with you after all he’s put you through?
He doesn’t bother to try to redress you, the dress will have to be burned anywhere, so he just stands up and scoops you up into his arms. He holds you like a new bride as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, before he begins to make the trek back through the woods toward the estate.
For just a moment, you turn back, looking at the place where his family’s legacy began, and where yours could have ended. Well, if that bitch had been just a little smarter.
Priscilla’s body lies cold, vacant eyes staring off into space in your direction, and you scrunch your nose in disgust at the sight of her.
“What do we do with that?” You ask, tapping on Titus’s shoulder.
You feel him shrug as he carries you up the path. “Leave it. The wolves will consume her, and our people will clean up what’s left in the morning.”
You plant a satisfied kiss to his cheek, finally relaxing in his arms. “So, do you think there will be any other family members or ex-girlfriends that will try to kill me, or are we finally done with all that shit?”
Titus snorts. “Baby, you know there’s always going to be family to contend with, but I promise she’s the only psycho ex I have. Not that you couldn’t handle them anyway.”
“You’re hiding them so you get to watch me kill them again, aren’t you?” you ask with a suspicious frown, eyes squinted.”
“Ha!” Titus laughs, shaking his head. “Little Lamb, I promise I would not let you get into the this situation again, no matter how fucking hot it is when you kill someone for me.”
You roll your eyes, but nuzzle closer to his neck anyway. “Seriously Ti, I thought I was done fighting. We’re about to have children, I can’t go through this again.”
And a sick, guilty coil forms in Titus’s stomach. “I know, and I know I promised you wouldn’t have to fight again, but I mean it this time. You’ve really proven yourself enough. No more games to play.”
There’s an air on hurt and pain in his voice that makes you believe him. You know he doesn’t actually want to see you in danger, no matter how much you can handle it. You’re the gift brought to Titus Danforth by Mr. Le Bail, the Devil himself. You’re something just as precious as you are dangerous.
A monster whose heart was designed to match his.
+
+
+
Four Years Later.
The sun is shining down on the garden, warm and orange from the afternoon, while butterflies flutter around the new blooms. A soft breeze whisps through the grass, creating a gentle shaking sound from the blades. It’s a perfectly peaceful, quiet day.
At least, it would be quiet if it weren’t for the pair of screaming, laughing toddlers running through the grounds while their father chases them.
“Ahhhh! Daddy no!” a little voice screeches happily into the air, as she attempts to escape the strong arms of Titus scooping her up and tossing her into the air.
“Gotcha!” Titus shouts back, cackling wildly.
It’s quickly followed by the sound of high-pitched laughter, and you lower the book you’ve been reading to find your husband twirling your daughter around in the air, as she giggles so hard her face turns pink. Her red hair, pulled into pigtail braids that curl at the end, is starting to come undone, and you’re pretty sure you can see little twigs and leaves stuck in the strands.
“What are you doing?” You ask with an amused shake of your head.
“Daddy chased us through the bushes!” Your boy piped up as he runs up to Titus with a big smile, tugging on his pants leg.
“Mhm, even though we have a very important and fancy lunch to go to in an hour?” You ask, but it's more of a very stern reminder statement.
Titus cringes, looking at the mess he made of his daughter’s hair, and he carefully puts her back on the ground. He kneels down with her to straighten out her little navy dress, gives her a kiss on the cheek, then sends her over to you to get fixed up.
She walks over with her head hung low, arms behind her back, and apologetic pout as she climbs into your lap. “Sorry, Mommy, but It's all Daddy’s fault.”
Titus makes a soft, offended sound that you ignore, and you give her a soft smile as you start to pick the nature out of her hair. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Daddy is very naughty.”
“Hm,” Titus scoffs again, but when you make eye contact he simply smirks, as though to point out you’ve never complained about his naughtiness before. “Yes, because you’re always on your best behavior. Should I remind you about two weeks ago when you got them to play that prank on me during a work call?”
You smirk at the memory of dressing the twins up in creepy masks you found in the attack, and having them run at Titus with fake knives. In your defense, he’d been working nonstop, and nothing you were doing could distract him from it, so sadly, yes, you did have to use the kids. Ultimately, he found it to be completely hilarious, even if he spanked your ass raw that night in revenge.
Dahlia Violet and Prescott Chester Danforth were born just after midnight, the morning of Halloween. It was dark and stormy, lightning striking through the sky when you gave birth in one of the lavish baths of the Danforth Estate. Absolutely the perfectly way to bring your twins into the world.
They both came out crying, with striking red hair and big eyes, and both instantly calmed as soon as they were passed into their father’s arms. You’ll never forget the look on Titus’s face, the awe and wonder that someone like him could make two tiny things so beautiful. He’d been filled with the instant love he hadn’t felt since the first moment he saw you.
Even with time passing, his love for them hasn’t changed. Many a critic in your lives, the people who always misunderstand Titus, have said that his interest in all of this would pass. Titus Danforth can never be held down by a family, he’s too wild.
They simply don’t get it. They may know he has a monstrous side, but they do not know his heart.
You see his heart as Prescot reaches his hands up with a small, face-scrunching frown, and Titus pulls him up into his arms. Your boy has always been the more quiet one, not sensitive, but smart and inquisitive, always watching and studying any situation. He knows how to express anything he feels, very directly, and Titus has joked that he’s just like you and Ursula.
“You shouldn’t make Mommy mad,” Prescott says, pressing his little face into Titus’ cheek.
“Yeah?” Titus asks with a soft laugh. “Why’s that?”
Prescot shrugs. “Because she’s in charge.”
You snort at the same time that Titus lets out a raucous laugh and kisses his son’s cheek. “Smart boy, but what about me? You want to make me mad?”
“Daddy, you’re never mad!” Prescott proclaims.
Again, you can’t stop the snort that comes out, and you bite your lip to not laugh any louder.
Titus shakes his head at you as he walks over to the little patio area, and he sets Prescott down carefully in one of the seats. He straightens out the boy’s blazer jacket, and tips his face up to look at him. “I’m never mad at Mommy, or Dolly, and I am never mad at you, sweet boy. No matter what. Unless we get so messy we’re late to Mommy’s lunch.”
“You’re also going to make us late to stay with Auntie Ursula!” Dahlia whines.
Where Prescott stops at being calm and collected, Dahlia takes after her father, a little girl of action. She’s always buzzing to do things, to find new adventures, and to get into trouble. Spending a long weekend away in the city with just Ursula is exactly the kind of adventure she’s been needing.
“That excited to get away from us, Dolly?” Titus asks with a faux pout. “My little princess trying to escape the castle.”
“Auntie Ursula said her house is on top of the world!” Dahlia exclaims, clapping her little hands together. “But I’ll still miss you, Daddy!”
As soon as you release her hair, she hops off the seat and runs over to snatch her brother away from Titus, and you both smile as you watch them run, shouting something about racing to the town car.
Your heart has never been so full.
Titus comes over to help you up, and you pull him in for a quick kiss, enjoying the brief moment where the twins won’t interrupt you. You pull away to rub the lipstick from him, and his crinkly eyes never leave yours. He’s only gotten more handsome with age, still in that same shape you met him, still covered in freckles, with the same silver hair, only a hint of age from the last few years you’ve known him.
“Excited for a weekend all to ourselves?” he asks, wrapping your arm around his to walk you to the car. “Not that I won’t miss them.”
“No of course, I’m going to miss them every second,” you say. Still out of earshot of the twins, you stand up on your tip toes to whisper into Titus’s ear, licking the shell and tugging on the lobe, “You'll have to come up with some pretty big distractions for me.”
He cocks his brow at you and smirks. “Little Lamb, you have no idea what you’re in for.”
Before you can tease each other more over the promise of your first child free weekend in so long, the anticipation of being able to dabble in your old ways of running through the woods like animals heat, Titus is off to scoop the twins up again.
He gives you a sly wink over his shoulder, shouting, “Love you, my baby!”
“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” you say with an amused shake of your head. And you can’t help but smile as you watch the three of them together, still a little in disbelief that this is your life.
Off in the distance, in the shadows of the tree line, your eyes catch sight of the shadow of a man. He smiles at you and gives you a nod, before disappearing with a whisp of leaves in the breeze.
For a moment you pause, then still looking at where you could have sworn he just stood, you smile, and nod back.
FIN.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N 2: again, thank you to everyone who has been reading this series!!! i have had sooooo much fun with Titus, and I'm glad you all have too ! PLEASE comment and REBLOG!!! reblogs do more than likes!!!
notes: pure fluff, no use of y/n, birthday boy garrett graham is a sap
For as long as you could remember, you had a personal cheerleader in the form of Garrett Graham by your side. He taught you how to ride a bike and ice skate and by the time the two of you reached high school, you were practically fearless. Not because the world didn't scare you, but because you knew whatever happened, Garrett would be there to catch you. He was there when your first boyfriend dumped you (he was also at said ex boyfriend’s house giving him a black eye a week later) and he was there teaching you to drive stick when you got your drivers license.
This continued into college, where the two of you were stuck to each other like glue. You were at every hockey game with his name on your back and you took celebratory shots with him at every party. Until, for the first time in your life, you went somewhere without him. You'd gotten a once in a lifetime scholarship to study abroad and despite all of the excuses you came up with, Garrett refused to let you miss out on spending a year in Italy. And you loved him for it, really, but you missed him just as much.
It was terrifying at first, being on your own and having to watch your own drink out at bars instead of having a built-in bodyguard to do it for you. But you were determined to make the best of it and you did. Not only did you ace every single one of your classes, you walked miles and miles everyday making sure you didn't miss a single sight or miss the hole-in-the-wall cafe that delivered the best cappuccino you'd ever had.
It was a dream, truly. But once the holidays started approaching, the homesickness hit hard. You were used to being away from your family for long periods of time and even your friends, but you couldn't stand the thought of missing Christmas with Garrett or worse, his birthday. He'd tried to buy you a plane ticket home for the holidays but you refused to accept it. He would never expect you to pay it back, but the guilt would eat at you until you did anyway.
It was on your weekly facetime before Christmas that you broke the news to him. “I'm sorry, Gare,” you sighed and picked at a loose thread on your Briar hoodie, “I'm just not gonna be able to swing it this year. But I'll mail your gift, okay? I expect a call when you get it.”
“I don’t care about a gift,” was his predictable response before he gave an understanding smile to the camera. You could see the disappointment in his eyes but he kept his voice light and shook his head, “it’s okay. It’s just one year, right? You deserve to enjoy every second of Venice.”
He was so understanding and supportive it made your heart ache. And rationally, you knew he was right; one year apart wouldn’t kill you. But it continued to eat at you until you decided it simply wouldn’t do. You had picked up a part time job at the local bar halfway through the semester and once classes ended for the semester, you worked every day and saved every penny. You worked a 12 hour shift Christmas Day just to afford the cheapest flight available on December 30th. It was a red eye with a horrific layover and wouldn’t get you to Briar until after 10 PM on the 31st, but you were determined to make it work. And more than that, you were determined to keep it a surprise.
Keeping a secret from Garrett was normally a monumental task, but truthfully, he’d been too distracted to notice when you stopped sharing your location. He insisted he was fine when Dean asked what drinks he wanted for his New Years/Birthday party and again when Tucker asked him what kind of cake he wanted, but all the guys could see through it. He wasn’t himself and wasn’t nearly excited enough about a party just for him full of hot girls and beer.
By the time the party came around, he wasn’t anymore chipper than he had been when you weren’t home for Christmas. He plastered a smile on his face though and thanked his friends for their efforts. It was a great party and Tuck had slaved all day in the kitchen over his cake, he didn’t want to be ungrateful and pout just because you had a very reasonable excuse not to be there. Logan and Dean had taken on the task of trying to set him up with one of the many girls throwing themselves at him, but he politely rejected each one.
“Alright, that’s enough. What gives? That chick was literally offering to get on her knees for you in the middle of the living room,” Dean scoffed and squinted his eyes at Garrett to try and read his mind somehow.
“Nothing, man, I’m just not in the mood. Look, I appreciate it, really, but I just-” Garrett was cut off by a knock on the door. He was lucky he was standing close enough to even hear it over the sound of the party filling the house. His brows furrowed when the knocking continued, no one usually knocked, they just let themselves in.
He shared a look with Logan before going to answer the door. His eyebrows scrunched in confusion when he saw you standing on his front stoop, a suitcase by your feet and a small helium balloon with the ‘New Year’ in ‘Happy New Year’ crossed out with Sharpie and ‘birthday’ written under it. You could see the gears turning in his head in real time as he tried to figure out if you were really here or if he was way drunker than he thought.
“Happy birthday,” you smiled brightly up at him and barely had time to react before he was leaning down and scooping you up into a tight hug. Your feet lifted off the ground slightly as your arms looped around his shoulders and his arms secured themselves around your back. “I missed you too, bub,” you chuckled and buried your face in his neck, feeling immediately at home when his woodsy cologne hit your nose.
His lips found the side of your head before he let you stand back on your own two feet. He pulled back slightly, but kept his hands braced on your waist. “What are you doing here? I thought…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head in disbelief.
You shrugged slightly and reached up to brush some of his messy curls back from his face. “Come on, you thought I was gonna miss the greatest party of the century?” You laughed, quoting Dean with air quotes. Garrett swallowed harshly around the lump in his throat as tears pricked at his eyes. You frowned up at him and rubbed his bicep soothingly, “hey, what’s wrong? Did I come at a bad time?”
He shook his head quickly and his bright smile finally appeared, unwavering as he cupped your face in his hands. “I just can’t believe you’re here. God, I’ve missed you so much and I-” he paused and his eyes flicked down to your lips, a movement you couldn’t miss if you tried. His voice was softer when he spoke again, “I wished for you. The guys made me blow out 22 candles and nearly caught the house on fire and I… I wished for you.”
It was your turn to get choked up and you leaned into his touch like second nature. How you thought you could survive being away from him this long? No clue. Your hands slid up to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his soft hair so you could pull him down and press your lips to his in a kiss that you felt like you’d waited your whole life for.
You could vaguely hear the guys whooping and whistling behind him where you two stood in the doorway, but you didn’t give it a second thought. Garrett kissed you back eagerly and one of his hands slid down to your lower back, keeping you pressed to him in a silent reminder that you were never leaving him again.
💋 ﹕𓏼 the power of lust. — andrew 'pope' cody convincing you to stay home . .
಄ ﹕𓏼 brought to you by laluhlove || not beta-read, we die like real men.
Summary: pope was just a man at the end of the day. a possessive, jealous man who never wanted you to stray away from his sight. so maybe he could convince you to stay home instead of going out with your friends he keeps telling you were “all trouble”.
Tags: SMUT!! overly jealous pope! possessive behaviour, established relationship, dub-con/cnc(consent is given prior to this piece), controlling behavior, oral(f receiving), creampie, multiple orgasms, pope being a certified munch, fingering, pope separation anxiety(at the start), slight cockwarming at the end, condescending/mean pope, overstimulation, manhandling
Pairing: andrew ‘pope’ cody x fem!reader
Word Count: 1.4k
Author's Note: nnnghhh controlling pope one chance PLEASE. this is kinda a thing that wormed into my head shh.. also first smut fic in a while, kinda nervy im scared.. wrote this with s1 pope in mind. also pope might be a bit ooc im SAUR sorry </3
“gonna go out with the girls later tonight after my shift! xoxo”
that was it. one text message to trigger this clawing sense of panic in pope’s gut. he had never sped home so fast.
sure, smurf was telling him about a job. sure, his brothers joked about him being whipped like a fucking dog. they didn’t know how much he needed you, so who gives a fuck about them?
by the time he got to yours, the sound of your shower running met his keen ears. the sight of your deep red dress—revealing and absolutely gorgeous on you—laid out on the bed along with the black heels you planned to wear tonight met his eyes next. his brows furrowed… you would be wearing that.
outside.
at the club.
where other people could see you.
now he couldn’t have that, could he?
—
you had only taken a few steps outside from the steamy shower you just had—your hair up in a towel with another around your body—when you felt two buff arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up.
“wha- hey!-” you yelped, immediately feeling whomever’s arms it was tighten around your core, lips finding your neck, planting kisses and soft nips that made you shudder.
“‘s me, babe.” pope whispered into your ear, his other hand moving up to cup your breast while the other kept you pressed against him. “who else would it be, hm? you not cheatin’ on me, right?” he murmured as he moved you two to your bed…
—
well shit.
the moment your back hit the soft fabric of your silken sheets, you knew it was over.
he was on top of you immediately, not giving you even a moment to get your bearings together as he pinned your wrists on either side of your head. his lips were on yours, firm and unrelenting in their roughness that resembled a starved man in its fervor.
then his lips drifted.. down your jaw, to the crook of your neck, down to your collarbone while he adjusted his grip, his hand now pinning your wrists above your head as his other hand moved to yank your towel off roughly.
“wont be needing this anymore, pretty.” he hummed against your skin, pulling back a moment to take in the sight of you.
breathless, flushed, and his.
he couldn't hold back his smirk as he leaned down to meet your eyes while his free hand traced down your body, roaming over your curves and settling for the space between your legs. he traced your inner thigh, tracing up and down before he went to your now-wet pussy.
“you goin’ somewhere tonight, yeah?” he cooed, almost mocking in the way he gave an almost feral grin at the sight of your parted lips giving out sighs and moans while he drove his fingertips in slow circles over your clit. “anythin i can do to make you stay w’me.. or is my baby all set in her decision?” he spoke, voice gruff as he felt himself grow harder at the way you reacted to his touch.
“mmgh- andy.. p-please theyre w-waiting f-f’me-” you gasp out, eyes widening as he slips a finger in.. going at a slow and steadily torturous pace. teasing you.
“yeah? your friends waiting on you? for what.” he spoke through grit teeth, as if the thought of you leaving him tonight was unacceptable. “you know me well, dont you babe? you think im gonna let you doll yourself up and slut yourself out for them, hm?” he growled out, adding another finger as he sped up his pace, eyes never leaving yours as you moan, letting out whimpers and sounds that made his head spin.
“fuck.. look at you. you’re so set on going out like a big girl, yet you're blissed out on my fingers. gonna go out there lookin’ all blissed out, babe?” he drawled out.. feeling your hands budge against his as you protested.
“f-fuck- andy- please w-we cant-” you cry out. he hummed, shaking his head.
“the hell we can't." he grumbled as he leaned down, kissing you once more and swallowing each sound you made.
his hands continued working. his mind set on one thing.
hes not letting you leave this house until youre fucking dripping of him—if you even had the energy to leave once he was done with you.
after you came undone on his fingers, he leaned back up, looming over you as he took his fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling as he reveled in the taste of you.
“all perfect. all mine.” he chuckled, leaning down and giving you a kiss.. one that drifted once more down the column of your neck.. down your chest, then your abdomen.
as he kissed down your body, he felt your legs try to close… he pried them open with ease, whispering against your skin in annoyance.
“do i have to tie you up or are you gonna let me eat you out, dolly?” he glared up at you, which you caught through the haze of pleasure he gave you.
as soon as you relaxed, letting him spread you open with ease, he smiled.
“there's my girl.” he praised as he continued the worship of your body like it was something sacred. his hands kneaded into the flesh of your hips and waist, down to your thighs where his head found its home between them.
he let out a slow breath as he took in the sight of you… dripping cunt all spread out and wet. all for him.
the sensation of his breath caused your legs to buck. he was such a fucking tease.
not for long, though.
he gave a slow lick, drawing a stripe up your slit, before his tongue dove in.
god, he always ate you out like he was starving for you. that with his fingers pumping in and out of you, drawing out your sounds of pleasure he took in like a trophy.
your hands went to his hair, tugging and causing him to give a whimper.
“j-jesus christ.. andy..” you moaned.
“youre not fucking leaving me, [name].” he whispered, kissing and lapping like a man starved having his first 5 star meal. “not tonight. not fucking ever.”
at his words, you were embarrassed to admit the fact that you came. you came embarrassingly quick. the shaking of your legs, the quick pants of “andy!” as if they were a prayer meant to save you, and the way he felt you clench around his fingers.
but no, he wasn't done. of course he wasn't done.
he had given you a minute or two to recover, kissing you and just making out.. before you heard it.
the clink of his belt being undone.
he quickly undid his belt, shedding his pants as the weeping tip of his uncut dick pressed against your entrance. prodding.
you barely had time to process before he slammed in, bottoming out. it had taken you a bit to adjust to him before, he was a girthy one.
he moved slow, trying to keep the semblance of self control he had. but shit, you felt so fucking good.
“fuck.. fuck.. s-so good.. so good for me. so fucking good.” he panted out, grunts escaping him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, pistoning in and out of you with a pace that seemed to increase with each thrust.
“s-slow down, andy-” you cry out, holding onto him, he gave a quick grunt, forcing himself to slow down even if he wanted to just go until he couldnt help but to cum in you… maybe he should.
“I-im not leaving- f-fuck-” you spoke through breathless pants, to which he chuckles at.
“yeah.. youre not leaving.. mmhm..” he hummed, kissing your neck and giving a bite. “gotta fill you up.. gotta fuck you till you have m’baby in you.”
it only took a few moments more of straight feral thrusts for him to slam into you, cock pulsing and twitching as he came straight into your warmth.
you moan at the sensation as he plopped down beside you, pulling you into him… grumbling.
“pull out..” you whisper… but he didnt, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you, keeping his dick in you.
“waste of my cum. rather not.” he spoke… before he whispered.. “you still leaving?”
you pause.. thinking for a moment as you caught your breath.
“uh.. dont think so.” you chuckle.
pope chuckled in turn, smirking. “did too good?”
