pairing – garrett graham x reader
summary – everyone keeps asking for too much. garrett has a very simple solution.
warnings – fluff, established relationship, people-pleasing, boundary issues, garrett being protective, strong language, alcohol mention
notes from me – based on this ask!! so so cute, thank u babe!
word count – 2.1k
navigation – masterlist |
Garrett notices it first at Malone’s, which is annoying because Malone’s is loud, sticky, crowded, and absolutely not the sort of place where he should be having emotional realisations over his girlfriend’s inability to say no.
She’s tucked into the booth beside him, one knee pressed against his thigh under the table, her drink sweating a wet ring onto the wood in front of her. The place is packed in the usual Friday-night Briar way, all flushed faces and hockey jackets and girls laughing too loudly over music.
Dean’s somehow acquired a tray of shots no one asked for. Logan’s flirting with a girl at the bar. Tucker sits across from them, calm as ever, eating fries.
Garrett has one arm stretched along the back of the booth behind her shoulders, his fingers idly playing with the ends of her hair.
She looks pretty tonight in that slightly dangerous way she gets when she’s made herself look casual on purpose.
Little skirt. Sweater slipping a little off one shoulder. Gloss on her mouth that he’s been trying not to stare at too obviously because she gets shy when he looks at her like that in public, even though she had been in his lap thirty minutes before they left, kissing him stupid in his bedroom while wearing that exact same gloss and making very few arguments about public decency then.
That’s the thing, she isn’t shy with him. Not when it’s just them and his door is closed and she’s stealing his shirts and talking shit from the middle of his bed like she owns both him and the mattress.
She can be bossy, ridiculous, soft in that greedy sleepy way after sex when she tucks herself under his chin and mumbles half-formed complaints about his cold feet even though his feet aren’t anywhere near her.
But out here, with everyone watching and liking her and wanting a piece of her, she gets quieter. She makes herself easy to need. Easy to ask. Easy to lean on. She smiles before she’s decided if she means yes. She nods while her fingers have already gone tense around her straw.
And Garrett, unfortunately for everyone, has started noticing. It happens three times before he says anything.
First, a girl from one of her classes slides up to the booth and asks if she can send over her notes from Tuesday because she missed half the lecture and you always write everything down so neatly, babe, you’re literally a lifesaver.
Garrett feels her knee press a little harder into his under the table. She smiles, quick and sweet, and says, “Yeah, of course, just text me,” even though she’d told him in the car she hadn’t even finished her own summary yet because the week had been brutal.
Second, some guy from a group project appears beside them holding a beer and a sheepish expression that Garrett immediately doesn’t like. “Hey, sorry, I know you’re out, but could you maybe fix the slides before Sunday? You’re just better at making them look, like, less shitty.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. Garrett watches the pause happen in her body before anyone else would catch it. The tiny lift of her shoulders. The way her thumb rubs once over the condensation on her glass. Then she says, “Yeah, I can look at them,” and the guy grins like he’s just successfully outsourced guilt.
Garrett’s jaw clicks. Dean’s eyes flick to him. Because Dean, for all his crimes against taste and door-knocking etiquette, has predator-level instincts for upcoming drama. His mouth twitches around the rim of his drink.
“Don’t,” Garrett mutters.
Dean lifts both hands. “Didn’t say anything.”
The third one is the one that makes Garrett set his beer down a little too carefully. A puck bunny named Kelsey, who’s sweet enough in a mostly harmless, very shiny way and has been around the hockey house enough to know better than to flirt with Garrett anymore, bounces up with her phone already in her hand.
“Oh my God, there you are. Can you please help me with something? My roommate’s birthday thing is tomorrow and I told her you’d probably make those little cupcakes you brought to Tucker’s party because they were so cute, and I know it’s last minute, but you’re so good at that stuff.”