“legs feel like jello. you did fucking amazing.” you hum with a kiss to his cheek.
pairing – garrett graham x nursing student!reader
summary – garrett finds out his girlfriend got his number tattooed on her body and reacts about as calmly as anyone could expect.
warnings – 18+, explicit smut, oral sex, fingering, rough sex, doggy style, spanking, praise kink, dirty talk, tattoo reveal.
notes from me – ANYWAAYYYYYYY!!!!!! as promised, yeah sorry i had to do it. this comes at the most 'recent' end of their timeline!! so i'll be going back and filling in gaps now, i was just desperate to post this!
word count – 6.9k
navigation – masterlist |
The second-skin comes off on Tuesday morning in the shower, which is less ceremonial than the tattoo probably deserves. She peels it carefully from one corner beneath warm water, watching the clear film lift away from her lower back in the fogged mirror with the awkward concentration of somebody trying to inspect a body part positioned almost specifically to prevent self-assessment.
The little forty-four underneath is darker than it will be once it settles completely, the skin around it faintly pink and shiny, but the numbers are clean. No leaking. No angry redness. No warmth beyond what she would expect from a healing tattoo and a hot shower.
She pats it dry with a clean towel, applies a thin smear of unscented moisturiser and spends the next two days pretending she hasn’t developed a habit of turning sideways every time she passes a mirror.
Garrett still doesn’t know. That part becomes funnier with time.
He spends Wednesday night in the hockey-house kitchen complaining that she’s been suspiciously affectionate since the weekend, as though her sitting sideways across his lap is evidence of organised crime. He pulls her closer each time she tries to stand, mouth finding the side of her neck while Dean watches from across the island with the hollow expression of a man being punished for sins committed in a previous life.
“What’re you hiding?” Garrett murmurs against her skin.
“Nothing.”
“You said that too fast.”
“You ask stupid questions.”
His hand slides under the back of her sweatshirt, warm palm settling over the curve of her waist less than an inch above the tattoo. She goes still for one sharp second, then catches his wrist and drags his hand around to her stomach before his fingers can wander lower.
Garrett narrows his eyes. She kisses him before the investigation can advance.
By Friday, the secret has begun to feel hot, because it’s his. A tiny private mark resting beneath her clothes while Garrett walks beside her across campus with one hand hooked through the strap of her bag, completely unaware that forty-four is inked into her skin.
He complains about practice. She complains about an exam question that used the phrase most appropriate intervention despite three answers being clinically reasonable. His thumb finds the bare strip of her wrist where her sleeve has ridden up. All the while, his number is sitting just above the waistband of her jeans.
The thought stays with her when he arrives at her dorm that night.
Her roommate has gone to visit her parents for the weekend, and Garrett appears just after nine in grey sweats and a black hoodie and cheeks pink from the cold. He has a backpack over one shoulder, though she doubts it contains a single item remotely connected to studying. The last time he brought a textbook to her room, it remained unopened beneath her desk for three days while Garrett insisted proximity counted as academic effort.
“Hi, baby,” he says when she opens the door.
She barely gets the lock turned before his hands are on her. It begins with one kiss, which is how most of their poor decisions begin now. Garrett catches her waist and pulls her into him with the deep, satisfied exhale of someone who’s spent the whole walk across campus anticipating exactly this.
His mouth is cold from outside and warm beneath it, lips moving over hers slowly while she hooks both hands into the front of his hoodie and walks him backward toward the bed.
“You missed me,” he murmurs.
“I saw you this morning.”
“Exactly.”
“You slept in my bed.”
He shakes his head. “Not long enough.”
The backs of his knees hit the mattress. Garrett sits and draws her down with him before she can pretend she intended anything else, her legs opening around his hips as she settles over his lap.
The first press of him beneath her is enough to strip whatever remained of the evening’s patience. He’s already half hard through the soft fabric of his sweats, heat and shape caught between them when she rolls her hips forward.
Garrett’s head tips back slightly. The smile that moves across his mouth is slow and knowing, his hands spreading over her hips beneath the oversized hoodie she’s stolen from him so many times it’s practically transferred ownership.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
She catches his curls at the back of his head and brings his mouth to hers before he can become any more pleased with himself. The kiss turns wet and deep almost immediately, Garrett’s tongue sliding over hers while she grinds down again, a little harder, friction catching warm between her thighs through the thin cotton of her sleep shorts and underwear.
He groans against her mouth. His fingers tighten. “Fuck, baby.”
Her hoodie is too warm suddenly. The dorm room is too small, too dim, the little lamp beside her bed throwing everything into soft amber while rain ticks faintly against the window. Garrett’s shoulders fill the space beneath her hands. His thighs flex under hers every time she moves, and she can feel him becoming fully hard beneath her, thick and insistent and still separated from her by several deeply unnecessary layers of clothing.
He kisses across the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, down the side of her neck with the greedy familiarity of someone returning to a favourite argument. His teeth scrape lightly beneath her ear.
She inhales and tightens her fingers in his hair. “Garrett.”
“Mm?”
“That feels good,” she breathes.
“I know.” His mouth drags lower. “You’re humping me like you’re trying to start a fire.”
She rolls her hips again because Garrett’s smugness has always been more effective encouragement than he understands. His hands guide the movement, pulling her forward over the hard line of him and then back, slower on the return so the pressure catches exactly where her body has already become embarrassingly sensitive.
Her next breath breaks against his cheek. Garrett smiles into her throat. “Yeah?”
“Don’t.”
“Wasn’t saying anything.”
She tugs hard enough on his curls to lift his mouth back to hers. Garrett laughs into the kiss, low and rough, then grips her beneath the thighs and stands. The movement steals a startled sound from her. Her legs tighten around his waist on instinct, arms locking behind his neck while Garrett takes one step, turns and lowers her onto the mattress. The bed gives beneath their combined weight, springs creaking a small complaint that neither of them acknowledges.
He comes down over her immediately. Their mouths meet badly at first, teeth knocking, her laugh caught between them while Garrett braces one hand beside her head and uses the other to drag her higher beneath him. Then the angle settles and everything goes hot again. His body fits heavily between her thighs, hips pressing down until she can feel the full hard length of him through his sweats.
She arches into it. Garrett’s breath catches. “Jesus.”
His hoodie becomes an obstacle. He sits back just long enough to grab the hem and strip it over his head, hair coming up with it in a dark, disordered mess. The shirt underneath follows, both pieces dropped somewhere near the foot of the bed while she pushes herself onto her elbows to watch.
Garrett catches her looking. His grin flashes. “See something you like?”
“Not especially,” she grins.
“Liar.”
He climbs back over her before she can improve the insult, one hand sliding beneath her hoodie and over her stomach. His palm is hot against her skin, callused fingers spreading over her ribs while he kisses her again and starts working the fabric upward.
She lifts her arms. The hoodie catches briefly around one wrist. Garrett frees it with a sharp tug and tosses it toward the chair, where it lands halfway over a clean pile of scrubs.
The air moves cool over her bare stomach and the little green lace bra she chose that morning with absolutely no ulterior motive. Garrett stills above her. His gaze drops. His eyes travel slowly over the lace, the soft rise of her breasts above the cups, the way her nipples have tightened beneath the fabric from cold air and attention.
“Fuck,” he says.
Her face warms. “You’ve seen this bra.”
“Don’t remember.”
She tilts her head. “You took it off with your teeth.”
“Must’ve been distracted.”
He bends before she can answer, mouth closing over one breast through the lace. Her head drops back. The thin fabric turns damp and warm under his tongue as he mouths her through it, one hand slipping beneath the other breast to lift it while his thumb presses over the sensitive peak. He sucks harder. Pleasure catches bright and immediate low in her stomach, dragging a helpless sound from her throat.
Garrett hums against her, he likes this part too much. Seeing the change in her breathing. Feeling her thighs shift more restlessly around his hips. Learning which pressure makes her voice climb and then repeating it with the focused persistence he brings to anything he has decided matters.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, mouth moving across the centre of her chest. “Know what you looked like all week?”
She swallows. “What?”
“Like you were thinking about me.”
“I was doing other things.”
“Mm.” He slips one finger beneath the edge of the bra and drags it slowly along the skin there. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”
His mouth finds the other breast. One hand reaches behind her, and the clasp opens with the efficient little flick he’s far too proud of having mastered. Garrett pulls the straps down her arms, drops the bra beside them and immediately puts his mouth back on her.
His lips closing around one nipple while his hand covers the other, squeezing and rolling it between two fingers until her whole body pulls tight beneath him. She grabs at his curls. “Oh, fuck.”
Garrett looks up at her without lifting his mouth, dark eyes warm and wicked beneath the hair falling over his forehead. He gives one slow suck, then releases her with a wet little sound. “Sensitive tonight.”
“It’s been days,” she whines.
“Four.”
“That’s days.”
“My poor baby.” His voice drops into false sympathy while his thumb circles the damp nipple he has left behind. “Been walking around all needy because her boyfriend had practice?”
“I’ve had exams.”
“Those are over.”
“Exactly.”
His grin presses against the skin beneath her breast. “So now you’re mine.”
The words send a hot, liquid pull through the centre of her body.
Garrett feels the way she shifts against him. His hand slides down her stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts. “These off?”
She lifts her hips. He drags the shorts and underwear down together, impatient once they catch around her thighs, his mouth following the movement over her stomach and hip. The clothing disappears over one ankle and lands somewhere beyond the bed.
Garrett spreads her knees. The air touches her first. Then his eyes, and his face changes.
There’s something shamelessly gratifying about Garrett looking at her like this, the same boy who can stand beneath arena lights in front of thousands of people without blinking now visibly losing the thread of his own breathing because she is naked on a dorm bed. He presses one palm against the inside of her thigh and opens her wider. “Baby.”
She covers her face with one arm. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Make what weird?” His thumb skims along the crease where her thigh meets her body, close enough that her hips lift toward it. “How wet you are?”
Her entire face heats behind her arm.
Garrett laughs softly, then kisses the inside of her knee. “That’s not weird. That’s hot.”
“Garrett.”
“Been like this since I got here?”
She lowers her arm just enough to glare at him.
His mouth curves. “Longer?”
“Come here,” she groans.
“I am here.”
“Higher.”
“No.” He presses another kiss farther up her thigh, then another, slow enough to make every inch between his mouth and where she needs it feel deliberate. “Like it down here.”
She knows that. Everyone in a three-mile radius may know that.
Garrett Graham treats getting his mouth between her thighs less like foreplay and more like a personal calling. He’s arrived late to parties because he refused to stop. He’s missed the beginning of a movie, let Tucker’s dinner go cold and once remained there long enough that she had to pull him up by the hair and remind him she possessed other body parts.
Now he settles onto his stomach like this is where he intended to spend the evening, one arm hooking firmly around her thigh while the other hand spreads her open.
His first lick is slow. It moves from low to high with the flat of his tongue, collecting the wetness already gathered there before pressing deliberately over her clit. Her hips lift from the mattress. Garrett keeps her there with his forearm and does it again.
“Fuck,” she breathes.
His mouth closes over her. There’s nothing tentative about the way Garrett eats her out. He licks like he’s hungry and has never been embarrassed by appetite, tongue circling and flattening and flicking until her legs are tense around his shoulders and the fitted sheet has begun to twist beneath her hands. He kisses her between strokes, wet open-mouthed presses that feel obscene in the quiet room, then drags his tongue lower and pushes it inside her.
Her breath punches out. Garrett groans into her. The sound vibrates through her body, low and rough, while he fucks his tongue into her with one hand still holding her open. She reaches down blindly, finds his curls and pulls, to keep him exactly there.
He understands. His fingers tighten around her thigh. “Missed this,” he murmurs against her, the words broken by another slow lick.
“You saw me yesterday.”
“Didn’t do this yesterday.”
His mouth closes over her clit again before she can argue, sucking with enough pressure to make her legs jump. She gasps his name. Garrett answers by pressing two fingers against her entrance.
He pushes one in first, slow only because her body is already clenching around the intrusion. The second follows quickly, stretching her with the familiar pressure that makes her thighs fall wider even as the rest of her pulls tight.
His fingers curl. Pleasure strikes deep and sharp, the angle exact enough that her back arches from the mattress.
“There,” Garrett murmurs.
She makes a sound that has no language left in it. His fingers begin moving properly, pumping into her while his mouth stays fixed on her clit, the rhythm deliberately uneven at first as he listens to her breathing and watches the twitch of her stomach. Then he finds it. The pace that makes her hips start chasing him, makes her fingers clench in his hair and her other hand grab uselessly at the pillow beside her head.
The room has narrowed to wet heat, the sound of Garrett’s mouth and the steady drag of his fingers and rain brushing softly at the window like the whole campus has agreed to look away.
“Oh my God,” she whimpers. “Baby, I’m–”
Garrett moans against her, his fingers curling harder. He knows. The fact that he knows makes it worse. She comes with her thighs clamping around his head and his name breaking high out of her throat. Pleasure rolls through her in hard, pulsing waves, stomach tightening beneath the drag of his forearm while Garrett keeps licking her through it, slower only when her body begins jerking away from the sensitivity.
By the time he lifts his mouth, she’s breathing like she’s run somewhere.
Garrett wipes the lower half of his face against the inside of her thigh with no dignity whatsoever and starts kissing his way back up her body. Her skin feels loose and over-warm beneath him, every place his mouth touches sparking faintly in the aftermath.
He kisses her stomach, between her breasts, the base of her throat. Then he comes over her and catches her mouth.
She tastes herself immediately. Garrett doesn’t ease her into it, tongue sliding between her lips while one hand wraps around the side of her neck, thumb resting beneath her jaw and fingers spread gently along her pulse.
The hold is firm without pressure. Familiar. Enough to keep her face angled exactly where he wants it while he kisses her slow and filthy, swallowing the little post-orgasm sound she makes when his hips settle between her thighs again.
He pulls back by half an inch. “Hi,” he murmurs.
Her mouth curves before she can stop it. Her body is still humming, muscles heavy against the mattress. “Hi.”
Garrett kisses her once more, quick this time, then brushes his nose over hers. “Roll over.”
His eyes are dark, cheeks flushed and mouth still wet from her. Whatever version of Garrett arrived smiling at her door has disappeared beneath something rougher and hungrier, the easy confidence sharpened now that he has her naked and loose beneath him.
She turns. The movement exposes the tattoo before she remembers it exists.
For the last twenty minutes, she’s been too occupied by Garrett’s mouth to think about anything except Garrett’s mouth. Now she settles onto her stomach, forearms folding near the headboard while the cool air brushes over her back.
Behind her, the mattress shifts. Garrett stands long enough to shove his sweats and boxers down, fabric dragging over his thighs before landing somewhere near the edge of the bed.
Then his hand slides over the back of her thigh. He lifts one knee onto the mattress, catches the pillow near her head and says, “Up a little, baby.”
She raises her hips obediently. Garrett tucks the pillow beneath them, adjusts her with both hands and goes completely still. Every muscle in her body remembers at once.
Her eyes widen into the pillow. “Baby–”
Garrett’s hands close over her hips before she can turn. Firm enough that the message is immediate. Stay.
She swallows. The room is silent behind her.
Garrett’s thumbs rest on either side of her lower back, just beneath the small square of skin where the tattoo sits. She can feel him looking at it. The attention is almost physical, a line of heat dragging across the freshly settled numbers.
“Fuuuck,” he says eventually.
The word leaves him slowly, low enough to move through the mattress. She tries to glance back over one shoulder. His grip stops her from twisting too far.
“Is that real?”
The disbelief in his voice makes her want to laugh, though her stomach has gone tight beneath the pillow. “Mhm.”
“Is that…” He trails off. His thumb moves closer, hovering beside the tattoo without touching the healing skin. “That’s forty-four.”
She presses her face into her forearm. “Yeah.”
“When?”
“The other night.”
“What other night?”
“The girls’ night.” She bites her lip. “When we went out to the bar.”
Garrett says nothing. The silence stretches long enough that the heat in her body begins rearranging itself around nerves. She had imagined Garrett shocked. She had imagined him smug, turned on, maybe insufferable enough that she would have to threaten to remove his number with a vegetable peeler.
She hadn’t imagined silence.
She pushes herself onto one elbow. “Baby, are you… are you mad?”
“Mad?” His hands tighten and release against her hips. “I mean– shit. It’s…” He breathes out hard through his nose. “Baby, that’s a tattoo.”
“Yes.”
“That shit’s permanent.”
“I know how tattoos work,” she breathes.
“I’m just saying.” He sounds dazed. “You put my number on you.”
She turns her face enough that she can see part of him over her shoulder: broad chest, flushed skin, curls fallen over his forehead, eyes fixed helplessly on the tiny forty-four as though it's altered the known structure of the universe.
“Well,” she says, and the laugh caught in her voice makes it softer than she intended. “I love you.”
Garrett’s gaze lifts to her face.
She shrugs carefully beneath his hands. “And I think it’s hot.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Then his hand slides over her ass. The touch is slow, almost absent at first, his palm following the curve of one cheek while he continues staring at the tattoo. His thumb presses into the soft flesh. His fingers spread wider.
“Hot,” he repeats.
“Mhm.”
“You think this is hot.”
“I did when I got it,” she nods.
Garrett bends. His mouth lands on the curve of her ass, one open kiss followed by another. She gasps softly when his teeth catch the lower edge of one cheek, biting just enough to sting before his tongue smooths over the mark.
“Garrett.”
He kisses higher, across the small of her back, careful when he reaches the tattoo. His mouth stops just beneath it, breath warm over the healing skin without touching.
“No liquids on this yet, right?” he asks, voice rough.
A giggle slips out of her before she can stop it. “Not yet.”
Garrett closes his eyes. She feels the exhale against her lower back. “Fuck.”
His hands move suddenly. One catches beneath her hip and pulls her higher over the pillow. The other spreads firmly between her shoulder blades, pressing her chest down as Garrett shifts closer behind her.
She feels the blunt heat of him at her entrance. “Baby–”
He pushes in. The first thrust is controlled only in the technical sense that Garrett doesn’t injure either of them. He fills her in one hard, steady drive, stretching her around him so quickly that her mouth falls open and the sound tears out before she can soften it.
“Oh, fuck, Garrett.” His fingers dig into her hip. “Holy shit.”
He withdraws nearly to the tip and drives back into her. The force sends her forward against the pillow, breasts dragging over the sheets while pleasure catches deep and hot through her body. She reaches blindly for the headboard. Garrett catches her other hip and sets a rhythm before she has finished taking the second breath.
Hard. Fast. No adjustment period because her body is already wet and open from his mouth, already clenching around him with every rough stroke. The bed knocks softly against the wall. Her dorm mattress squeaks beneath them with increasing distress.
Garrett’s breathing turns ragged behind her. “This is…” Another thrust drives the sentence out of him. “Shit. This is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
She whimpers into the pillow. His palm comes down against the side of her ass – a sharp, hot smack that makes her body jerk and tighten around him.
Garrett groans. “Fuck, baby.”
Her hands lose their grip on the headboard. One slips back toward him, finding nothing but his thigh for half a second before Garrett catches her wrist and pins it against the centre of her back. The position lifts her shoulder slightly and arches her deeper over the pillow. Garrett looks down at the curve of her ass. His cock disappearing into her. His number sitting neat and dark above all of it.
Something in him breaks. He fucks her harder. There’s no uncertainty left in the movement now. Garrett’s hips slam against her with enough force that the bed shifts beneath them, one hand holding her wrist while the other grips her hip and drags her back to meet every thrust.
The room fills with the wet slap of their bodies, her broken moans and the low, filthy things Garrett keeps saying every time the sight of the tattoo seems to hit him again.
“My fucking number.” She nods into the pillow, though he cannot see it. “On this ass.” His hand tightens around her hip. “Jesus Christ. You’re insane.”
The laugh that tries to leave her turns into a cry when he changes the angle, lifting her slightly higher and driving in deeper. “Oh God!”
“That it?” Garrett’s voice is rough and breathless now, all the usual smug control fraying at the edges. “Right there?”
“Yes.” She twists her pinned hand beneath his palm. “Baby, yes.”
He gives it to her again. Same angle, harder. Her whole body pulls tight. The pleasure is building too quickly, dragged out of the soft aftershocks of the first orgasm and sharpened by every deep stroke. Her thighs have begun to shake against the mattress, knees slipping wider while Garrett keeps her exactly where he wants her.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Pretty girl can’t even hold herself up.”
She presses her forehead harder into the pillow, voice breaking. “You’re fucking me too hard.”
“You want me to stop?”
She shakes her head so fast her cheek drags against the pillowcase.
Garrett’s hand leaves her wrist only so he can reach around and catch her jaw, turning her face enough that he can see it over her shoulder. “Use your words.”
“Don’t stop.” Her eyes meet his badly from the angle, vision already blurred at the edges. “Please, baby. Fuck me.”
His expression goes wrecked. “Good girl.”
He pushes her hand back to the mattress and drives into her hard enough that the next sound comes out of her as a sob. The orgasm hits before she has time to announce it. Her body clamps around him, hard pulsing contractions that make Garrett swear and lose the rhythm for one brutal second. Then he keeps going, fucking her through it while her legs tremble and her fingers claw at the sheets.
“Garrett,” she cries.
“I know.” His hand spreads over the side of her ass, holding her open. “I know, baby. Give it to me.”
She comes apart around him, hips jerking beneath his grip. Pleasure rolls through her so hard that her ears ring faintly, body suspended in the bright, breathless place where everything hurts in exactly the right way.
Garrett doesn’t stop. He slows for perhaps two strokes, just enough to let her breathe, then pulls her hips higher again.
“Baby,” she gasps, oversensitive and loose beneath him.
His palm slides gently along her spine, avoiding the tattoo, while his hips continue moving. “You good?”
“Yes.”
“Still want me?”
“Yes,” she breathes, the answer comes without hesitation.
Garrett bends and kisses between her shoulder blades. “Then take it.”
His pace builds again. The third climb is different. Messier. Her body is already shaken open, every nerve sparking too close to the surface while Garrett keeps driving into her with the relentless focus of somebody who has discovered a new reason to lose his mind and intends to study it thoroughly.
He reaches beneath her, a two fingers find her clit. She squeals.
Garrett laughs once, breathless and filthy against her shoulder. “There she is.”
“I can’t,” she whines.
“Yeah, you can.”
His fingers circle faster while his hips maintain the same punishing rhythm. She tries to close her legs, but Garrett’s knees are between hers, keeping her open. The pressure builds with nowhere to go, every thrust feeding it higher while his number burns invisibly at the base of her spine under his fixed attention.
“My girl,” Garrett says. “Look so fucking good with my number on you.”
She nods helplessly.
“Whose good girl, huh?”
Her mouth opens. Nothing useful comes out. Garrett’s fingers slow. The loss is immediate. She whines and pushes back against him.
He catches her hip. “Asked you something.”
“I am,” she gasps.
“Yeah?”
“I’m your good girl.”
The words hit him like contact. Garrett groans and drives into her, his fingers returning to the exact pressure she needs. “That’s right.”
Her third orgasm catches at the edge for one impossible second, body stretched between too much and not enough. Then Garrett’s thumb presses harder.
She comes with a sharp little cry that turns into a squeal halfway through, legs shaking so violently the mattress trembles beneath her. Her arms give out completely. Garrett catches her by the waist before she collapses awkwardly, holding her up while he keeps moving through the contractions with short, desperate strokes.
“Fuck.” His forehead drops between her shoulder blades. “Fuck, baby.”
She’s barely inside her own body now. Everything feels warm, loose and distant, Garrett’s hands the only clear edges left. He slows. His breathing is rough against her skin. His cock is still hard inside her, every small movement enough to make her twitch.
She swallows, trying to rebuild language. “Lemme…”
Garrett stills. “What?”
She turns her head toward him, cheek against the sheet. “Want you to finish… in my mouth.”
The words come soft and dazed. She tries to roll. Her body responds in pieces, thighs trembling beneath her and arms gone soft enough that Garrett takes over almost immediately, pulling out with a low, wrecked groan before catching her hip and turning her carefully onto her back.
He snatches the pillow away before it can drag across the tender skin at her lower spine, tosses it somewhere toward the wall and hooks both hands beneath her arms to draw her upright.
For a second, she only sits there between his knees, naked and thoroughly ruined, hair tangled around her flushed face and lips parted around breaths that still haven’t found a sensible rhythm.
Her thighs keep giving tiny, involuntary tremors against his, the room blurred pleasantly at the edges while Garrett kneels in front of her with his chest heaving and his cock hard, wet and flushed between them.
He looks at her like she’s done something genuinely dangerous. The tattoo. His number sitting permanently above her ass, still hidden from this angle and branded into the centre of his brain now that he knows it exists.
His hand comes to her face, thumb dragging slowly over her swollen bottom lip. “Look at you.”
She turns her mouth into his palm and kisses it, then reaches for him. Garrett’s breath catches when her fingers wrap around his cock. He’s slick from her and from himself, hot and heavy against her palm, and the first slow stroke makes the muscle jump visibly beneath his stomach.
“Baby,” he groans.
She looks up at him through lashes still damp from everything he has already done to her. Her body feels boneless, loose and warm enough that even lifting her chin requires concentration, but wanting him is simple. Wanting to give something back after he has spent the last hour pulling pleasure out of her until she could barely remember her own name feels simpler still.
She loves him. Stupidly. Completely. Enough to put his number into her skin and kneel there afterward with her legs shaking, wanting to watch his face when she makes him lose whatever control he has left.
Garrett cups the back of her head. His fingers sink into the tangled hair there, holding without directing her, his thumb moving once near the base of her skull. “You don’t have to, baby.”
“I want to.” The answer comes quiet and a little hoarse.
Something in his face shifts. His jaw tightens, eyes dropping briefly to her mouth before finding hers again. “Yeah?”
She nods and leans forward. The first drag of her tongue along the underside of him tears a rough sound from Garrett’s chest. She feels it more than hears it, low and helpless above her while she kisses the tip, lips closing softly around him before taking him into her mouth.
Garrett’s head falls back. “Fuck.”
His hand tightens in her hair as she works him deeper, tongue flattened beneath the hot weight of him while her fingers curl around the base. She’s sloppy from exhaustion and want, mouth already wet, movements slower than they usually are because her whole body is still recovering from him.
Garrett seems to like that more. The soft mess of it. The way she has to pause for breath with her lips still brushing him. The way she looks up at him like there’s nowhere else in the world she has any interest in being.
“That’s my girl,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re so good to me.”
The praise moves warmly through her, settling somewhere lower than the soreness and higher than her ribs. She takes him again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing as her hand follows the rhythm her mouth sets. Garrett looks down, and his expression breaks open.
She can see the tattoo still living behind his eyes, the disbelief of it layered into every filthy, affected look he gives her. His girlfriend kneeling between his thighs with his cock in her mouth and his number newly inked above her ass. The thought appears to have stripped away the final useful part of his brain.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, voice catching when she swirls her tongue around the head. “You put my number on your fucking body and now you’re looking at me like that.”
She hums around him. Garrett’s stomach jerks. His hips push forward on instinct, not enough to take over, only enough to slide him deeper across her tongue. Her eyes water faintly. She keeps looking up at him through the blur, one hand braced against his thigh and the other stroking what she cannot fit.
His thumb brushes gently beneath one of her eyes, catching the dampness there. “So fucking pretty.”
Her thighs tighten beneath her. She takes him again, eager despite how tired she is, mouth moving wetly over him while Garrett praises every little thing she does as though he cannot stop the words now that they have started.
“Good girl. Just like that.” She sucks harder. “Fuck, baby, your mouth.” Her nails catch lightly against his thigh. “Love when you look at me.”
She does. She watches every part of it: the tension sharpening his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his curls cling slightly at his temples, the hard flex of his stomach each time she takes him deep enough to make his breathing fail.
Garrett’s fingers spread more securely over the back of her head. “You know how fucking crazy you make me?”
She pulls back just far enough to breathe, her hand continuing its slow movement over him. A thin line of saliva connects her bottom lip to the flushed head before breaking, and Garrett watches it disappear with an expression bordering on pain.
She kisses him there once. “How crazy?”
He gives a breathless laugh that contains no real humour. “You tattooed forty-four above your ass.”
“Mhm.”
“Then let me fuck you until your legs stopped working.”
She smiles, dazed and soft. “They still work.”
“Barely.”
His thumb passes over her cheek. She turns and kisses it, then takes him into her mouth again before he can say anything else. Garrett groans her name.
The sound makes her try harder, because she loves hearing him come apart for her. Loves that Garrett, who carries entire games on his shoulders and makes confidence look effortless, cannot hide a single thing when her mouth is on him. Every rough breath belongs to her. Every flex of his hand in her hair. Every broken piece of praise dragged out of him while she strokes and sucks and watches him lose control.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Fuck, baby. Don’t stop.”
She doesn’t. Her hand slides lower, fingers tightening around the base as she takes him deeply enough that her throat works around him. Garrett’s hips jerk once. His free hand braces hard against the wall beside her bed, forearm flexing while he tries to hold himself still.
“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked.
She looks up at him and keeps moving. Garrett says her name again, rougher this time, but she only tightens her lips around him and strokes faster, wanting it. Wanting all of him. Wanting the moment his face finally loses every trace of control because of her.
His eyes drop to hers. That does it.
Garrett comes with a deep, broken groan, hips pushing forward once as his hand tightens helplessly in her hair. She takes him, swallowing around the first hot pulse while his whole body shudders above her.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Fuck– such a good fucking girl.”
The praise turns even rougher as she keeps her mouth around him through every pulse, swallowing everything he gives her while his fingers stroke shakily through her hair. She doesn’t pull away until he has gone sensitive, easing him gently from between her lips before pressing one last kiss to the tip.
For several seconds, neither of them speaks. Garrett stands over her panting, one hand still cradling the back of her head while she kneels between his thighs with flushed cheeks, wet lips and the loose, pleased smile of someone who has been fucked far too thoroughly to experience shame.
His eyes move over her face. Then past her shoulder, toward the lower half of her body as though he can somehow see through her.
“Fuck,” he says again, apparently the only word left available to him. “Roll over. I need to see it again.”
She starts laughing. “Garrett.”
“Please.”
“You’ve seen it.”
“Not enough.”
Her legs are not especially reliable, so Garrett handles most of the repositioning. He lowers her carefully onto her stomach, makes sure the sheet beneath her is smooth and then shifts down the bed until his face is level with her lower back.
He doesn’t touch the tattoo itself. He only rests one hand across the top of her ass and stares at the little forty-four with the solemn concentration of somebody studying an artefact behind museum glass.
She folds her arms beneath her head. “You’re being weird,” she mumbles.
“I’m having a moment.”
“You’ve been having a moment for, like, an hour.”
“Yeah, because my girlfriend got my number tattooed above her ass.”
“Lower back.”
Garrett looks up. “Baby.”
She presses her smile into her forearm.
His thumb strokes the skin beside the tattoo. “You really did this.”
“I really did.”
“For me,” he murmurs.
He kisses one cheek, then the other, his mouth soft now, all the feral heat of ten minutes ago settling into something heavier. His chin rests briefly near her hip.
“You won’t regret it?” he asks.
The question is quiet enough that she turns her face toward him. Garrett’s still looking at the tattoo, but the thought behind his expression has moved farther than the bed. Farther than tonight. Permanent isn’t an easy word for him, no matter how hot the evidence looks above her underwear. Permanent has always carried too many promises made by people who didn’t know how to keep them.
“I might regret letting Paige choose the bar,” she says. “I might regret wearing jeans to get it done. I’m almost definitely going to regret whatever you tell Dean tomorrow.”
Garrett’s mouth twitches.
“But not the tattoo.” Her fingertips move gently along her own forearms. “Even if something changed one day– and I’m not saying it will– I’d remember how I felt when I got it. I was happy. I love you. You’re my favourite thing in my life right now.”
“Right now?” he asks, because he’s still Garrett.
She groans. “Don’t ruin it.”
His laugh presses warm against the side of her hip. Then he kisses the skin just below the tattoo again, careful, lingering there without touching the ink. “My girl,” he murmurs.
She closes her eyes. Garrett stays behind her for another minute, one hand moving lazily over her ass while he continues looking at the number like he expects it to disappear if he blinks incorrectly.
Then he says, “Can I take a picture?”
Her eyes open. “Absolutely not.”
“For me.”
“No.”
“Baby,” he argues.
“You’ll show the boys.”
Garrett starts laughing, forehead dropping against her lower back. She can feel the effort he makes to avoid the tattoo.
“Fine,” he says. “No picture.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m memorising it.”
“You’ve been staring for ten minutes,” she giggles.
“Need another ten.”
She sighs into the pillow, but her body goes softer beneath his hand. Garrett kisses her hip once more, then crawls back up the bed and folds himself around her without asking her to move again. His chest settles against her back, one arm sliding beneath the pillow and the other wrapping around her waist.
His mouth finds the back of her neck. “You’re the sexiest person alive,” he says.
“Mm.”
“Objectively.”
“Garrett.”
“And fucking insane.”
She smiles into the pillow. “Yeah, well, you match my freak.”
His arm tightens around her. “Yeah,” he murmurs, laughter warm against her skin. “Definitely.”
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summary: you are forced to navigate what your relationship means when it’s falling down the order of Garrett’s priorities.
request: yes/no
warnings: swearing, garrett being a bad boyfriend.
word count: 4.04k
authors note: okay I actually really liked this, like acc ended up crying at the end of writing this so if you get emotional easily, grab yourself some tissues.
You had been cursed by the plague of being a hopeless romantic.
Fairy tales had been thrust into your life as a young girl since before you could walk, you knew all the lyrics to every Disney princess song by the time you were six.
By your tenth birthday, you had a book made that had every single wish and want that you had for your future boyfriend.
Your parents swore that if your second love for running hadn’t come into your life. You would have lived each day to dream.
By the time that you were 18, you had experienced twelve new kisses, three boyfriends, one of whom was a sexual partner too.
You had nothing against any of them, but when each one ended, you never seemed that phased, as if you knew it was going to end.
It was because you knew that you hadn’t met your person.
Or at least that was the case until Garrett Graham came into your life.
You'd met at a hockey party, argued over a game of beer pong, and kissed in the kitchen an hour later. Garrett Graham had smiled against your lips and you laughed at everyone else who swore that he was going to be the boy to break your heart.
With every anniversary or milestone that you two have reached. You swore that they were all wrong and that you and Garrett were truly meant to be.
Your friends joked that he was your very own Noah Calhoun, as the man was practically a shadow of himself if you weren’t around.
He showed up to every track meet with flowers as he sat right next to your parents, cheering you on while you ran down the finishing straight. And if your parents couldn’t make it, then Garrett gave them the world’s longest play-by-play afterwards.
The two of you were perfect together. By the end of sophomore year, the boys joked that your wedding would happen before you both graduated. Tucker had these long thoughts about how he’d design your wedding cake. While Dean and Logan argued over who would be the officiant of the wedding.
You never told either boy, but you knew that it would actually be Beau who filled that slot.
Most days when you had downtime, you spent them sitting on the boys’ couch. Most of the time, you were attempting to do work or edit your training schedule. Before, it was Garrett who would try to distract you.
Smothering you in kisses or pulling you into his arms as he shut your laptop. But now, it was Dean looking over your shoulder to see what you were working on or Tucker offering you a snack. Occasionally, you even got an appearance from Logan, who taught you the basics of mechanical work.
And that day seemed no different “sorry babe, I can’t do our date tonight.” Garrett leaned over the couch as he pressed a kiss on your cheek.
You held back a sigh as you turned your head to face him “why is that?” You asked as you frowned, a little upset, actually, “Hannah rescheduled our tutoring session.”
Dean awkwardly sat next to you as you forced yourself to smile, “tell her I say hi!” The blonde swore in that moment that you were squeezing your laptop so hard you might almost break it.
Garrett nodded before he left for the door without a second thought “okay so am I just like a fucking idiot or does everyone else see that?”
Logan nodded from the kitchen, “third time this week now?” And that was what almost made it official.
You got up as you shook your head “I am going to go throw myself off of a cliff before I hit him.” You announced to the boys who all frowned “just talk to him seriously.”
You knew Tucker came from a good place, which is why you didn’t tell him how wrong he was “we have just found a way to stop fighting with each other-” you sighed as you looked to the front door where Garrett left from.
The truth was that for the past three weeks, the two of you couldn’t go a few minutes without fighting.
The topics varied.
Sometimes, Garrett felt like you didn’t care that he was stressed with being captain. Other times, you felt like the little time left in your schedules should be used on each other.
And when it got particularly bad, you actually stopped keeping track of what seemed to set the two of you off.
This date night that Garrett kept bailing on was meant to be the real proof that the two of you had turned a page.
That the rough that you had been dealing with was just weeds in a garden, not rot within the house.
Dean clicked his tongue “bit hard to fight him when he keeps on seeing her instead.” She was Hannah Wells.
You met her a few times in passing, the girl complimented your pace and you always loved the way that she was so friendly at Malone’s.
She had started tutoring Garrett in philosophy a few weeks ago and was Garrett’s newest excuse for why he was too busy for you.
Training, film review, school, tutoring, if there was an excuse to get out of seeing you, you had heard it.
At the beginning, you really didn’t mind, you knew he was busy because he had all of these responsibilities.
But a responsibility is telling your girlfriend that you need to reschedule your anniversary date, hours in advance. Not when you were sat at the restaurant, a glass of wine in and the waiter actually ended up giving it to you on the house as he felt bad.
For every excuse that he gave you, you found another help make his case.
And by now you were starting to get a little more than just irritated “I am going to bid you boys farewell and hope that you are having more sex than your captain before I say anything else!” You shoved your laptop in your bag as Logan frowned when Dean laughed.
He stopped what he was working on in the kitchen as he came out to face you before you left “you know, girlfriend or not, we are your friend too.” Dean and Tucker nodded at his words.
It made you softly smile “love you, boys.” You kissed your fingers before you waved them goodbye.
As you left the house, your nose scrunched, because that place stopped feeling like Garrett’s. In fact, it was starting to feel a whole load like there was a river between the two of you that neither one was ready or willing to cross.
Garrett called out your name when he saw you.
You didn’t turn right away.
That was new for you. Normally, you’d turn instantly, instinctively, like muscle memory. Like gravity.
But this time, your body lagged behind your pride and even your brain as you contemplated ditching the heels you were in to break into a sprint.
He caught up quickly anyway.
Athletic stride, slightly out of breath, like he’d been running through excuses before he even got to you.
When he stepped into your line of sight, you finally looked at him.
And something in your chest tightened at how normal he looked. Like he hadn’t just not shown up to one of the most important nights you’d had planned in weeks “I got held up,” he said immediately.
Not an apology.
Not yet.
Just the explanation he must’ve rehearsed on the way here.
You blinked once, “you didn’t come.” He looked at how gorgeous you looked that night.
You’d never tell him that you bought the dress specifically for that night.
His mouth opened, then closed again. Like he’d expected you to argue with him instead of just stating it plainly, “I tried,” he said, softer “coach pulled me in after practice and I lost track of time. Then film ran longer than it should’ve and-”
You nodded slowly, cutting through it without raising your voice “I sat there for an hour without anything from you.”That stopped him.
Properly stopped him.
Because now it wasn’t a scheduling issue or a misunderstanding or something messy he could rearrange into something forgivable.
It was just time“I know,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself more than anything else now.
Garret sighed as he rubbed his face with his hand “I should have called or texted or.” Then list stopped when he noticed how you frowned
You weren’t interested in an excuse, especially not from him tonight “you should’ve come,” you interrupted quietly as you knew Coach Jensen would never force the guys to stay for review.
Silence settled between you.
Not the loud kind. Not the angry kind.
The kind that felt like it had been building for weeks and finally found somewhere to land.
You looked past him for a second, at the path behind him, at the restaurant district lights in the distance “I kept telling myself it was fine,” you said, almost to yourself.
You pushed your hair up behind your head “that I just needed to be understanding this week.” A big game was coming up against another highly ranked team
Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone “but I’m starting to feel like I’m always the one making space for you.”His jaw flexed. He looked like he wanted to interrupt, but didn’t.
That was the worst part.
Not denial.
Not defensiveness.
Just him listening like he knew he didn’t have a clean answer, “I really didn’t mean for tonight to go like this.” And that was the problem.
Because Garrett never meant for anything to ever go like this.
Yet somehow it always did “I know,” you replied.
And you did.
That was what made it worse.
Because even as you stood there, remembering how embarrassed you felt when you left the restaurant alone. Your throat tightened, but your voice stayed steady “I just wish you were there tonight.” You felt stupid for keeping things to yourself; you wanted Garrett to act like things actually mattered.
That landed differently.
He stepped closer, slower this time, like he was afraid of pushing you further away “I’m here now,” he said, wishing that it was enough.
A young couple exited one of the buildings behind Garrett with their hands locked into each others and grins on their faces.
The boy leaned over to say something that made the girl laugh and you knew exactly how that felt.
Because Garrett used to be like that with you.
You could feel it in the way you weren’t reaching for him. In the way he wasn’t touching you yet either.
Like both of you were suddenly aware that something fragile had been stretched too far “I don’t want this to become normal,” you said, making the boy clench his teeth.
His eyes snapped to yours at that.
“What?”
“This,” you clarified, gesturing slightly between you “you not being there. Me convincing myself it’s okay.”
His expression tightened “I promise that it won’t,” he said immediately. Too fast. Too certain.
You shook your head once “please don’t promise me that if you don’t mean it.” That hit him harder than anything else you’d said.
Because you were right.
He couldn’t say he’d give you the world if he only planned on showing you one town.
He stepped closer again, but slower now, more careful “I messed this up,” he said honestly “I did. And I hate that I did it tonight of all nights.”
You looked at him for a long moment.
Really looked.
Not at the hockey player everyone talked about.
Not at the captain people relied on.
Just at the boy who was standing there like he didn’t know how to fix something he couldn’t outwork.
The same boy who told you during your freshman year that he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you “I don’t need you to hate it,” you said softly. “I just need you to show up.”
That time, he didn’t argue.
He just nodded once, like he was taking the weight of it fully.
Then he stepped forward, and you didn’t resist it.
But you didn’t fully lean in either.
His arms wrapped around you anyway, steadying you like he could physically hold together something he was scared he was losing.
After a moment, he shifted slightly, and you felt his hand rest at the back of your head.
And then he pressed a kiss there.
Just quiet.
Like a promise, he didn’t know how else to say out loud.
When he pulled back slightly, his voice was low “I’ll make it up to you,” he announced as he hooked his fingers under your chin.
Garrett wanted to tell you that you looked gorgeous, but somehow the words never left his lips “I’ll make it up to you properly.” And as you nodded, Garrett let his jacket hang on your shoulders before the two of you walked back to your dorm.
By the time that drunken Shakespeare had come and gone, it was official that everyone knew something was going on between the two of you.
The IT couple of Briar U had cracked, because they weren’t as perfect as everyone had started to believe.
You tried to ignore the rumours about Hannah and Garrett, but you knew you were just an idiot.
It had been days since the two of you had spoken, almost a month since Garrett sent you a good morning or goodnight text.
The boys kept their promise as they continued to check up on you. In the first two weeks, it was because they really did miss you. But by now they were worried.
It was the fact that there was no real end in sight because Garrett still spoke about being your boyfriend, when he seemed to remember your existence.
And you still let your eyes settle on the door, as you waited for your Garrett to walk back in.
For him to tell you that he was so sorry for the way he had you feeling like it was your fault.
It had been weeks of you swearing that you were fine.
And that should have been something that the boys listened to, but they knew you better than that.
You had been going on late-night runs every day, and each time you wanted to stop you couldn’t.
The two of you had texted occasionally, throughout the time apart. But you hadn’t see the boy in person.
It wasn’t even vocalised between the two of you that there was something wrong.
And that was what left your runs to be the longest ones you ever did.
Because somehow, your anger drove your feet.
Further and harder than you ever thought was possible.
The quiet and clear sky somehow managed to soothe your mind.
And on this particular night, it seemed that Garrett had the same idea when he stood outside of the library.
He was in the middle of a tutoring session, and he craved the break he got from the solitude.
So when he saw you running, part of him thought that he would have ducked to go back inside.
But instead, his feet drove him directly into your path “hey,” he nodded as you pulled your AirPod out of your ear.
You cocked your head “hi.” You pursed your lips together, a little surprised that he was talking to you.
It had probably been over a month since Garrett initiated a conversation with you in person.
You crossed your arms as you waited for him to talk “how are you?” The small talk between the two of you felt weird.
And you had to admit that you weren’t a fan of it “I’m glad to hear you still remember how to talk to me.” Your words were honest, and it was what hurt.
Garrett scoffed, “of course I know how to talk to you.” The look you gave him said otherwise.
“Yeah but can you look at me for more than five minutes?”
The boy pinched the bridge of his nose “what are you playing at?” He looked up at the sky, making you almost laugh.
You felt tired, actually, you felt exhausted “when you got onto that stage with her, you didn’t even look at me.” You weren’t accusing him about anything.
You knew that Garrett would never cross a line with Hannah. But it was getting hard to make your heart hear it in the same way your brain did.
Garrent let out a harsh sigh, unsure of wht he was having this fight with you again “you know I love you,” if you weren’t paying attention, you would have sworn that he was actually asking you a question.
Your chest ached as you fiddled with the ring on your finger. It had been one that Garrett gave you for your 20th birthday “but are you in love with me?” Silence followed, and that was the true nail in the coffin.
Of course he did, his brain almost short-circuited at the absurdity of the question, “what’s that supposed to mean?” His hands landed on his hips as he grew defensive.
You sighed as you paused your run time on your watch “look I don’t want to fight tonight.” You announced as you watched the boy scoff.
The hockey player frowned, “don’t push me away like this.” He pleaded as he shook his head.
Tears welled in your eyes “I am holding on for dear life Gar,” you had felt like you were barely able to keep your head above water for weeks now and you hated it.
You hated that you cared so much for someone who felt like they were pushing you away.
But you hated more that Garrett could check out of the relationship that made you feel like you were in a fairytale.
That he could stand in front of you like every time he made up an excuse to not see you, wasn’t killing your confidence every time “I need you like you are the best reason that I have each day to smile.” The words pressed into his chest as he couldn’t remember the last time that he made you smile, “but I need you to need me back!”
Silence loomed over the two of you.
And that somehow hurt the most.
Not that you didn’t think that Garrett no longer cared, but that he couldn’t even try to offer an argument to you.
You pressed your hands against the sides of your head “why won’t you just let me all the way in!” The question came as Garrett backed away.
Throughout the years he always found the perfect excuse to not have you meet his dad. It seemed that everyone in his circle knew his father but you “of course I let you in I love you!” Garrett argued back as you shook your head.
It was a topic that you knew came with baggage “I know your comfort meals.” You found out after your first fight when Garrett begged Tucker to help him make it for you “I know that your favourite movie to watch is a chick flick.”
The edges of his mouth curved upward as he smiled “but I don’t know what scares you in this world.” Your voice broke “or why you love hockey.”
“Or why you’ve met my whole family and your dad doesn’t even know that I exist.”
It cut deep as Garrett always envied how sweet and loving your parents were, they looked at you like you were the best thing since sliced bread.
Garrett reached for your hand but you pulled away “I am so tired of feeling sad.” You shook your head as tears openly streamed down your face now.
You sniffled harshly, “god I’d rather feel nothing at all than have to go through one more fucking moment of whatever this is.” Your heart felt lighter as you spoke, getting the thoughts you so desperately needed to let go of out of your mind.
The boy shoved his hands into his pockets “what am I meant to do about that?” He rolled his eyes, feeling like this was another fight.
But instead, you merely sighed, “I don’t know anymore, Gar.” You chewed at the inside of your cheek to try to convince your mind that this wasn’t the thing that was hurting.
You used the back of your hand to wipe the snot coming from your nose “y’know, I really thought that in this break we’ve had for the last week that you would come back first.” You actually laughed at that, cursing yourself for how clearly foolish you had been.
He stayed quiet “that you would come back and tell me that you realised there was no one else you could be with but me,” Garrett watched as you looked away, Hannah had started walking towards the two of you.
You couldn’t even fault the girl as she sent you a comforting smile, stopping in her tracks when she saw that you had been crying “I wanted you to tell me that you would rather be alone than live one second in this place without me.” Venom laced your words even if you didn’t mean for it to happen.
Garrett sighed as he raked his fingers through his curls “I never meant to hurt you,” his words should have provided you with some comfort.
They should have made you realise that this wasn’t your fault “but you did Garrett.” You shrugged as you somehow were left feeling worse.
You stepped back as he stepped forward, as the cold autumn breeze brushed around campus, it was clear much like how the seasons were changing from fall to winter, that there was an end between the two of you too.
Still you hoped that Garrett would find a way to fight.
And still you ended up disappointed “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed,” Garrett knew that when things were going well he was a part of the reason why you were on cloud nine.
But when he was gone, he was the reason why you were sad. Even if it was an event for you, his lack of presence would be the thing your brain lingered on.
Part of you wanted to tell him that he was your dream in human form.
But that part had been hurt one too many times by him to speak, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t a girl worth loving.” In that moment, your words captured everything that you had been feeling for weeks.
Garrett watched as you turned around, not bothering to put your AirPod back into your ear as you carried on the rest of your run.
He clenched his hands as he knew he couldn’t go after you. Yes Garrett loved you, but he wasn’t sure how he was meant to treat you with the value that you deserved.
You were the one who reminded Garrett how to laugh in rooms where he was meant to be quiet. How the worst days could be made better by simply talking to you, because somehow you always knew what to say to put his mind at ease.
The boy never spoke to Phil about you because you were a light in his world that his dad worked so hard to keep dark.
So when he watched you leave, Garrett didn’t know what to do, because part of him wanted to run after you.
But there was a quieter part that knew you deserved the right to leave him and the shitshow that was his world. Because that was what he always assumed would happen anyway, so that was why he never let you in fully.
Because at least once you left you wouldn’t pity him if you didn’t know his full story “you should go back inside, it’s cold out here.” Hannah’s voice was kind, but Garrett didn’t let his eyes fall from where you ran to.
“I’m good.”
Because if he did, then he’d have to admit that he was far from it.
bottoms up! | 1k cabo celebration, found family au ⋆⭒˚.⋆
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summary: in which y/n mistakes a little extra attention for good customer service, allie turns it into a tiktok, and garrett discovers that watching it unfold from boston is considerably less funny than everyone else seems to think.
notes: hi! i hope you all enjoy! <3 my laptop is glitching, hence why some of the spacing on their text messages towards the end is slightly off, i apologise!! i hope you're all well 💌 🤍
ꪆৎ
the cocktail class is allie’s idea.
which means, naturally, everybody else finds out about it approximately twenty minutes before you’re supposed to be there.
you’re still sitting cross-legged at the end of grace and sabrina's bed, damp hair twisted up messily with a claw clip, trying to decide whether the linen shorts you packed have survived being shoved into your suitcase for eight days straight.
allie suddenly comes in holding her phone. “okay!” she says.
grace looks up immediately from where she’s digging through her makeup bag. “no.”
allie pauses in the doorway. “you don’t even know what i’m going to say.”
“i know your tone.”
“my tone is fun.”
sabrina, sitting at the little desk near the balcony doors, doesn’t even look away from the mirror, blending sunscreen along her jaw. “what did you book?”
allie’s silence is enough of an answer. you lower your shorts slowly, “allie.”
“in my defence,” she says, lifting one finger, “it was available.”
sabrina turns around properly, grace opens one eye, you try very hard not to laugh. allie sees the shift immediately, pointing at you. “see? y/n is interested.”
“i didn’t say anything.”
“your face did.”
“my face is tired.”
“your face wants a margarita.”
grace sighs, already defeated. “what is it?”
allie lifts her phone with a flourish. “a cocktail making class.”
there’s a small pause, each of you letting her words sink in.
sabrina tilts her head. “what time?”
allie winces in response. you narrow your eyes in warning, “allie.”
“soon.”
“how soon?”
“like...” she glances at the time. “soon enough that we should probably leave in fifteen minutes.”
grace stares at her, eyes wide. “you’re unbelievable.”
“thank you.”
“that wasn’t a praise.”
“well i’m choosing to take it as praise.”
you laugh then, properly, because there’s no point fighting it. this is how most things have gone on this trip. allie sees something, deems it essential to your holiday, and the rest of you are carried along by sheer force of her enthusiasm.
she’s usually right, most of the time.
the three of you move around the room in a rush, while allie reads out reviews from the class. “listen to this one” she says, following you towards the mirror.
“best margarita of my life.’”
you brush loose strands of hair away from your face. “that’s a big claim.”
“exactly, so we need to investigate.” you’re smiling when you grab your bag. suddenly, your phone buzzes on the bed.
baby 🤍
what are you up to right now?
you type back a response while allie searches for her sandals.
you
apparently going to a cocktail making class
his reply is almost immediate.
baby 🤍
apparently?
you
allie booked it and only informed us afterwards
baby 🤍
sounds about right
baby 🤍
well have fun, baby
baby 🤍
text me after
you smile down at the screen.
you
i will
you
maybe i’ll come home with skills
baby 🤍
you already have skills
you stare at the message for a moment, warmth creeping into your cheeks before you can stop it. a quiet laugh escapes you as you shake your head to yourself.
allie’s head snaps up, her eyes immediately meeting yours. “what?”
“nothing.”
“garrett?”
“no.”
“liar.”
you lock your phone quickly yet the action only makes allie grin wider.
“leave her alone,” sabrina says, standing and grabbing her bag. “she’s allowed to be disgustingly in love in private.”
“thank you” you say.
grace passes you, chuckling quietly to herself. “i wouldn't consider garrett and y/n to be private.”
you nudge grace's shoulder as you follow the others out, only earning another laugh from her.
the class is held in a small open-air bar tucked just off the main resort strip. the sun has started lowering behind the buildings, throwing warm light across white walls and terracotta tiles. inside, the bar is set up for the class.
it’s much prettier than you anticipated.
long wooden tables have been arranged in a wide u-shape, each station prepared with a metal shaker, jigger, muddler, citrus, salt, little bowls of sliced fruit, and tiny bottles of things you assume to be syrups. shelves of liquor line the back wall, catching the light in amber, green, and gold.
“oh” grace says, looking around. “okay. this is cute.”
allie beams like she built the place herself. “you’re welcome.”
“i said cute, not life-changing.”
“give it time.”
a few other people are already there, mostly couples and small groups of friends. everyone has that relaxed holiday looseness about them, dressed in linen, sundresses, open shirts, skin sunburnt, hair still carrying the faint evidence of pool water and salt air.
you choose four spots together near the middle.
allie immediately starts filming the setup, claiming it's for memories when sabrina gives her a look, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
you set your bag beneath the table, before running your fingers lightly over the shaker in front of you. it’s cool beneath your touch, already beaded slightly from the ice bucket nearby.
“i’m actually excited,” you admit.
allie points at you triumphantly. “see?”
before you can respond, someone claps once near the front of the room.
“okay, everyone!” a man says, smiling as the chatter begins to quiet.
“welcome.” he’s standing behind the main bar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair pushed back, clearly having run his hand through it one too many times.
he carries himself with an easy confidence. not rehearsed or overly polished, just comfortable, as though years behind the bar and in front of strangers have made this second nature.
“my name is mateo. i’ll be teaching you how to make two cocktails today...hopefully good ones!”
a few people laugh in response. allie leans closer to you, whispering, “he’s charming.” you glance at mateo briefly, then back to allie. “he’s doing his job.”
“both can be true.”
you roll your eyes playfully.
mateo starts with introductions, asking where everyone is visiting from. people call out places around the room. california, texas, london, toronto.
when it gets to your group, allie answers before anyone else can.
“boston!”
mateo’s eyes move along the four of you, clearly curious. “all of you?”
“college” sabrina explains.
“ah.” he smiles. “that makes sense.”
grace raises a brow. “what does that mean?”
“nothing bad,” he says quickly, laughing. “just the energy.”
allie seems delighted. “we have an energy?”
“definitely.”
you laugh under your breath, mateo’s gaze flickers towards you for just a second before moving back to the group.
it's nothing, barely anything, you don’t even notice, but allie does.
the first cocktail is a classic margarita.
mateo explains it simply, walking everyone through the ingredients. he talks about balance, about citrus, sweetness, about not overfilling the shaker unless you want to “wear the drink instead of drink it.”
concern immediately covers grace's features, “i’m going to end up wearing it accidentally, just watch.”
“probably,” sabrina says.
grace gasps in response, before playfully slapping her arm.
you pick up the jigger, squinting at the measurements. “which side is which?”
allie lifts hers. “go big or go home, right.”
“are you sure?”
mateo appears beside your station before anyone else has the opportunity to answer. “small side is one ounce,” he says gently, tapping it with one finger. “big side is two.”
you glance up, sending him a small, polite smile. “thank you.”
“of course.”
he moves on after that, helping a couple at the end of the table who have already managed to spill lime juice across their station.
you continue measuring the tequila, your entire focus fixed on getting the amount right. beside you, allie watches him cross to the other end of the bar. a moment later, just before he reaches the next group, he glances back, only for a second.
his eyes find you, gaze softening slightly before he turns away again. you don't notice, however allie does.
her gaze flicks between the two of you, her expression shifting into one she usually reserves for moments she intends to weaponise later.
interesting.
the first few steps are messy in the best way. grace somehow salts her own hand, sabrina measures everything twice before pouring it once, while allie has already asked three separate times whether anyone would actually notice if she added a little more tequila.
mateo handles all of it with ease. he watches allie stray away from the recipe, pouring an extra shot of tequila into her shaker.
“creative" he says, fighting a smile.
she points at him. “perfect. that's all i needed, the tick of approval!"
“that certainly wasn't approval."
"it felt like it."
he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "you're on your own."
you laugh, unable to help yourself. mateo glances over at the sound, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth before he turns his attention back to the rest of the class.
once more, you don’t catch it. once more, allie does.
the room gets louder once everyone starts shaking their drinks. metal tins rattle in uneven rhythm, people laugh when lids stick or ice knocks too hard against the sides.
mateo demonstrates first, one hand over the top, one at the base. “firm grip,” he says. “otherwise it'll go everywhere."
you copy him, slightly awkward at first, then better once you get the motion. allie is dramatic with hers immediately, grace barely moves hers, while sabrina shakes hers with precise, terrifying control.
mateo wanders from station to station, offering quiet pointers where they're needed. he pauses beside you, watching your hands for a moment.
"good" he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
you look up, eyes wide, clearly surprised by his compliment. “really?”
“really.”
“i feel like i’m doing too much.”
“no.” he smiles in reassurance. “you’re doing it right.”
allie’s hand slows around her own shaker, grace looks across the table, while sabrina pretends very hard to be focused on her lime.
you smile, pleased with yourself. “okay, great.”
mateo’s gaze dips to your shaker. “careful with that lid though. it might stick.”
“oh” you test it. “i think it’s fine.”
"for now," he says with an easy smile, before moving on. the second he's out of earshot, grace leans towards sabrina. “did you see that?”
sabrina murmurs, “yes.”
allie whispers, “right?”
you glance at all three of them, curiosity gracing your features. “what?”
“nothing!” they all say at once.
you stare, “you guys are being weird.”
allie lifts her shaker, feigning innocence. “i’m focusing on my cocktail actually, y/n.”
“your cocktail is 99% tequila.”
“then it's perfect.”
the margaritas are poured into short glasses over ice. yours comes out a little cloudy, a little uneven, but the lime wedge sits nicely on the rim and the salt actually stays where it’s supposed to.
you hold it up, proud. “that looks like a real drink.”
grace clinks hers lightly against yours. “low bar, but yes.”
sabrina tries hers first, eyes widening. “oh.”
“good?” you ask.
“dangerously good.”
allie takes one sip of hers and immediately coughs. you laugh so hard you almost spill yours.
mateo appears beside you again with a grin. “how did we do?”
sabrina lifts her drink. “pretty well, actually.”
grace points at allie. “hers could remove paint.”
allie presses a hand to her chest. “someone had to experiment a little.”
mateo laughs, before looking at your glass.
“can i see yours?”
“mine?”
“yes.”
you hand it over without thinking. he studies it for a second like there’s something to study beyond a slightly messy margarita made by a college student.
“good salt line,” he says.
you smile reluctantly. “that feels very close to a pity compliment.”
“it’s not. people underestimate the salt.”
“they do?”
“all the time.” his smile lingers, not long, not enough for you to notice, but enough that allie reaches for her phone on the table and angles it casually, like she’s filming her drink.
mateo takes a small sip of your margarita. all four of you exchange a look of surprise, clearly caught off guard.
was he supposed to do that?
he nods in confirmation. “nice.”
despite the slight confusion your features brighten, clearly pleased by the compliment. “really?”
“yeah. good balance.”
“there’s that word again.” grace chimes in, finding the interaction all too humorous.
he holds the glass out. your fingers brush his for the briefest moment as you take it, the kind of absent, accidental contact that comes with handing something from one person to another.
you don't think anything of it.
“i'm telling garrett i have cocktail skills now.”
at the mention of garrett, allie's eyes flick to mateo. his expression barely changes, if anything, there's just the slightest pause before he nods once, a small, polite smile lingering as though something has quietly clicked into place.
“boyfriend?” he asks lightly.
you nod, smiling without hesitation. “yeah.”
mateo smiles too. “then he’s lucky.”
it’s said smoothly, kindly, not in a way that makes you uncomfortable, yet allie’s eyes widen behind her glass, grace freezes mid-sip and sabrina looks down at the table like she needs a second.
you, somehow, only laugh.
“he’d agree with you.”
mateo laughs as well. “smart man.”
then he moves away, just like that, conversation over. nothing inappropriate, nothing lingering enough to be undeniable, nothing that would make you feel strange or singled out.
but allie is already staring at the video she accidentally-on-purpose captured.
the tiny exchange, your soft smile when you said boyfriend, mateo saying, 'then he’s lucky', you laughing like it was nothing.
allie watches it once, then twice. grace leans in, sabrina does too. you are too busy taking another sip of your drink to notice.
lowering her phone, allie's expression changes into something delighted, dangerous.
grace sees it, immediately whispering, “don’t.”
allie whispers back, “i’m not doing anything.”
sabrina narrows her eyes. “you’re doing something.”
“i’m documenting.”
allie looks across at you, still completely oblivious, still smiling down at your drink like the biggest development of the evening is that you successfully made a margarita.
she looks at mateo, who is across the room helping someone else, perfectly professional, perfectly polite.
allie looks back at the clip, a slow grin spreading across her features.
it wasn't about making anyone jealous, if anything, it was the opposite.
the boys had grown so accustomed to being the ones people noticed, that they'd never really stopped to think about how often people noticed the girls, too.
allie just wanted garrett to see what everyone else already did. not because she wanted him to worry, simply because it was easy, sometimes, for people to reduce you to garrett graham's girlfriend.
when the truth was, you had always been someone people noticed in your own right.
-
by the time the class moves on to the second cocktail, allie starts watching a little more closely.
not because anything has happened, not exactly.
only because there are only so many coincidences a person can ignore before they stop feeling like coincidences.
the class has loosened. conversations drift more easily now, laughter comes quicker, cheeks are lightly flushed from the first round of margaritas and the soft evening heat lingering through the open-air bar.
mateo claps his hands once to get everyone’s attention. “okay” he says, smiling easily.
“for the second drink, we’re making something a little more dangerous.”
grace immediately looks concerned. “i don’t like the sound of that.”
allie leans closer to you. “i love the sound of that.”
sabrina, playfully rolls her eyes, before reaching for the lime in front of her. “that tells me everything i need to know.”
you laugh softly, rolling the shaker between your palms. it’s cold from the ice, condensation sliding over your fingers.
you’re still proud of the first drink, mostly because it had looked like the demonstration, and nobody had winced when they tasted it.
mateo begins explaining the next cocktail, a combination of passionfruit and chilli salt. "logan would hate this," grace whispers. sabrina simply smiles into her glass in response.
you’re listening, properly listening, because you’ve discovered that cocktail making is strangely satisfying when someone else has already prepared all the ingredients.
mateo moves around the table as he talks, checking everyone has the right tools. he passes behind allie, then sabrina, then grace.
then he reaches you. “how’s your shaker?”
you blink down at it. “my shaker?”
“it was sticking before.”
“oh.” you lift it slightly. “i think it’s fine.”
he smiles. “can i check?”
you hand it over without thinking. he twists it once, tests the lid, before frowning in disappointment. “no. this one’s annoying.”
“it is?”
“very.”
he swaps it with the one from the empty station beside him. “there,” he says, setting the new one in front of you. “much better.”
you smile. “thank you.”
“of course.”
it’s nothing, so much so that you turn back to your ingredients immediately. once again however allie sees it, so does grace and so does sabrina.
all three of them look down at their own shakers, then at each other.
grace mouths, again?
allie’s eyes widen in silent confirmation, while sabrina presses her lips together, trying to refrain from laughing.
this cocktail involves muddling passionfruit, which allie takes far too seriously. leaning over her glass, her brows furrow in concentration. "am i doing this right?"
mateo looks over. “yes.”
“are you sure?”
“mostly.”
“mostly?”
he grins. “it’s hard to ruin passionfruit.”
“oh...well that sounds like a challenge.”
“please don’t.”
you laugh, mateo glances over almost instinctively. the sound seems to draw an easy smile from him before he turns his attention back to the class.
allie catches it, naturally. she has an uncanny ability to notice the things everyone else misses.
you add lime juice, tequila, then something sweet from a small bottle mateo referred to as golden syrup.
for a while, it’s just fun.
grace somehow manages to salt the wrong side of her glass, looking so genuinely betrayed by the outcome that you have to turn away to mask your laughter. beside her, sabrina carefully measures the tequila, only to keep talking as she pours and realises, a second too late, that she had gone well past the line.
“tucker would be proud,” allie says.
sabrina looks at her. “tucker would take the bottle away from me.”
“also true.”
your own cocktail is coming together better than expected. the colour is bright, a kind of sunset orange, with little flecks of chilli salt clinging to the rim.
mateo comes around again to check everyone’s progress. he pauses beside grace first. “good.”
grace lifts her brows. “just good?”
“very good.”
“better.”
then sabrina. “nice balance.”
sabrina smiles politely. “thank you.”
mateo reaches allie, whose glass is somehow almost overflowing. he pauses, allie stares at him without a hint of shame.
his eyes drop to the drink, then back to her. after a beat, he gives a small nod. allie laughs, she knows better than to try convincing him that's how the recipe was supposed to look.
eventually mateo reaches you.
“okay,” he says, quieter. “this looks really good.”
you glance down, surprised. “really?”
"really.”
“i think it only looks good because the colour turned out nice.”
“no.” he shakes his head, picking it up carefully. “can i?”
“yeah, sure.”
he takes a small sip, everyone else keeps moving around the bar, except your friends, who are suddenly very still.
mateo lowers the glass, before looking at it again. “that’s actually excellent.”
you smile, pleased despite yourself. “you’re just saying that.”
“i’m not.”
“you definitely are.”
“i’m not,” he says again, laughing softly. “it works.”
“that's not an answer”
“the sweetness comes through, there's enough acidity, and you didn't overdo the chilli.”
you blink. “i did not do that on purpose.”
shrugging his shoulders he sends you a warm smile. “well then, maybe you’re a natural.”
behind him, allie slowly reaches for her phone. sabrina notices, immediately murmuring, “don’t be obvious.”
“i’m never obvious.”
grace gives her a look, allie ignores it.
mateo sets your glass down again, but instead of moving on right away, he leans one forearm lightly against the bar. “where are you visiting from again?”
“boston,” you say automatically, before adding, “well, kind of. we go to college there.”
“all of you?”
“yeah.”
“that explains it.”
you tilt your head. “explains what?”
“you all have the...” he gestures vaguely, smiling. “same warmth."
you laugh. “warmth?"
“it's hard to explain.”
you nod your head slightly, urging him to continue.
"people just seem comfortable around you."
you laugh, feeling slightly surprised by his words. “oh okay. i’ll choose to believe you.”
“you should.”
the conversation isn't strange, isn't uncomfortable, nothing you would think to mention later to garrett beyond, the instructor was nice.
unbeknownst to you, allie films the entire interaction from a low angle, her phone half-hidden behind her glass. she doesn't record the audio, simply the way he stays, the way his attention lingers a little longer on you than it does anyone else.
the class moves into garnishes after that.
mateo demonstrates with a strip of lime peel, twisting it neatly over the top of his drink. everyone tries to copy him with varying levels of success.
grace’s peel snaps in half. “i’m done” she says immediately.
“you can still use it,” sabrina tells her.
“no.”
allie somehow drops hers into the ice bucket. you’re still trying to get yours to curl, mateo notices. “here,” he says, coming around the bar again.
you glance up. “i’m doing it wrong, aren’t i?”
“not wrong.”
"oh. are you sure?"
mateo smiles, standing beside you. “it's just easier like this.”
he picks up another peel, holding it between his fingers, showing you the angle. “hold it here, twist slowly, don’t force it.”
you copy him, concentrating far too hard for a garnish. “like this?”
“yeah,” he says. “exactly.”
the peel curls properly, you gasp softly in realisation. “ohhh.”
mateo grins. “see?”
you look genuinely delighted by something incredibly small. mateo watches you intently, only for a second, however it's long enough to cause allie’s mouth to fall open before she catches herself, closing it.
“oh my god,” grace whispers.
sabrina whispers back, “she has no idea.”
“none.”
you place the garnish on top of your drink, turning to them proudly, your eyes wide, bright with excitement. “look!”
allie immediately brightens. “beautiful.”
grace nods. “stunning.”
sabrina lifts her glass. “very professional.”
you narrow your eyes. “why do you all sound so off?”
“we don’t.”
“you do.”
allie shakes her head too quickly. “nope.”
you look between them, suspicious, but mateo calls the class together for final photos before you can interrogate anyone properly.
everyone gathers around the front bar with their drinks. the place is glowing now, the sun dropping low enough that the whole room looks honeyed.
mateo offers to take photos. “all four of you?” he asks.
allie practically shoves her phone into his hand. “yes, please.”
the four of you squeeze together. grace wraps an arm around your waist, sabrina leans into allie, allie lifts her cocktail, eyes bright and wide in amusement.
mateo takes one photo, then another. “one more,” he says.
“you’re better than most strangers,” allie tells him.
he laughs. “that's not difficult.” handing allie's phone back, he looks to you.
“actually,” he says, nodding towards the edge of the bar where the light is spilling in from the open windows, “do you want one by yourself? the lighting is really good over there.”
you don’t think twice, clearly thinking mateo was just being polite. “oh, sure!”
allie freezes, grace slowly turns her head, sabrina closes her eyes for a second, attempting to stop herself from laughing.
you step into the little patch of light, holding your cocktail carefully so it doesn’t spill. you feel slightly awkward posing alone, so you laugh. “i never know what to do in photos.”
mateo lifts the phone. “you’re fine.”
“that’s what everyone says when someone looks awkward.”
“you don’t look awkward.”
you roll your eyes, still smiling. “okay.”
he takes a few, then lowers the phone, checking them. “this one’s nice.”
you step closer to look, it is nice, annoyingly nice. the light catches the side of your face, your hair a little messy from the pool earlier, your smile soft, unguarded.
“oh!” you say, surprised. “that’s really pretty.”
mateo’s smile gentles. “yeah,” he says. “it is.”
you mean the lighting, allie is not convinced he does.
she makes a noise so small you barely hear it. glancing back you're entirely confused. “what?”
“nothing” she says immediately, feigning innocence. grace looks away, sabrina takes a long sip of her cocktail.
the class winds down slowly after that.
people finish drinks, thank mateo, collect bags from beneath stools. the air smells like lime, tequila, warm wood. somewhere outside, music from the resort drifts faintly through the street.
you’re gathering your things when mateo comes over with a small printed card. “recommendations,” he says, handing it to you. you look down. three taco places, one rooftop bar, one beach club. his handwriting is neat, slanted slightly to the right.
“oh, thank you.”
“the second taco place is the best,” he says. “don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
you smile. “noted.”
“and if you go to the rooftop bar, go before sunset.”
“how come?”
“because after sunset it gets too crowded.”
“good to know.”
“you’ll like it.”
there’s a tiny pause after that, not long enough to be awkward, just long enough for allie, standing two feet away, to nearly lose her mind.
then mateo steps back, polite again. “it was really lovely meeting you.”
you smile warmly. “you too. thank you for the class.”
“of course.” his eyes hold yours for a second. “enjoy the rest of your holiday.”
“we will.”
you send him a warm smile, before turning to leave with the girls.
the second you’re outside, grace exhales. “okay.”
you look at her. “what?”
sabrina shakes her head. “nothing.”
“why does everyone keep saying nothing?”
allie is already unlocking her phone. “because,” she says, “some things need to be presented visually.”
you frown. “what does that mean?”
“you’ll see.”
-
allie posts it twenty-three minutes later from the hotel room.
you’re in the shower when it goes live, which is probably for the best.
the caption reads
'the cocktail instructor fell in love with my best friend and she thought he was just being polite.'
the first clip is harmless. you standing at the bar, concentrating on measuring lime juice while mateo explains something beside you.
'exhibit a: immediate favourite student'
then the shaker swap.
'exhibit b: apparently her shaker was “annoying”'
then him tasting your drink. once, then again. the clip slows slightly when he smiles.
'exhibit c: he tasted hers twice btw'
then the garnish moment, his hands showing yours how to twist the lime peel without touching you, you smiling down at the finished curl like you’d won something.
'exhibit d: she was fighting for her life with a garnish'
then the individual photo of you laughing in the golden light while mateo holds allie’s phone.
'exhibit e: “the lighting is really good there” okay mateo'
then the goodbye.
it’s not dramatic. he’s just standing there, smiling softly as he says something to you. the audio is mostly covered by music, but the look is clear enough.
the final text appears over the screen.
'she still hasn't figured it out'
-
at briar, dean sees it first.
he's on the couch in the living room, one leg hooked over the armrest, allie's latest tiktok already playing. the video's been up for less than a minute, apparently that's all the patience he has left.
logan is on the floor, back against the couch, scrolling through his phone. tucker sits at the kitchen table, equally distracted by his own. garrett, meanwhile, is in the armchair, a hockey game playing on the television in front of him, whether he's actually watching it is another question entirely.
dean snorts. “allie posted.”
logan doesn’t look up. “that's a very dangerous sentence.”
“it’s about the cocktail class they ended up doing today.”
garrett stands, abandoning the armchair, moving to stand behind dean. he watches quietly through the first few clips, his expression unreadable.
then, just before dean reaches for the screen to rewind, garrett's voice sounds. "go back."
dean looks over. "what?"
garrett's eyes stay on the phone. "the shaker."
dean rewinds it without another word. the clip plays once more, showing mateo checking your shaker, swapping it, smiling.
logan sits up slightly, clearly intrigued. “why’d he do that?”
garrett says nothing. tucker responds quickly, as though the answer is obvious. “maybe the shaker was broken.”
dean rewinds the video again. “it wasn’t broken.”
“you can tell that from a six-second clip?”
“yes.”
logan leans closer. “keep playing it.”
dean does, unpausing the tiktok. all four boys watch on as mateo takes a sip of your cocktail, saying something that causes you to erupt into laughter.
mateo takes another sip. logan’s brows lift, “twice.”
dean points at the screen. “twice.”
tucker's gaze flicks between dean and logan. “are you counting how many times a cocktail instructor tasted her cocktail?”
“yes,” dean says.
“why?”
“because it matters.”
garrett runs a hand over his jaw, remaining quiet.
dean looks at him. “you seeing this, g?”
garrett’s voice is even, too even. “i’m watching.”
the garnish clip starts, mateo stands beside you. you're clearly concentrating, eager to learn as he demonstrates.
logan makes a low sound under his breath. “oh.”
dean nods slowly. “yeah.”
garrett shifts from where he's standing, not much, just enough. tucker notices, so does dean, so does logan. nobody says anything, yet.
the photo clip plays, mateo gesturing towards the light, you walking over willingly, completely oblivious, holding your drink with both hands.
dean pauses it, the room goes silent, dead silent.
“he asked for a solo photo?” logan questions, exchanging a look with dean.
garrett doesn't answer immediately, staring at the paused frame instead.
"why?"
the question is quiet, not irritated, just genuinely confused.
dean looks at him for a second before shrugging. "because she looked pretty?"
nobody laughs, garrett's jaw shifts once. "play the rest."
dean does. the goodbye clip plays, mateo’s expression is polite, warm, yet a little too warm. you simply smile back, eyes warm in thanks.
the video ends, nobody speaks.
dean slowly turns his head towards garrett. garrett refuses to look at him, already aware of the smirk most likely gracing his features. “don’t.”
dean’s mouth twitches. “i didn’t say anything.”
“you were about to.”
“i was not.”
logan says, “you were.”
tucker nods. “you absolutely were.”
dean ignores them. “i’m just saying.”
garrett finally looks over. “what?”
dean holds up the phone. “y/n got herself her very own vacation bartender.”
“cocktail instructor,” tucker corrects.
“same thing.”
“not really.”
“not the point.”
garrett exhales through his nose, but there’s almost a smile there, almost.
dean watches him for another second. "you're clenching your jaw."
garrett looks over, eyes now meeting dean's. "i'm not."
"you literally are."
"dean."
dean raises both hands. "i'm just saying. for someone who apparently doesn't get jealous..."
"dean." garrett deadpans, clearly now growing annoyed by his teasing. "at least he was being respectful."
logan nods. “yeah.”
“very respectful,” tucker agrees.
dean tilts his head. “respectfully in love with her.”
garrett points at him. “don’t.”
dean laughs, far too amused by all of this. garrett reaches for his own phone, while logan leans forward. “what are you doing?”
“texting my girlfriend.”
dean sits up properly. “oh, this is going to be good.”
“it’s not going to be anything.”
“mhm.”
garrett ignores him, opening your message thread. for a second, he just looks at the last photo you sent him earlier. your drink held up proudly against the bar, rim covered in chilli salt.
you
made this!!
please be impressed
he had replied.
baby 🤍
very impressed
come home and make me one
now, he types slowly.
baby 🤍
did you enjoy your cocktail class?
looks like your instructor made sure you did
back in cabo, your phone is on the bed beside allie while you’re still in the bathroom. allie sees the notification light up. she doesn’t touch it, she does, however, lean over just enough for the notification preview to come into focus.
then she gasps.
grace immediately looks over from where she’s brushing sand out of her tote bag. “what?”
allie points at your phone. “garrett saw it.”
sabrina’s eyes widen. “already?”
“dean definitely found it.”
“oh no.”
grace sits on the edge of the bed. “she still doesn’t know.”
allie smiles slowly. “exactly.”
-
at briar, garrett’s phone buzzes.
you
yes!!
you
it was actually so good
you
our instructor was good fun (despite having to deal with us four 🫣)
a second later.
you
i made a really good passionfruit margarita
you
the instructor said it tasted really good, was balanced well!🫡
dean, who has shamelessly moved closer, reads over garrett’s shoulder.
“balance” he repeats.
garrett angles his phone away. “move.”
“sorry.”
he doesn't move. logan laughs quietly, garrett ignores the both of them, responding to you.
baby🤍
did he?
you
yes
you
why does that message sound suspicious
baby🤍
no reason
you
garrett
baby🤍
y/n
you
what
baby🤍
did you notice your instructor spent most of the class flirting with you?
you don't reply for several seconds, beyond confused by garrett's message, until.
you
...
you
what
dean starts laughing, logan drops his head back against the couch, tucker smiles, shaking his head in disbelief. garrett’s own smile finally breaks, soft, helpless, completely unsurprised.
baby🤍
yeah
baby🤍
that’s what i thought
you
he was not flirting with me 😭
“oh y/n", dean says, while garrett types.
baby🤍
okay
you
he wasn’t!!
baby🤍
he gave you a special shaker
you
because mine was sticking
garrett 🤍
he tasted your drink twice
you
because he's our cocktail instructor
logan loses it, dean presses both hands over his face, while tucker murmurs, completely amused. “g, she’s incredible.” garrett is fully smiling now.
baby🤍
he asked to take a photo of just you, baby
you
because the lighting was nice!
dean wheezes, mimicking your words. garrett shakes his head, still typing.
baby🤍
of course
baby🤍
my mistake
you
wait
you
are you jealous?
garrett looks at the message for a second, his smile softening.
baby🤍
no
then, after a beat.
baby🤍
maybe a little
you
aw
you
i can't believe you're jealous over my cocktail instructor
baby🤍
stop
you
i love you
you
okay maybe he was being a LITTLE friendly
baby🤍
i told you
you
i genuinely did not know
baby🤍
i know, baby
you
don’t baby me when you’re laughing at me
garrett 🤍
i’m not laughing
baby🤍
i’m smiling respectfully
you
you’re so annoying
baby🤍
and yet
you
and yet what
baby🤍
you’re still coming home to me
there’s a slightly longer pause, then.
you
always
the room quiets a little without meaning to. garrett reads your response once, then again. his thumb rests against the edge of his phone, expression easing into something the others pretend not to notice.
dean, for once, doesn’t make a joke straight away, logan looks back at the tv, tucker goes back to mindlessly scrolling through his phone.
garrett’s phone buzzes one more time.
you
also
you
for the record
you
my cocktail was actually really good
garrett smiles.
baby🤍
i believe you
you
good
baby🤍
still making me one when you’re home
you
deal
you
spicy marg on me
baby🤍
and y/n?
you
yes
baby🤍
no more instructors falling in love with you
your reply takes ten seconds.
you
i cannot control passionate customer service
garrett laughs then, properly.
dean looks over, grinning. “what did she say?”
garrett locks his phone, still smiling. “nothing.”
dean narrows his eyes. “that means something.”
garrett leans back in the armchair, finally turning his attention back towards the game. his smile stays, small, private, entirely his. somewhere in cabo, you're still convinced mateo had simply been doing his job, and that might be the most you thing of all.
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x mom!reader x toddler!daughter
Warning: fluff, domestic sweetness
Summary: Jack returns home to find his sleepy babygirl clinging to a very special teddy.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
The morning sun was just starting to peek through the blinds. Jack quietly unlocked the front door, his entire body was aching and all he wanted was to crash.
But as he hung up his jacket, your soft voice pulled him toward your babygirl's bedroom.
No matter how exhausted he was, seeing his girls was the only cure for a rough shift.
You were already by the crib, a mug of coffee warm between your hands. You looked up as he slipped into the room, your eyes softening at the dark circles under his.
"Hey, handsome," you whispered, setting your mug down on the side table. "Survived the night?"
"Barely," Jack murmured back. He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Missed you, beautiful."
"Missed you too, Doctor." You tilted your head, kissing his cheek. "Say hi. She’s just waking up."
Jack smiled, pulling away to step over to the crib. Inside, your daughter was starting to stir. She blinked sleepily, her eyes rubbing against her fists until they landed right on Jack. Instantly, a tiny smile broke behind her pacifier.
"Daddy!" she screamed with a sleepy voice.
She immediately poked her hands up into the air, making her uppie arms.
Jack’s heart completely melted. He leaned over the railing, scooping her warm body up against his chest.
"Hi my beautiful girl," Jack whispered as he pressed a long kiss into her hair.
She let out a giggle, her hands immediately coming up to cup his face. Her fingers patted his cheeks, testing the rough morning stubble on his jaw. "S'atchy," she mumbled, but she didn't pull away. She leaned her forehead against his nose, rubbing it side to side in a sleepy greeting.
"Yeah, Daddy needs a shave, doesn't he?" Jack cooed, rocking her gently from side to side as she buried her face into his neck.
As he hoisted her a little higher, Jack noticed something else in the crib. A familiar fluffy brown teddy bear dressed in a miniature set of blue hospital scrubs with a very cute little stethoscope.
"Since when does she sleep with plushies?" Jack asked softly, turning to you with an arched eyebrow. "She usually kicks everything out the second she lays down."
You let out a soft laugh and wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his shoulder. Hearing your voice, your daughter reached one hand to pat your face, ensuring both of her favorite people were within arm's reach.
"She only sleeps with that one," you explained. "And only on specific nights. When you're on a night shift and you can't put her to bed, she gets incredibly restless. She sits by the door waiting for you."
Jack’s chest tightened. The guilt of the long hours at the hospital was a constant weight.
"So, I started giving her the bear on those nights," you continued, reaching out to smooth a stray curl away from your daughter's forehead. "I told her that whenever Daddy is at the hospital helping people, this guy is on duty to keep her safe until you get home. Now, she won't go to sleep without him when you're gone. I think it's her way of keeping you close until you come back."
Jack looked down at the scrubwearing bear on the mattress. He reached down with his free hand and picked up the plushie, holding it up so his daughter could see it.
"Who's this, sweet girl?" Jack asked her gently, shaking the bear's little paw. "Is this your helper?"
The toddler blinked sleepily at the bear, then looked right at Jack, her little thumb poking the bear as she nodded. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and pointed a tiny finger at the plushie.
"He's night dada," she mumbled softly, her voice muffled around her paci.
Jack froze. New emotions emerged at the realization that she considered the little bear her version of him when the sun went down.
"Night Dada, huh?" Jack pressed the plush bear gently into her arms, and she instantly hugged it tight against her chest, right alongside his own neck. "He takes good care of you when Daddy's at work?"
The toddler nodded and whispered. "Dad doctor."
He wrapped his free arm securely around you, needing the comfort of his family.
"Thank you," he whispered to you, leaning down to kiss your lips. "For being here for her when I can't."
Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon x mom!reader x toddler!son
Warnings: fluff, surprise pregnancy, anxiety, comfort.
Summary: A quiet evening takes a chaotic turn when a toddler makes a surprisingly accurate medical diagnosis.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
The living room was an absolute disaster zone of blocks, toy trucks and stickers. But it was the most peaceful the house had been all week.
Frank was stretched out on the couch, taking up nearly the entire length of it. His head was resting comfortably in your lap, his eyes closed as he tried, and failed, to take a nap.
Tobias, your two year old son, was taking his job as a decorator very seriously. With his tiny tongue poking out of his mouth, he peeled another sticker from its sheet and pressed it onto his father’s cheek.
Frank didn't even flinch.
"You're looking very handsome, love," you said softly, your fingers gently weaving through his hair, massaging his scalp.
"Mmm. Let him," Frank murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. "As long as he’s quiet and not drawing on the walls, he can turn me into a sketchbook."
You chuckled, continuing the soothing of your fingers through his hair. Tobias grunted in agreement, leaning his little hands against your knee as he reached up to place a dinosaur sticker right on the bridge of Frank's nose. Frank opened one eye, tracking his son's movements with paternal adoration before closing it again, sinking deeper into your touch.
Tobias stood back, admiring his handiwork. Then, his eyes drifted down from Frank's face, landing on your stomach.
He patted your belly with both of his hands, tilting his head.
"Why is a baby in your belly, mama?" Tobias asked, his voice perfectly clear and innocent.
Your fingers froze in Frank's hair.
The entire room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Frank’s eyes snapped open, all traces of sleep instantly evaporating.
He didn't move, but you could feel the sudden tension radiating through his body.
"What did you say, buddy?" you asked, laughing a little nervously, expecting him to say he was talking about a toy or a snack.
"Baby," Tobias repeated firmly, patting your stomach again with absolute conviction. "In dere. Sleeping."
He then immediately lost interest, spotted a truck under the coffee table, and toddled off to go play with it.
You stared at your son, then slowly looked down at Frank. Frank was already looking up at you, the stickers on his face contrasting wildly with the serious expression in his eyes.
"He has a wild imagination," you said quickly, trying to shake off the sudden panic in your chest. "I'm... I mean, I'm definitely not pregnant, Frank. We've been careful. Mostly."
Frank slowly sat up. He didn't laugh. As a doctor, Frank wasn't exactly a believer in superstition, but he did believe in the unexplainable intuition that toddlers sometimes possessed.
"Mostly," Frank repeated. He reached out, his warm hand replacing where Tobias's hands had just been, resting flat against your stomach. His gaze softened, a burning hope flaring in his eyes. "You're late."
"I'm always a little irregular, Frank, you know that," you defended, though your heart was suddenly beating fast.
"Three weeks late, baby," Frank corrected gently. He had very good memory for things like this. A tender smile began to spread across his face. "And kids have a weird radar for these things. It's a documented phenomenon."
"Are you trying to scare me or diagnose me?"
"I'm suggesting a clinical trial," Frank murmured, leaning in close, his breath warm against your lips. He reached up, peeling the stickers off his face. "I'm going to the pharmacy."
"Frank, what, no!" you protested.
He stood up, leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to your lips, and then shifted to press a remarkably tender kiss right against your stomach.
"I'm buying the digital ones," Frank said as he grabbed his keys off the counter. "Let's see if our son has superpowers."
The front door clicked shut behind Frank, leaving the living room quiet.
You sat frozen on the couch for a long moment, your hand instinctively resting where Frank’s had just been. Your mind was racing. Three weeks? Had it really been three weeks?
"Vroom, vroom!" Tobias announced, driving the plastic truck up the side of the couch cushions until it bumped right into your hip.
You looked down at your son. He looked so small to be a big brother. You scooped him up, lifting him onto your lap. He let out a little grunt of surprise but quickly leaned back against your chest, perfectly content.
"Why are giving your father ideas, mh?," you murmured, wrapping your arms around his middle. "What did you mean earlier? When you said there was a baby?"
Tobias didn't look up from his truck. "You got a baby!" he repeated happily, pointing a finger directly at your shirt.
"No," you said quickly. You caught his hand in yours. "No baby. Just Mommy's tummy."
Tobias pouted, his lower lip protruding in stubbornness. He yanked his hand free and slapped both palms flat against your stomach again, looking up at you with determination.
"No, mama, I big b'other," he declared.
"Stop it," you gasped, half panicking as you gently pulled his hands away. "Don't say that, sweetie. You're going to give mommy a heart attack before Ddaddy even gets back."
"Big brother!" Tobias insisted, nodding his head vigorously. "Toby, big brother. Play with baby."
You stared at him. The confidence in his face was terrifyingly convincing. You leaned your forehead against his small shoulder, taking a deep breath that smelled faintly of baby shampoo.
"You and your father are going to be the death of me." you whispered into his hair,
Tobias just chuckled, entirely unbothered.
"Mama!" Tobias patted your face and left a wet kiss beside your left eye.
"Yeah, I love you too, sweet boy."
-
The bathroom door was locked, but that didn't stop Frank from leaning his forehead against the door.
Your son was asleep in his crib, entirely oblivious to the absolute emotional hurricane he had kicked off with a single sentence.
Inside the bathroom, the plastic stick was sitting flat on the counter, counting down the longest minutes of your life.
"Frank, I’m nervous," you called out, your voice full of rising panic. "I’m genuinely nervous right now. What if it’s positive? We just got Tobias into a routine! He finally sleeps through the night, mostly, and diapers! God, Frank, the diapers. We just started talking about potty training. Are we ready to do the newborn phase again? The sleepless nights? The hospital bag? What if I forgot how to hold a baby? What if Tobias hates being a big brother and resents us forever?"
"Baby," Frank's calm voice drifted through the door. "Take a breath."
"And what if it's negative?" you continued, completely ignoring him. "What if it's negative and I broke his heart? He was so excited today about being a big brother. I'm going to be sad about a baby I didn't even know I wanted hours ago. Maybe hormones are everywhere, Frank. I am a medical anomaly of stress—"
The door swung open. Frank didn't wait for an invitation.
He stepped into the bathroom, immediately closing the distance between you. He reached out, wrapping his hands around your upper arms, gently anchoring you in place.
"Hey. Look at me," he commanded softly.
You looked up, your breathing shallow, eyes wide with anxiety.
"Stop," Frank murmured, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your skin. He brought one hand up to cup your cheek, his touch was warm. "You are spiraling, baby."
You stopped thinking that and automatically took a breath, inhaling until your lungs felt full, then letting it out in a long sigh.
"Better?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.
"A little," you whispered, resting your forehead against his chest. "I'm just really scared."
"I know," he said gently, resting his chin on top of your head, his arms wrapping fully around you. "But whatever the test says, we’re fine. If it’s negative, we keep doing what we’re doing, loving the crazy toddler we already have. And if it’s positive... we handle the chaos. We can handle a newborn."
You let out a laugh against his chest. "You're a doctor. I'm just the one who has to carry it."
"And I'll be right there, catering to your every whim," he promised, kissing the crown of your head.
A beep cut through the quiet of the bathroom.
Your entire body tensed.
The three minutes were up.
You couldn't move.
Frank felt the shift in you, his own grip tightening slightly before he slowly let go. He looked from you to the counter, where the test lay face down.
"Do you want to look, or should I?" Frank asked.
"You," you breathed, stepping back. "You look."
Frank nodded.
He walked over to the counter.
He hand reached down to pick up the test.
He turned it over.
The silence stretched for a beat. Then two.
Frank’s face completely changed.
A slow smile broke across his face.
He looked up at you, his eyes shining.
"Well," Frank held up the test, turning the small digital screen toward you. "Looks like our boy was right," he said softly.
PREGNANT.
A tear finally spilled over your eyelashes. You covered your mouth with your hand, laughing as Frank closed the distance between you, pulling you flush against his chest and lifting you right off your feet.
Frank's arms remained locked tightly around your waist, his forehead resting against yours as you both looked at the digital screen confirming your lives were about to change all over any moment.
"Two kids," you whispered, the reality finally settling in. "We're really doing this again."
"We're really doing this again," Frank echoed.
He leaned in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. It wasn't chaotic; it was a slow and grounding kiss. Your hands found their way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until you completely forgot about the messy living room, your toddler sleeping down the hall, and the rest of the world outside.
When he finally pulled back, he was breathless.
Frank sank to his knees right there on the bathroom floor.
You looked down, your breath catching in your throat as he gathered the hem of your shirt in his hands, gently sliding it up just enough to expose your bare stomach.
He looked at your belly with tears pricking the corners of his eyes.
Frank leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your skin first. Then, he pressed a soft kiss right over the center of your stomach.
He looked up at you from the floor. He placed his palms flat against your sides, a soft smile gracing his lips.
"I love you," Frank whispered, "and I already love him."
"Or her." you squented your eyes, defying his words.
Garrett Graham was surprisingly emotional about kindergarten.
More emotional than his daughter, actually.
She stood in the doorway in her tiny backpack and sneakers with absolutely no fear in the world, while Garrett had spent the last forty minutes checking her lunchbox, adjusting her hair, and asking whether she was “sure” she had everything for the third time.
You were leaning against the kitchen counter trying not to laugh.
He turned to you with a look of pure betrayal. “Stop smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are absolutely smiling.”
“That’s because you’re acting like she’s going to war.”
Garrett shot you a flat look. “She is five.”
“She’s fine.”
“I know she’s fine.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “That doesn’t make this less stressful.”
Your daughter looked up at him with the calmest little expression in the world. “Daddy, you’re being weird.”
Garrett stared at her.
Then at you.
Then back at her. “I am not being weird.”
She blinked. “You’re talking like a baby.”
You lost it quietly into your hand.
Garrett pointed at both of you. “This is a conspiracy.”
The school was already in view by the time he was muttering under his breath about how nobody had prepared him for this particular kind of suffering. You sat in the passenger seat with your daughter in the back, listening to him overcomplicate everything in a way only Garrett could.
“Does she need another water bottle?”
“She already has one,” you said.
“What if she gets thirsty?”
“She’s five, Garrett, not a desert traveler.”
He looked at you in disbelief. “That is not helpful.”
Your daughter giggled in the back seat and kicked her feet against the seat. “Daddy’s nervous.”
Garrett gripped the steering wheel a little harder. “I am not nervous.”
You looked over at him. “You’ve asked if she needs lunch four times.”
“That’s called being prepared.”
She smiled knowingly. “You’re nervous.”
Garrett sighed so dramatically that you had to bite your lip.
At school, he nearly made it through the morning with his dignity intact.
Nearly.
He took her hand on the sidewalk, walked her up to the front doors, and kept telling her to have fun in a voice so carefully casual it was obvious he was barely holding himself together.
Your daughter looked up at him with that same fearless calm and said, “You can go home now.”
Garrett stared at her.
You stared at him.
He looked personally wounded. “You’re dismissing me already?”
She nodded. “I have school.”
He glanced at you for help.
You smiled. “She’s got a point.”
He exhaled through his nose, then crouched down in front of her and fixed the strap on her backpack one more time. “Okay. But if anything happens, you tell your teacher.”
“I know.”
“And if anyone is mean,”
“Daddy.”
He stopped.
She put her small hands on his cheeks and looked at him with complete seriousness. “I’m fine.”
That did him in.
Garrett’s whole face changed. “I know you are.”
She smiled and hugged him without warning, tiny arms wrapping around his neck so fast he barely caught her.
He held on immediately, eyes closing for a second like he needed it.
When she pulled back, he looked far too emotional to be trusted around the general public. “You sure?”
She nodded, then said, “You can’t cry.”
He blinked. “I’m not going to cry.”
You coughed into your hand to hide your laugh.
He looked at you with open accusation. “You’re being awful.”
“You’re the one who’s getting emotional in public.”
He muttered, “I hate this,” but he was smiling when he said it.
Your daughter kissed his cheek, then turned and took your hand so she could pull you two both toward the school doors like she was the parent and the two of you were the kids being walked inside.
Garrett followed in a daze.
In the classroom, he hovered in the doorway while your daughter hung her backpack on the tiny hook and immediately gravitated toward the block corner without even looking back. She was excited. Curious. Completely ready.
Garrett watched her for a second too long.
You stood beside him and touched his arm lightly. “She’s okay.”
He nodded, though he still looked like he had just watched a whole decade pass in two minutes.
The teacher came over, smiling, and your daughter proudly introduced her stuffed bunny and then the crayon she had selected for herself on the way in.
Garrett looked at you.
You looked back.
His face was doing that thing where it was trying very hard not to fall apart in front of a room full of strangers. “She’s really just… going in there?”
You smiled. “Yeah.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He stared after her as she sat down at a tiny table and began immediately organizing crayons with complete confidence.
Garrett swallowed hard. “She looks so small.”
You leaned into his side just a little. “She’s still her.”
He nodded slowly, like he was trying to absorb that as much as possible.
Then he turned to you with a very soft expression. “How are you not freaking out?”
You smiled. “Because one of us has to be normal.”
He gave you a tired look. “I resent that.”
You laughed and took his hand. “Come on.”
The two of you stayed a few seconds longer, watching her through the classroom window. She had already made a friend. Already found the right seat. Already looked less and less like a child headed into something scary and more like a tiny person exactly where she belonged.
Garrett’s grip on your hand tightened once.
“You okay?” you asked quietly.
He looked at you, then back at your daughter. “Yeah.”
You smiled. “You’re lying.”
He let out a breath and gave you a helpless little grin. “I’m a little emotional.”
“You are very emotional.”
“I know.”
You kissed his cheek and felt him exhale like the whole thing had been too much and not enough all at once.
“Proud?” you asked.
His face softened immediately. “Yeah.”
“Still nervous?”
He looked back through the window, then nodded. “A lot.”
You smiled. “That’ll probably last until the end of the week.”
He made a sound of suffering. “Don’t say that.”
You laughed quietly and squeezed his hand. “She’s going to be fine.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“She’s going to have a good day.”
“I know.”
“And you’re going to be the one crying in the car later.”
Garrett turned to you with a look of complete outrage. “I am absolutely not.”
You raised a brow.
He held your gaze for a second, then sighed and muttered, “Maybe a little.”
That got the smile you had been holding in all morning.
He kissed your forehead before letting your hand go.
As the two of you walked back toward the car, Garrett kept glancing over his shoulder like he needed one more look at the classroom before he could believe it was real.
You nudged him lightly. “She’s fine.”
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
“You’re allowed to miss her already.”
He stared at you for a second, then laughed softly and admitted, “I do.”
That, more than anything, made you love him harder.
Because the hard part had not been letting her go.
The hard part was trusting that love did not disappear just because she was walking into a new room without you.
And Garrett, emotional wreck that he was, proved that trust the moment he held your hand in the parking lot and said, still looking back at the school, “I’m telling you right now, I’m not ready for her to be twelve.”
You laughed so hard you had to lean into his shoulder.
He put an arm around you, still watching the building where your daughter had just started one of the biggest little adventures of her life, and looked every bit like a father who loved too deeply to do anything else.
know wherever you will be, so too shall i be | garrett graham
Home really is where the heart is, he realizes as he finally looks at you—not from the tiny screen on his phone, not from the photos you send him throughout the days, not from the video calls you sneak in during your free time—as you stand right in front of him.
contents — hurt/comfort, long-distance relationship, garrett’s relationship as told through hannah’s pov, hannah and logan bcs they had a great chemistry in the show <3, essentially a series rewrite but not really heehee, idk anything ab how away games work and how unis in the us work bcs i have never stepped foot in any part of the country, there’s not much of allie (i too am disappointed)
word count — 4.3k | title — you’ll be safe here by rico blanco
request — garrett graham with a long distance gf. they’ve been dating since freshman year and are LOCKED in, but it’s a fairly private relationship. one night g gets drunk and starts crying because he misses her, so dean calls her and flies her out to surprise garrett
gabby says — i hope this is what you had in mind, lovely anon 🫶🏼 even though i kinda strayed from the original request </3
gabby also says — ok so i am back-ish?? i mean i didn’t take a real break but i’m like out of my slump now <3 i’d still take things slower now to avoid burning myself out so i’m going to start working through the requests but at a much slower pace <3 tysm everyone for understanding and i hope you all like this one!
off campus masterlist
The first time Hannah Wells saw Garrett Graham anywhere other than Malone’s was in the boys’ locker room while she was cleaning. He was sitting on the bench with his phone in hand, a soft, not very Garrett-like smile on his face. A woman’s voice—your voice—drifted from the phone’s speakers, speaking animatedly about something Hannah could not fully understand.
“I miss you,” Garrett suddenly spoke, and you stopped talking. “I can’t wait to see you, baby.”
“I miss you too, honey,” you said softly. “Just a few more months away, Gare.”
“Why do you have to be on the other side of the country when you could be right here in Briar with me?” His voice was light and airy as he laughed, but his eyes held an unmistakable longing.
“I’m sorry, baby, I would stay with you if I could,” you said. “But you know how my dad is. He wants me here just until I graduate college, and then I’m off to wherever I want after graduation.”
“I know, baby.” He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “And I respect your parents’ decisions. That doesn’t mean I can’t spend every second missing my girl.”
“You miss me? I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for the hundreds of messages and voicemails you send me every day.” Your tone dripped with sarcasm, but Hannah noticed there was no real heat behind your words—only affection for your (presumably) boyfriend.
He laughed softly, the sound far from the sarcastic, arrogant laugh he had on the ice. The sound then was genuine—a very brief glimpse of who Garrett Graham is behind closed doors. “I’ll see you soon, baby,” he said, his voice quiet and intimate. “I’ll be counting the days until I see you again. I love you. Please take care of yourself.”
“I love you too, GG.” Your voice turned sharper—stricter. “You take care of yourself, or I’ll have Tuck dragging your ass into the kitchen to shove real food into your mouth.”
Hannah almost laughed at that because *now she can definitely see Garrett being bossed around by a headstrong woman. It might not seem like it at first glance, but the more she heard them, the more she believed it.
“Baby,” he groaned. “The last time he did that, I gained at least three pounds. Coach Jensen was on my ass the whole week.”
“So don’t even think of skipping meals this time.” You laughed freely. “I really have to go now, babe, I have my first class in ten minutes. Bye-bye, love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Not possible!” You said before the phone clicked as you hung up, leaving Garrett sitting there with a lovesick smile on his face.
Hannah saw the man’s face harden, the tension returning to him with full force. She watched as he stared at his dark screen, as if replaying the brief memory of your face and your melodic voice. She watched as Garrett stared at the dark screen for several moments before his eyes lifted to where she stood.
“Can I help you?” He asked, his voice devoid of the warmth he had with you, but not unkind. His facial expression was tense, a far cry from the soft, fond look he had earlier. It wasn’t that Garrett Graham had an attitude—it was just that no one had ever seen him that soft.
Hannah jumped and blinked a few times. “Oh, sorry, I…” She gestured vaguely around the locker room. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just waiting for you to finish so I can… clean up.”
Garrett’s face slackened in slight surprise, and he nodded, standing from the bench and slinging his large duffle bag over his shoulder. “Sorry, lost track of time.”
Hannah watched Garrett leave—his tense frame, his hunched shoulders, and lowered head were significantly different from the man in front of you just minutes prior.
Huh, Hannah thought. She did not even know Garrett had a girlfriend in the first place, but it totally made sense—for her, at least.
—
The next time Hannah saw Garrett was in their philosophy class as their professor returned their papers.
“Perfect. Another D,” Dexter said beside Hannah, turning to her expectantly after looking through their own paper. “So… how’d you do?”
Hannah looked at her paper, shook her head hesitantly, and said, “Not good.”
“Girl.” Dexter looked somewhat apprehensive because *Hannah Wells—not doing well? The girl was quite literally a music prodigy and a smart cookie in general, but then again, Hannah was known to be humble—too humble. “Really?”
“Yeah, I wrote it in like an hour, so…” She left the rest of her sentence unsaid.
She heard him before she saw him.
“Fucking hell, you aced it?”
Garrett Graham was a fucking loudmouth, and if Hannah did not know before, she definitely did then.
“I knew it,” Dexter said from beside her. “Show me.”
“Do you mind?” Her brows furrowed as she turned to look at him.
“What?” He smirked—that annoying, cocky smirk he always had. “Only you get to eavesdrop on conversations you shouldn’t?”
Garrett was still grinning by the time Hannah turned back around with a deep sigh and a roll of her eyes.
After that, Garrett had found Hannah in front of the building.
“Mona!” He called out from a few feet away. “Mona,” He said again once he was right behind Hannah.
“Uh, who’s… who’s Mona?” Hannah asked her friends.
“I think… you.” Dexter raised their eyebrows, taking a slight step back.
“I… I’m not Mona,” Hannah said, almost awkwardly.
“It is an M though, right?”
“Not even close.”
“Sorry about that.” Garrett grimaced. “I’m not… very good with names.”
“What do you want, Garrett Graham? Petals to walk on? Maybe another fancy gym that costs thousands of dollars even though the theater department is literally falling apart.” Allie rolled her eyes from beside Hannah, who turned to her with a sympathetic smile.
Meanwhile, the hockey captain had an amused smirk on his face.
“You guys are late for scene study.” Hannah grinned. “Go, I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Bye, Mona.” Dexter teased with a grin, wiggling their fingers in a wave as they practically pulled Allie with them.
“Could you please, with a sugar on top, help me study, so I don’t fail spectacularly?” Garrett immediately asked as soon as Hannah turned back to him.
“Didn’t know you had manners in you, but no,” she said as quickly as possible, starting to walk away from Garrett—and hopefully from the conversation.
“Come on, do me a solid,” Garrett, like the annoying little shit he was, followed after her. “I mean, for feminism?”
That pulled a laugh from Hannah. “Now, what are you actually on, Garrett Graham?”
“I’m serious,” Garrett said, “I have to ace the oral presentation, or I can’t play.”
“Believe it or not, I have priorities that have nothing to do with hockey,” Hannah said with a chuckle. “Find another tutor, dude.”
“Look…” He started, but realized he hadn’t even gotten her name yet. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” she deadpanned. “But it’s Hannah Wells—not even close to Mona.”
“I mean, it kinda is,” he mumbled, before shaking his head. “Look, it’s really important that I play this next game.” He was literally about to get to his knees and beg if that was what it would take for Hannah to agree. “We are playing against UCLA in two weeks, but that’s not what’s important. Hear me out, but my girlfriend lives halfway across the country, and… drumroll please…” He actually paused, to which Hannah raised an eyebrow. “She studies at UCLA. That’s why I really, really need to play.”
“I still hardly see how that is my problem?” Hannah backtracked immediately. “I’m sorry, it’s just I already am holding three jobs down right now, and I really, really can’t afford another job. You’re a good guy, Garrett, I’m sure you can find another tutor.”
“Okay, uh…” He rubbed his forehead briefly before his face literally lit up. “I can pay you.”
“I think that’s what having a job entails.”
“No, I mean, I can pay you however much you need,” he said, “Just name your price, Wellsy.”
“Wellsy?”
“That’s literally not what’s important.”
Hannah mulled his words over, and she would be lying if she said his offer was not tempting, but she didn’t know him, and she didn’t know how far he would be willing to go. “If I, hypothetically, agree, how long and how often would our sessions be?” She asked.
“Hypothetically, would 2 hours work for you?”
“It would,” she said slowly, “And if I, hypothetically, ask for fifty dollars per hour?”
“Then I would hypothetically agree.”
“Dude, seriously?” She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Do you know how much the minimum wage is?”
“Yeah,” he easily said, “But the whole point of this is that you are not to be paid the minimum wage, Wellsy.”
“Then…” She sighed deeply before reluctantly nodding. “Then I guess it’s a deal.”
—
Hannah found herself standing by the hockey house’s front door, her fist raised as she knocked—almost pounding on the wood to make sure she was heard over the game blaring from the speakers.
“Turn that down for a moment!” She heard someone yell from inside, his voice sounding closer as he walked over. Soon enough, the door swung open, revealing Logan.
“Hannah, hey! Didn’t expect to see you here.” Logan greeted Hannah with a twinkle in his eyes Hannah could not quite understand.
“Hey.” She waved, the gesture a little awkward and shy. “Uh, is Garrett here?”
“Garrett?” Logan’s brows furrowed before it dawned on him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You’re his tutor!” He opened the door wider to let the girl in. “Come in. Is it okay for you to wait in the dining room while I call him down?”
“Yeah, for sure.” Hannah waved him off politely. She wandered through the house, looking around their shared space—which was surprisingly neat for a bunch of college athletes—until she found an unoccupied space on the farthest side of the dining table.
“Hey, Wellsy.” She heard Garrett greet as he descended the stairs and walked into the dining room. He was looking down at his phone, but looked up briefly to turn to the guys. “Can we have two hours of peace and quiet? Just two hours, guys.”
“Yeah, for sure.” Birdie put the controller down and turned the television off.
“Yeah, no, I gotta get started on dinner too.” Tucker rose from the couch. “All of you, except G, are on dinner duties. Get up now—right now.” There was an immediate commotion, but Tucker heard none of it. “Dinner duties or no dinner.”
“Wow, now I know why the house is tidy,” Hannah said as Garrett took a seat across from her, placing his phone face down on the table. “He runs a strict program here.”
“He really does.” Garrett laughed, eyeing her notes with a bit of interest. “Take it away then, Wellsy.”
As Hannah began talking, Garrett slowly lost what little interest he had at the beginning. He jumped every time his phone pinged on the table, his face lighting up slightly as he immediately picked his phone up, only to be disappointed every time.
She spoke when he picked his phone back up for the third time. “You know, I’d really appreciate it if you paid more attention,” she said, but not unkindly. “I don’t think you’d pass the oral presentation—and the class—if you don’t even try to understand what this is all about. Garrett, you told me you needed this, so please take this a bit more seriously.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Garrett sighed, turning his phone to do not disturb. “Sorry. Can you backtrack?”
Two hours had passed quickly after that, and Hannah had been packing her stuff when Garrett’s phone rang. She watched as tension quickly left his body.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” he said quickly and picked up without waiting for her to respond—not that she minded. They were already done.
“Hi, GG!” Your voice came from the phone speaker soon, and Hannah couldn’t help but take a subtle peek into Garrett’s phone screen. “Sorry, I just got off my last class. It was hell, but anyway, how are you, honey?”
“I’m alright, baby.” He smiled softly—the same smile he had in the locker room, and the one he had when he was talking about her just the day prior.
Enthusiastic greetings and your name echoed behind Garrett as the guys scrambled towards their friend.
“Hi, guys!” You said as your boyfriend turned the camera over to the rowdy bunch. “Oh my God, you reek of testosterone, and it reaches me all the way over here.”
“Hey! Garrett’s tutor is here with us!” Dean spoke up from behind Logan. “And she’s a woman, so that essentially cancels out the testosterone.”
Your eyebrows raised in surprise and excitement. “She’s there? Please, I need to see her!”
Garrett laughed, looking at Hannah. He turned the camera over towards her when she nodded, and watched as your face softened.
“Hi, oh my God! Finally, another woman!” You grinned, introducing yourself to Hannah. “I’m this doofus’ girlfriend, unfortunately.”
“Hey!”
“Hi!” Hannah laughed, her heart warming every second she talked to you. She honestly did not expect you to be this warm and welcoming, especially since you had a bit of a mean girl vibe at first glance. “Hannah Wells. I’m Garret’s tutor, unfortunately.”
“I am starting to regret this, just so you know,” Garrett grumbled behind the phone.
“Oh, that is unfortunate.” You giggled when your boyfriend turned the phone back to his face. “Baby, I am proud of you, and I’m glad you’re getting the help you need.”
“Babe, I have a tutor, not a therapist.”
You ignored his words. “But it is unfortunate for Hannah because you are as stubborn as a mule.”
“You are so lucky I love you.”
Hannah ended up staying for another hour before you finally ended the call, borderline threatening your boyfriend to drop her off up to her dorm room or else.
But Garrett had other plans, unbeknownst to her.
“So, uh, Wellsy,” he said. “My ride’s actually not in good shape right now, so I probably can’t drop you off, but Logan here can.”
Logan looked at Garrett with wide eyes behind Hannah, to which he responded with a knowing grin.
“Oh, is that okay? I actually have my bike, so I can just, you know, bike,” Hannah said, trying to look at Logan without blushing.
“No, it’s late, I’ll drop you off,” Logan said with a charming smile. “Your bike will most probably fit in the truck, so…”
“Oh, that is so nice of you. Thank you!”
Meanwhile, Garrett was cheekily sending you a message.
Garrett: So
You: So?
Garrett: I didn’t drop Hannah off
You: ?
Garrett: Pls hear me out
You: I am listening…
Garrett: Logan likes her, like like her…
You: Okay…
Garrett: So I asked him to drop her off.
Garrett: You know, so they bond. 🙂↕️
You: You scheming dick 😟
You: I love it. Let me know what Logan says after 🤭
—
Hannah buckled her seatbelt in, waiting for Logan to enter his truck after strapping her bicycle in the pickup.
“Sorry for the wait,” Logan said as soon as he opened the door, quickly buckling in and turning the engine on.
“Oh, no.” Hannah waved him off. “I should be thanking you for the ride.”
“It’s nothing.” Logan started driving. “It’s late and dark out. Bare minimum, really.”
Hannah only smiled in response, and there was a few minutes of silence, only the sound of the radio filling the slightly awkward air between them.
“So…” Hannah began.
“So…” Logan repeated.
“Garrett and his girlfriend…”
“Oh, them?” Logan grinned. “As far as I know, they’re childhood sweethearts. Her family moved to Boston when they were around six and left in the second semester freshman year due to her dad’s relocation at work. They’re thick as thieves, I’m telling you. When they were together, they were inseparable and they were both menaces. There was no peace with those two around. If you think Dean is bad, you should see them together.”
“That’s… actually really sweet.” Hannah smiled wistfully as she imagined you and Garrett together.
“It really is.”
They soon arrived in front of Hannah’s dorm building.
“Well, this is me,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride.”
“Yeah, no worries.” Logan, too, unfastened his seatbelt and exited the car to help Hannah with her bicycle.
Once the bike was chained safely onto the pole, they both stood there awkwardly.
“Uh…” Hannah gestured to the main entrance. “I’m gonna go in. Thank you so much again for giving me a ride. Drive safely on your way back. Message me when you get home?”
“Thanks, but, uh…” Logan put his hands in his pocket, not knowing what to do with them. “I don’t have your number.”
“Oh!” She chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry, I can… give it to you now.”
“Yeah, sure.” He handed her his phone, and she quickly typed her number in before handing the phone back to him.
“Here. Thanks again.”
“Anytime.”
Hannah smiled and slowly walked toward the building, waving at Logan shyly as he stood there with an almost dopey grin on his face.
—
It had been about two months since Hannah had tutored Garrett. He was able to ace his oral presentation in their philosophy class, and was ultimately permitted to play against UCLA.
From what Hannah had heard from Logan, you had watched the game wearing Garrett’s jersey, despite being a UCLA student, which had caused a bit of commotion with your friends.
You and Garrett were able to spend a few days together before they had to essentially pry your boyfriend off you.
It had been two and a half months since then, and now, here they all are at Malone’s. Hannah is serving their table, Garrett is drinking his sorrows away a few days away from Thanksgiving, and the guys are there for emotional support.
From what Hannah had heard from Garrett himself as he very loudly (and drunkenly) announced to practically the whole diner, he was supposed to be flying to California to spend Thanksgiving and the rest of the break with you and your family. Unfortunately, his dad had required him to spend at least Thanksgiving with him in Boston, only for his world-class asshole of a father to cancel at the very last minute.
Garrett, having canceled his flight ticket to California during one of the busiest times of the year, had to wait another three weeks for the next available flight because all flights were booked. On top of that, you hadn’t been responding to any of his calls and texts in the last few hours, which felt like a lifetime for a heartbroken man.
Hannah watches as a tear falls from Garrett’s eye after prolonged hours in the diner and a drink too many. Soon, more tears are streaming down his face as he sobs and hiccups.
“Fuck, I miss her so much, man.” He says to no one in particular. “Honestly, fuck my dad, and fuck the airlines and the planes. I will build my own fucking plane if I could.” He is hiccuping in between his words, while his friends look like they don’t know whether to laugh or sympathize with their friend.
“Call her,” Tucker mouths to Dean over Garrett’s shoulder.
“She’s fucking unreachable, dude!” Dean whisper-yells in a slight panic, not loud enough for Garrett to hear over his own heartbreak. “I’ve been trying for hours!”
“Well, try again!”
“What am I, a miracle worker?”
“Considering that a miracle is what we need right now, yes.”
“Choke.”
“Stop fucking talking!” Garrett interrupts with a sob—very out of character for the cold, untouchable captain of the hockey team. “My girl is across the world and I’m alone… I’m so lonely… I miss her… I miss my baby…”
“Dude, it’ll just be three weeks.” Logan tries to soothe his crying friend. “Time will pass quickly, I promise you.”
“Three. Weeks.” Garrett’s words slur together as he speaks. “Three whole weeks, Loge. I can’t wait that long. I will die. I will literally die.”
“No, you won’t, G, you’re being dramatic.”
“Fuck you, Dean. Try being away from your girl for your whole university life.”
“…Okay, fair.”
Another hour passes, and they finally manage to drag Garrett out of Malone’s with a (slightly empty) promise of having you on the phone by the time they get home, to which he easily agrees.
But Hannah, having clocked out of her shift just in time to come with the guys to the hockey house, takes the wheel after Garrett threatens to jump out of the moving car if he had to spend another second without you.
Hannah does not know whether to laugh at Garrett or to cry with him as he continues babbling and slurring in the backseat. The man she is seeing is significantly different than the hockey captain the rest of the world sees, but it somehow makes sense to her that he gets to this point of distress when it comes to you.
About fifteen minutes pass quickly before Hannah finally pulls over and kills the engine, while Logan and Dean try to drag a very uncooperative, very uncoordinated man into the house.
They are halfway through the front door when Tucker comes to a halt—an actual, sudden stop that causes Garrett’s head to bump into his back.
Hannah instinctively scans the room trying to find the reason why Tucker froze, and that is when she spots the unfamiliar pair of shoes in the rack, two large suitcases beside stairs, an unrecognizable coat draped on the backrest of the couch.
Dean and Logan, completely focused on Garrett, do not immediately notice the slight changes around the house, but Hannah and Tucker do.
“Fuck, man, warn a guy next time—” Dean’s words are cut off abruptly when he finally sees the reason for Tucker’s sudden pause. “Holy fuck.”
Hannah’s jaw drops as her eyes land on you lounging on the sofa, the wide smile on your face faltering when you see the state your boyfriend is in.
“Oh God, what happened?” You stand from the couch to rush over, your hands immediately finding your boyfriend’s face. “Baby, what happened to you?”
Garrett looks up, his bleary, unfocused eyes staring through you, and he drunkenly laughs. “Shit, I miss her so much I’m hallucinating.”
You fight back a smile at his words.
The guys and Hannah exchange quick pleasantries with you as you let them drag Garrett into his room with a promise to spend more time with you once your boyfriend has had his time.
You hug each of them swiftly. “I have some stuff for you in the pink luggage.”
“You are a lifesaver.”
“We literally love you.”
“You are amazing,” Hannah suddenly says, which makes you stop. “Even more amazing in real life. I hope you know that I adore you already, and I hope to get to know you more.”
“Babe, I love you, and please. I would love to know the person who saved my boyfriend’s career.” You grin, giving her a quick hug before entering Garrett’s bedroom.
Soon enough, it’s just you and your drunk boyfriend in his room. He is lying on his back, spread out like a starfish, and you snap a quick photo before moving.
You wet a washcloth with warm water and gently wipe him clean when he starts groaning and trying to push your hands off him weakly.
“Stop it, I have a girlfriend,” he mumbles, barely able to roll over. “She’s the only one I want. I love her and I miss her so much.” He almost starts crying right then and there.
“I’m sorry,” you say with a grin. “I’m sorry, I won’t touch you again, but can you please move over? Can you leave a space for when your girlfriend comes?”
“Mkay,” is all he murmurs as he rolls over to his own side on the bed, before promptly falling asleep.
You tidy up swiftly and crawl into bed with him, exhaustion taking over just as quickly.
—
Garrett regains consciousness slowly, but the pounding in his head quickly makes itself known. He winces slightly as the memories rush through his head with them ending right before his friends had dragged him home.
He raises a hand in an attempt to rub his eyes free of sleep, only to realize that his whole arm is pinned on the bed. He slowly turns to look, and his eyes immediately land on a mop of hair—your hair—and he feels the air leaving his lungs when he realizes that you are lying right there, on his bed, with him. You are not sleeping on your own bed across the country in California, but right here in Hastings.
A smile spreads across his face, his hangover completely forgotten as he leans down to wake you with gentle kisses on your skin.
He does not stop until you wake up, and he definitely does not—cannot—keep his hands off you—not when you shower together, not when you leave his bedroom and make your way downstairs, not when you walk into the kitchen, not when you talk with your friends, and definitely not when you spend the entire break with him.
Home really is where the heart is, he realizes as he finally looks at you—not from the tiny screen on his phone, not from the photos you send him throughout the days, not from the video calls you sneak in during your free time—as you stand right in front of him.
Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ *taps on the microphone* is this thing on? Hiiiii I'm back with this series! (kinda) I tried forcing myself to incorporate an ask into it and for some reason my brain short circuited and decided i could no longer write lol but a few days ago I decided to scratch the ask (sorry nonnie, I might do the ask as a blurb at some point) and just write whatever, I also said there would be like 3 chapters until the story reached the show storyline but actually, next chapter will probably be at the beginning of the show so yeah, sorry for the wait, I can't promise I won't take another month for the next update because I have things happening irl for the next two weeks but yeah enjoy!
College Baby masterlist
New York City - Wednesday at noon
The rooftop garden had been transformed so beautifully you wouldn't have believed you were in the middle of the city if it weren't for the surrounding buildings, there were stacks of hay, barrels, wood fixtures, hats, cow print all around and little horses decorating the entire place. Dean's mom had gone all out and spared no expenses for her grandchild's first birthday, she'd insisted on throwing the party and had made sure to include you in every step of the planning.
Now, Sebastian is toddling around dresses in an adorable cowboy outfit completed with the tiniest cowboy boots gifted to him by his uncle Tuck.
"He looks like he's enjoying himself" Dean stands by your side and you both look out at Sebastian laughing as he plays on the ball pit.
"Yeah he does" You sigh "The boys here yet?"
"Logan just texted, they're on their way from the airport right now"
"Think Tuck will show up in full cowboy get up?" You joke.
He laughs "One hundred percent"
Tucker does show up in a full cowboy outfit complemented with the hat and buckle belt and all of Dean's mom's friends go crazy for the young handsome cowboy and treat him as if he were the entertainment.
When it is time to cut up the cake you all stand around the table with Sebastian in Dean's arms and sing Happy Birthday to him, you had been scared that he wouldn't like it, but once again, he proves he is his father's son and loves the attention he's getting, you let him have his own smash cake that he demolishes completely and laugh when he gives you the biggest frost covered smile ever.
You're trying to clean him when Garrett finally approaches, as usual it takes him a bit to warm up to the baby, and he's still awkward around him a year after, Seb doesn't care about his uncle's clear unsure attitude towards him though because he reaches for him every time he can and today is not the exeption.
His hands are covered in frosting still but he makes grabby motions at Garrett who freezes "He's not an explosive you know?" You chuckle at his reaction.
"I know, but I don't want to… break him" You almost choke at his words.
"I'm sorry what?"
"I don't know how to hold a baby, I don't want to mess up and drop him or something"
"Garrett, he's pretty sturdy" You tell him "Plus he's sadly not a tiny baby anymore, he'll adjust himself until he feels safe and comfortable"
"Right"
Sebastian shrieks at Garrett not picking him up and then lets out a "GA!"
"He's calling for you Ga" You chuckle and hand him over.
Garret's face scrunches up in disgust when your son puts his hands on it "He's sticky"
"It's just frosting" You shrug and hand him a wet towel "Here"
You're getting a glass of lemonade when you notice Tucker's call for help, he's stuck in between a group of older women, Mrs. Di Laurentis' friends for sure. He smiles at them with the politeness that only Tucker can conjure and then when he notices you looking at him gives you a pleading look to get him out if there.
Laughing a little you approach them "Hello ladies, I have to steal our resident cowboy for a minute to get some pictures before the birthday boy gets the sugar crash"
"Oh okay, but you're returning him to us after!" One of them says.
You nod "Yes ma'am" And grab his arm pulling him away.
"You're my life saver, I could kiss you right now" He tells you.
"Let's not do that at our kid's first birthday huh bud?" Dean appears out of nowhere and stands in between the two of you.
You turn to him immediately at that "Dean, are you jealous?"
"No, I just think we should have some decorum and you two making out at a one year old's party is the right move" The blonde shrugs nonchalantly.
"Okay but what about a little peck?" You question, Tucker has a small smirk pulling on his face that he's trying to stop.
"Mmm no, still don't think you should do that"
"Damn, I was about to suggest you two did a couple pictures with Seb and one of the poses might have included a little peck between his parents" Jules materializes out of thin air like they have the whole day as the designated photographer "But if this is a kiss free zone then oh well…"
You know they are baiting him so you just bite down a laugh and say "What a shame, that sounded kinda cute actually"
"Well no, see, that would be different"
"How exactly?" Tucker asks crossing his arms.
"We're his parents!" Dean argues "We should have all the cute family pictures!"
"But you just said no kissing during a first birthday party, something about lacking decorum" Tucker reminds him.
"Between you two" The dad points out "Because you are not together so you'd be just kissing without a relationship and that's just…"
"Okay but we're not together either so…" You say, Jules nods beside you.
"But we're his parents and-"
He gets cut off by Garrett holding Seb away from him as if he were toxic "Right, so as his parents please take the kid, he kinda stinks"
Dean grabs the baby without fight "You're weak bro, he doesn't even smell that bad"
Tucker gets a step closer and gags making you all laugh "Holy fuck, he smells worse than the locker room"
"Who smells worse than the locker room?" Logan joins the group.
"Seb"
"He can't be that bad"
"Wanna check?"
"Nope"
New York City Apartment - Wednesday night
The apartment's living room looks like a toy store. Sebastian is asleep in his room worn out from all the excitement of the day, your friends are in the guest rooms and you and Dean are going through the photos Jules sent you on his laptop in the middle of the living room.
"We did good" Dean smiles looking at one picture where Seb looks to be having the time of his life while eating his cake.
"Yeah, we're doing a pretty good job" You agree and change the picture to one of you holding him "Look at how happy he looks"
"So pretty" You look up to find Dean looking at you now.
Your face softens "Dean"
"I know" He says "But… I mean what if? We never even tried"
"Dean, I adore you, you're the best dad I could've asked for for Seb, and you're a great guy all around but we can't risk this not working out when there's a whole other person who depends on us" You tell him and see him frown.
"But how do you know it's not going to work out? We do great together, we're a great team, today was clear proof of that"
"You don't want this, not really, at least not now. Today was great, but we're going back to school next week and things will change, you are not ready for the kind of commitment that comes with a relationship, let alone one with so much on the stake" You try to explain, he looks defleated.
"You don't get to speak for me" He doesn't raise his voice and that hurts more because you've never seen him look like this "Maybe I am ready for the commitment, you don't know that"
"You love sex, you love one night stands, you never hook up with the same girl twice unless you've deemed enough time has passed and you make a face every time one of your friends mentions anything relationship related" You point out.
"What face? I don't make a face" He argues "But that's besides the point, yes, I love sex but if we were together then we could have sex, so much sex, great sex, I remember, we're great together in that too"
"Stop saying sex please" You stop him "Just answer me this, if I hadn't come to you and tell you I was pregnant, would you have even considered calling me again?" He thinks about it "Exactly, we can't risk it Dean" You stand up leaving the laptop by his side "Goodnight Dean"
Off Campus apartment - Saturday morning
You haven't seen Dean that much in the past week, he was supposed to help you move but then had to help Summer with something last minute and had recruited the guys to help you instead, you know he was lying about it. The guys barely looked at you while helping you bring everything into your new apartment, not because they were mad at you for rejecting their friend but because every time they tried to say something it came out too awkward.
So now you're left to unpack everything by yourself, at least Tucker offered to babysit Seb for a few hours so you didn't have to worry about him for a bit, you have the suspicion he's actually taking your son back to the hockey house so Dean can see him because he's been weird about visiting too, he's seen Sebastian of course, he can't go more than a day without seeing him, but usually the guys would ask to take him or he'd pick him up for the day without saying much to you even though you were practically living together, yes, he also slept in his family's apartment instead of your shared one.
"Super important favor to ask" Hannah speaks into the phone when you pick up.
"Shoot" You're unpacking the kitchen.
"My bike seems to have gotten banged up on the trip back, any chance you know how to fix the uh… is it the chains? I think its the chains" She sounds like she's moving the bike around and it doesn't seem to sound too good.
"No idea, actually, I don't even think I know how to ride a bike" You admit "But I have someone who can probably fix it for cheap for you"
"Great! can I drop it off at yours? It's closer than the dorms and-" She stops herself "Wait, did you just say you don't know how to ride a bike?"
"Yeah?"
"You can't not know how to ride a bike. How old are you? Three?"
"I just never learned" You shrug not seeing the big deal "I have bad balance"
"You have a whole child, who's gonna teach your kid how to ride a bike if you don't know how to?" Hannah sounds personally offended by your lack of knowledge in riding a bike.
"His dad probably, he's the athletic one" You answer.
"Absolutely not, you're learning how to ride a bike this semester, mark my words, we're getting my bike fixed and then I'm teaching you"
"Why is this a semester activity? Don't kids learn in like a week?"
"Well yes, but I have like three jobs plus school and you have a kid and work and school so we'll probably not have that much time and therefore we'll take it slow whenever we can" She explains.
"Hannah, if it takes longer than a week for you to teach me how to ride a bike I'm giving up"
"Nooo"
"Yes"
"No"
"Yes"
She sighs "Fine, a week" And accepts "But it can't be this week cause I need to get my schedule set"
"Okay, just let me know"
"Cool, I'm going to be the best teacher ever, we're getting matching helmets and I'm getting you knee and elbow pads and-"
"Hey Han" You interrupt her she hums "Just bring your bike over so we can get it fixed hopefully before classes start on Monday"
"Right, be there in five"
Hockey house - Tuesday afternoon
"Dude, this is getting ridiculous" Logan passed Sebastian to his dad, you'd just dropped him off before your shift at Malone's "She gave me the baby, we said three words and she left, you're telling me you can't exchange three words with her?"
"Of course I can, I just needed to pee" Dean defended, Logan raised his eyebrows.
"And you couldn't hold it for like one minute?"
"No"
"Maybe I'll get you adult diapers for your next birthday then" The roommate scoffed and walked away.
"I do not need adult diapers" Dean mumbled "You have enough diapers for the both of us right bud?" Seb blinked at him.
"Dada!" He happily clapped his dad's cheeks between his little hands.
"You are too strong for your little body, you know that?" Dean winced at the hit "Maybe we'll start you on hockey early, or football, rugby maybe? A contact sport for sure dude"
Hockey house - Thursday morning
Something the four roommates had been blessed with this semester was their schedules lining up perfectly on Thursdays, well, not to the dot, but none of them had any lectures in the morning. Last night you'd dropped Sebastian off with them since you were planning on going for a job interview before your first class of the day and thought it better to let Sebastian sleep fully at his dad's rather than wake him up earlier than needed.
Dean woke up around nine and while still half asleep reached around his bed to find Sebastian who'd been sleeping next to him, he jumped up when he couldn't feel him."Seb? Buddy?" He was panicking leaving the room in just his briefs when he realized the baby wasn't there. His head was pounding as he sprinted down the stairs, probably from the way he jumped off his bed.
"Seb?" He repeats looking around "Sebastian Di Laurentis where the hell are you?"
"Dada?" His little head peaked over the couch, blonde strands of hair a mess and sleepy eyes.
"Oh my god, Seb what are you doing here?" Dean approaches the sofa and finds an image he never thought he'd see in his life.
Garret's sprawled over the surface of the couch fast asleep and Seb's lying on top of him. The tv is on showing some cartoon show and one of Garrett's arms secures the little boy so he doesn't fall off.
"Ga!"
"Yeah, you hanging out with Uncle Garrett?" Sebastian nods and snuggles back into Garrett who mumbles something in his sleep and tightens his hold "Oh I need like 20 pictures of this or no one will believe it's true"
Unfortunately for Garrett, all his friends wake up before he does and get to see just how cuddly and soft their captain can get for his nephew. At some point in the morning Dean decides that although this is something he hates to break up, Seb probably needs a new diaper, he already ate breakfast on top of Garret because he refused to move, but now the father needs to get his son.
"Maybe I'll lie on top of him when you take Seb away and he won't notice the difference" Logan offers.
"Let me just…" Dean stands in front of them, Seb's big eyes looking up at him with a sleepy smile that he's had all morning from how comfortable he's gotten "Okay bud, you need to come with daddy now okay? Promise I'll bring you right back"
Thankfully Sebastian doesn't hate the idea of his dad's arms and goes easily, Garrett however, is a complete different story. The hockey player mumbles angrily in his sleep and tightens his hold, when Dean pulls gently he tugs back.
"Why is he not letting go?" Tucker asks in disbelief "He can barely hold him when he's awake but asleep he's like velcroed to him"
"Garrett, dude" Dean sighs and pushes him "You have to let go, you can't steal my kid"
"Mmm no" Garrett turns away taking a giggling Sebastian with him.
"I'm waking him up" Logan says before leaning down and pinching his shoulder hard, Garrett jumps up and they bump heads "Aw fuck!"
"What the fuck!" Garrett exclaims holding his head in pain finally letting go of the baby who burts out laughing at his uncles being in pain, Dean takes him rolling his eyes.
"You're on babysitting duty next time I need someone to look after him by the way!" Dean shouts as he walks up the stairs back to his room for the diaper change. In the background he can hear Tucker dying of laughter and the other two idiots complaining about their hit
Off campus apartment - Thursday night.
Dean finally decides to start acting like an adult again, meaning he's actually dropping Sebastian off at your apartment instead of just sending one of the guys over to do it. "I can do this" He says to Seb, or himself, he doesn't really know "It's just mama, no need to be nervous right?"
You open the door right after he knocks and greet him with a simple hello before taking Sebastian and saying goodbye. Dean stands frozen but reacts last second and pushes his foot to wedge the door and keep it open.
"I'm sorry" You give him a confused look "I've been an asshole these past few days, I'm kinda proving your point and I don't want it to be like this for the next 17 years"
Your face softens "Now you understand me then?"
"Well no, I still think we could've given it a try" He says "But I'm not pressuring you into anything"
"Dean, I barely saw you this week even though Sebastian was with you every other day, I can't do that for however many years we have to, it's not fair to anyone. I want to have a good civil relationship with you for as long as we are taking care of Sebastian, whether that is for the next 17 years or until he's 30, but you deciding you're no longer talking to me for a week because I told you I didn't want to risk that with a relationship doesn't exactly make me want to change my mind about it"
"I hear you, I'm sorry" He looks down at his feet "I- yeah, I'm sorry, I'll try to go back to the way it was before, let me just process the double rejection" He jokes.
"Sure man, take your time, just please don't send the guys to come pick and drop Seb off anymore, my pantry is screaming from how empty it is, they always take the good snacks"
It's safe to say Dean makes the guys go to the store and get you all the snacks they took from you and more the next day threatening to ruin all their chances of scoring in their next game if they don't.
i love love LOVE the way you’re writing her and Dean’s relationship bc it is so complicated and also they’re 21 year olds trying to raise a baby in college!
also Ga and Seb against the world! (i have to wonder if Seb crawled out of the bed and into the hall or if Ga is a secret softie who broke him out tehe)
Summary: Andrew is paranoid of a reoccurring guest in the Cody residence; you. One day, he takes it upon himself to finally confront you and figure out your true intentions. Except, he didn’t prepare himself for how disarming you truly are, and he’s left wondering whether he’s been charmed or conned.
Content: Implied Age Gap, Ambiguous Reader Age, Smurf bc her presence itself is a TW (she sucks), Minor Angst, Medium Yearning, Major Tension, Lotta things left unsaid bc Andrew loves his pauses of silence, Season 1 inspired bc I adore his short hair
The rippling of the chlorinated water was about as mesmerizing as watching a dead goldfish try to swim. You stared at the deformed appearance of your submerged feet anyway. No matter how interesting you pretended your limbs were though, no matter how distracted you pretended to be, there was a set of eyes that were always watching, and nothing seemed to go unnoticed; Andrew Cody typically never missed anything.
It had been going on for months now. Ever since you became friends with— and this wording always makes the older man cringe— his nephew J, you lingered. Much like the scent of pool water at the Cody residence. The same pool you regularly dropped by unannounced to use. Even in your absence, your mark has been left on the home in recent months. With your personal hygiene products in the bathroom, your undergarments somehow winding up in the family's laundry, and even your unfinished drinks that would sit in the fridge. It was undeniable that you've become a regular guest. Not that anyone minded. To Daren, Craig, and Baz; Andrew's brothers, you were simply another body in the house.
Unbeknownst to you, the brothers' kept their distance from you in suspicion, worried you would relay what you heard to others. However, unbeknownst to them, you knew about as much as J did. J was your close friend so naturally, he confided in you about the "jobs" they would do. Quite frankly, you were the only person J could share such sensitive information with. Andrew knew that. He observed, borderline stalked, every reoccurring face at the Cody residence. With such obsessive analyzing, he gathered that you were aware of much more than you would ever let on. And that's what bothered him. Not just bothered, it unsettled him.
It irked the man to no end that no one could see through your act. Why could no one see it? That's why he was watching you as closely as he currently was. In your peripheral, the man stood just in front of the sliding glass doors that led to the kitchen, arms crossed, brows low and furrowed. He observed with the same look one would give their skin once realizing their attempt to wash away the smell of chlorine failed. It was critical. It was disturbed even. In every flex of you legs, ever raise of your arms, every twitch, every movement, his suspicions heightened. There was irony in all of this with how unassuming you presented yourself. To the world you were simply a young woman breezing through her youth, modest enough to charm some people along the way. In Andrew's head though, he wasn't going to let some young woman be the downfall of his family simply because she was attractive enough to fly under everyone else's radar.
"Andrew?" you test his name on your tongue. Loud enough for him to hear, soft enough for you to question whether his name really left your mouth. He didn't want to let his guard down so he stiffens, and grunts a "hm" out.
"Why do you do that?" you ask curiously.
"Do what?" he counters. It's un-genuine. Flat.
"Watch me every time I come around…What? You think I'm gonna drown or something? Are you gonna save me?" you attempt humor.
In the deep ginger-haired man's typical manner, he stares blankly. Not a single muscle twitches on his face. That certainly doesn't ease your anxieties from interacting with the eldest Cody one on one for the first time.
"Tough crowd," you mutter flatly, but not unkind.
"You think you're apart of this?" he squints, taking a territorial step forward. "You think because you're always around you're one of us?"
Now that revives your amusement. A boyish smile spreads across your face. "Apart of what, Andrew?" you pry coyly. "Cause it sounds like to me you're implicating something."
Unamused, he glares at you, standing his ground it seems. Not unlike a jaded dog that wasn't quick to trust. The pause of silence stretches, and once you realize he's not going to fill it, you continue.
"Look, I'm not some lost little girl that's begging for validation. Let alone from a family as dysfunctional as yours, no offense. I'm not interested in what you all do, I'm interested in this and that," you point to the pool and the kitchen.
His hazel eyes flit back and forth between your own. Analyzing. Assessing. "What's your deal? Huh? What are you really doing here?" he presses unconvinced, arms crossing over his broad chest.
You roll your eyes at his antics before picking up your drink that sat next you on the edge of the pool deck, continuing the swinging of your legs in the water. His figure shifts, no longer in your view point, and behind you the sound of boot soles meeting the concrete travels closer and closer. Your back suddenly goes cold, the warmth of the sun blocked, a shadow enveloping you and a warped reflection of the man's face ripples in the water. It's unwelcoming , of course.
"Cut the shit…I know you're not stupid." he bites.
You turn your body to look up at him, meeting his eyes. He has this annoyingly cautious gaze, like you're already guilty of whatever he's conjured up in his brain to accuse you of.
His tense words are met with a sigh. "Andrew…I have an idea of what you guys do, I just don't give a shit."
He opens his mouth to argue, but it closes once yours opens.
"Whatever sketchy shit you guys do in your free time is none of my business. I don't care. I don't want a cut. I don't wanna help." you sip your drink again before you partially turn your head to look at him and continue. "So…is there anything else you wanna grill me on, or can we get past this whole hostility phase?" you wonder, bored.
He glares with pursed lips, the silence deafening, but you make it a point not to break it. It seemed to be a test. A stand off. One you wished to win because while you didn't care to impress others, the eldest brother's opinion was something you cared for. His mouth opens before he closes it, jaw ticking.
A mischievous grin spreads across your face. "Refresh this while you think about it, yeah?" you joke, holding your glass out to him while swirling it a bit. He looks down at it with an unreadable expression before his gaze hardens once his eyes meet yours again.
There's another long pause of utter silence. Surprisingly, he picks up your glass, and strides to the kitchen. Now it was your turn for your mouth to fall agape. It was a teasing gesture, you didn't expect him to actually do it. Yet your ego tells you to hold your head up high and enjoy the slight footing you were given. Even if Andrew was the one to give it to you.
You turn your head and your brows furrow when he returns with two glasses, liquid within them a bright red. The older man holds one out to you. You squint at him cautiously before accepting it, hesitantly of course. Your eyes flick down at your drink—it was identical to the one you made earlier— and back up to him. The tension thickening as you take in his freckle peppered face through your lashes.
"Did you slip me something, Andrew?" you inquire. This time not teasing, nor accusatory. You asked him in the same tone one would ask about the weather. And this he found adorable. He knows you're smart and wouldn't hang onto his every word, but he humors you regardless. "Course not" he mutters, and he's truthful when he says that.
But of course, you knew better than to blindly believe the words of a man. So you dump the contents of the glass into the pool. With nonchalance, you set the cup back on the pool deck. This causes the corner of his mouth to twitch.
"Smart girl," he drawls, giving you a curt nod of approval.
Your eyes graze up and down his body approvingly. His own eyes never leave your face though. It was more of an act of discipline on his end. Once your gaze reaches his face again, he sips his drink. The two of you staring at one another in a charged silence. His beverage looked the same as yours, something too fruity for his liking in your opinion.
"How is it?" you grin.
"Awful…it tastes like diabetes," he admits dryly before crouching down next to you to hand the drink off to you. A silent offer for you to finish it.
You giggle at his words which elicits a slight tilt of his head, much like an assessing dog. Decoding the reaction of a person in hopes of understanding.
"What? You're funny" you muttered the words into the cup as you drank.
Andrew was perturbed. Were you making fun of him? Mocking him in front of his face? No one found him "funny". Not unless they were laughing at his expense rather than at what he says. His face hardens as his ear tips redden in embarrassment, bracing himself to bite back. The man prepares to defend himself from your cruelty. That's until he meets your eyes again and sees the warmth in them. Your lashes flutter expectantly; not impatient, but curious. You're not soft, but you're genuine. He sees it. He feels it. You're kind, but far from naive. You're observant, but far from judgmental. It's the knowledge of that which relaxes the muscles in his face.
"How did you know how I take my drink?" you question, amused.
You were patient, Andrew noticed. At least with him. You allowed him his pauses of silence to process things. He often got weird stares with how long he took to respond, but you waited with a curious head tilt. You seemed like the kind of person to prioritize meaningful conversation rather than filling silence with noise. You were a great listener, at least that’s what Andrew thought. You made him feel heard.
"I pay attention," he finally mumbles, scratching at his neck as he stands up again. It was automated. As if he was saying that because he knew it was the acceptable answer, as if the truth was something that he shouldn't share.
That response makes you erupt in more laughter, but it's lighter this time. "You're adorable" you blurt out the words before you can overthink them.
This time his neck and face are now equally as flushed as the tips of his ears. His hand that was once scratching his neck drops to his side, fingers beginning to twitch. His gaze travels to focus on something, searching for something to stabilize how unbalanced he felt. He lands on the water fountain he had previously assembled in the grass, searching for something to stabilize how unbalanced he felt. You notice the discomfort and decide not to acknowledge it, not wanting to add onto his discomfort.
"Anyway…" you lazily trail off. "I know if you think I’m suspicious or untrustworthy, I can't change that…but I really don't have some crazy ulterior motive. Sure, J and I are good friends, but this…thing he's pursuing with you guys isn't exactly a passion of mine," you lamely explain. This doesn't land well with the curly haired man.
"Everything I do is for my family," Andrew blurts. It's almost defensive if it weren't for how weak he said it. What the fuck was he saying? He didn't need to defend himself to you. Who cares what you think? Unfortunately for him, Andrew Cody does. Whether he consciously realizes it or not, his desire for forgiveness was beginning to bleed into this conversation. So much for him sussing you out.
You search his expression for a sign of what emotion his statement was loaded with. You expected anger, disdain, maybe even ego, an attitude of "you don't understand my backstory and why I do what I do." You end up finding nothing of that. Nothing even adjacent to any of those feelings is what you find. All you see is eyes full of hurt, they hope you understand, but expect you to kick him like an unwanted mutt. He braces himself for you to solidify his belief that he's a bad person. The vulnerability of it takes you aback. You don't want to ruin this moment or say the wrong thing. The last thing you want is to patronize him.
"Is that something that you value?" you ask awkwardly, as if you're scared the question will anger him. After a moment of silence you clarify yourself out of nervousness. "Family…I mean." you add.
"I know" he snaps out, voice raspy. He pauses to clear his throat before answering. "We all have our roles. I follow mine." he explains, aware of how vague and, frankly, lame it is. That's why his fingers twitch incessantly at his sides, sight zoned in on his water fountain.
"Andrew…" you start, causing his head to snap back to you. Your eyes widened at how desperate his looked. His hazel eyes had this puppy like appearance to them. A helplessness that contrasted the carrier of them. His matured body the opposite of how uncertain his eyes appeared. He almost looked like a little boy begging for help.
"Andrew, baby" the shrill of a familiar voice calls out from the kitchen. The man's entire body tenses up making you realize how relaxed he just was. Every ounce of vulnerability you managed to coax out evaporated the second the Cody matriarch spoke. His shoulders were practically to his ears.
"What is it Smurf?" he asks gruffly, head half turning to call out behind him.
"Why don't you go check on my car…it was making a noise earlier," she suggests, but neither you or Andrew is fooled by that tone. It was a demand.
The freckled man clenches his jaw before begrudgingly walking off. He exchanged a look with you that you couldn't quite distinguish. It might've been a desire to stay put. It could've been a itch to argue with you. Before you can distinguish what it was, the gentle digging of nails into your shoulder grounds you back to Earth.
"Sweetheart…it's best if you avoid talking to him alone…Pope can get quite…aggressive," Smurf warns. It almost sounds as if she genuinely cares about your well being and not her iron grip over her eldest born.
You look at her cautiously. You search her face in hopes that her motive will appear on it. Of course that doesn't happen, but the woman continues.
"Pope doesn't mean to hurt people, but he can't be trusted alone," she says.
"I understand…" you lie through your teeth, hand tightening around your glass.
"And it's best that you don't accept any of his…offerings," she whispers before patting your shoulder and slipping the drink from your hand.
Your lips press into a thin line as she walks off.
By the time you turn around to look at Andrew again, he's already staring at you. The entirety of his demeanor different from what it was just minutes ago. The warm auburn-haired man's eyes were heavy, darker in color almost. He knew you got the whole spiel of how he was "dangerous". While Andrew would never admit it, it hurt just the same each time he heard it. As you stared back at him, that look in his eyes came back. The subtle helplessness bubbling right beneath the rough surface. You realized in that moment you had an overwhelming urge to help the man. Not save him, not change him, not take care of him; you wanted to help him. This desire came out in the longing stare you unknowingly gave him.
"You should probably go," he rasps, head tipping to lazily gesture towards the kitchen entrance.
You hesitate, frozen in place as you internally fight between getting closer to him or leaving him to head inside. All you can muster is to stand up and give a curt nod. Your lips flatten into a thin line, making your internal dilemma as readable as an open book. Andrew liked that your expressions were so readable. It made you all the more disarming. God dammit, not even 30 minutes alone with you and he was already succumbing to your freakishly comforting nature. He was internally beating himself up over this.
"Okay…" you squeak uncertainly. "uhm…the drink was good…thank you."
His eyes softened slightly, but his face was still tense from Smurf's looming gaze through the kitchen. A hand comes up to scratch the bridge of his nose, and he pretends that he's rummaging through the tool box outside, it was next to the stack of bricks; product of his most recent house project. It's a lot of random motions of hands repeatedly taking out and putting back various tools.
"Never take drinks from strangers…" he mumbles. His words sound dull, but there's that small change in his voice that tells you he's making a joke. You laugh. He can't remember the last time someone laughed at his jokes.
The older woman walks down the hallway, but not without giving her son a warning look. Yet, he brushes it off as he really took you in. Everything was noticed from the part of your hair, the nervous fluttering of your lashes, the way you nervously wring your hands, and even that endearing yet awkward face you made; eyes squinted in amusement and cheeks puffed out. In an attempt to express the most emotion he was capable of showing, Andrew's mouth twitches upward, and the corners of his eyes wrinkle just slightly. A smile almost. He found you adorable, he realized.
You look down at the small puddle that formed below your feet, failing to bite your smile. "Bye Andrew…I'll see you at dinner," you attempt to say nonchalantly, but the older man can practically hear your smile. Finally, you wrap yourself in a towel, beginning to walk off while nervously chewing at your lower lip. His head turns just so with his brow raised. You were staying for dinner? After giving you a once over he mutters out a casual
"See ya"
Author’s Note: If you made it to the end, thank you kindly. And if you reblogged THANK YOU KINDLY. I appreciate feedback on my writing, and let me know if there’s any typos or inconsistencies! It really helps my motivation when I have constructive criticism to work with.