Tomorrow is Saturday. Tomorrow she has a paper to finish, a brunch with her friends she already tried to cancel once, and plans with him that he has been looking forward to with what he would personally consider a normal, chill, masculine amount of anticipation.
He hasn’t been mentally organising the entire day around keeping her in bed until noon and then taking her to that diner she likes where she steals his hash browns. That would be insane. He’s very normal about his girlfriend.
She smiles anyway. “Um,” she says, soft enough that Garrett’s attention sharpens around it. “Yeah, maybe. I can probably–”
“Nope,” Garrett says.
The table goes quiet in the satisfying way a table does when the captain voice comes out without warning.
She turns her head toward him, eyes widening. “Garrett.”
He doesn’t look at her yet because he knows if he does, she’ll do that thing where she says his name like she’s embarrassed and fond and mortified all at once, and he’ll be tempted to soften before the point lands. So he looks at Kelsey instead and gives her his nicest, most public-facing smile, the one that has made professors extend deadlines and girls forgive him for sins he’d absolutely committed.
“She’s not making cupcakes tomorrow,” he says easily. “She’s busy.”
Kelsey blinks. “Oh. I mean, it’s totally fine if–”
“She’s busy,” he repeats, still pleasant. “Sorry, Kels.”
Kelsey looks a little surprised, then shrugs and laughs it off with a, “No, yeah, totally, sorry, babe, don’t worry about it,” before drifting back into the crowd with her phone still in hand, probably already searching for another girl with a functioning oven and weaker boyfriend security.
But beside him, his girlfriend has gone very still.
Dean’s grin spreads slowly across the table. “Wow.”
Garrett points at him without looking. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying. Very brave. Very feminist of you, speaking over a woman like that.”
“Dean,” Tucker says mildly.
“What? I’m processing.”
Logan appears at the edge of the booth, because the scent of Garrett doing something emotionally revealing has summoned him from the bar. “What’d I miss?”
“Garrett just became her secretary,” Dean says.
Garrett leans back, arm still behind her. “I became her union rep.”
Tucker nods like this is fair. “Better benefits.”
She makes a tiny sound then. She looks down at her drink, and Garrett feels the heat of her embarrassment without needing to see her face properly. It moves through her in little tells he knows too well now: fingers to the straw, mouth pressing together, knee shifting away and then back again like her body can’t decide whether to hide from him or lean into him.
Garrett’s humour softens before his mouth does. He ducks his head closer, voice dropping under the noise. “Baby.”
She gives him a look from under her lashes. “You can’t just say no for me.”
“I can, actually. Felt pretty natural.”
“Garrett.”
“What?” He lets his fingers slide from her hair to the back of her neck, thumb rubbing once under the edge of her sweater where her skin has gone warm. “You were about to spend your Saturday making cupcakes for some girl’s roommate because she called them cute.”
“She was being nice.”
“She was asking for free labour.”
Her mouth twitches before she can stop it, which feels like a personal win.
“I could’ve said no,” she says, but there’s not enough force behind it to convince either of them. Her gaze drops again, softer now, landing somewhere near his collar. “I just didn’t want to make it awkward.”
Garrett looks at her for a second. The whole bar keeps moving around them, bodies and noise and sticky light, but the booth seems to pull inward a little, shrinking down to the line of her shoulder against his ribs and the careful way she’s not looking at him too directly.
“Babe,” he says, low enough that Dean’s nosy ass has to pretend very hard not to listen. “You are allowed to make things awkward.”
She snorts, quiet and reluctant. “Easy for you to say. You make everything awkward on purpose.”
“Yeah, and look at me. Thriving.”
“You’re not thriving. You got banned from the student union coffee cart for arguing about oat milk.”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
She actually laughs, small but real, and some of the tightness leaves her shoulders. Garrett’s hand stays at the back of her neck, warm and steady. He watches her fight with the smile on her mouth like she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction, which is fine. He has plenty of satisfaction. He’s rich in it. Obnoxiously wealthy, really.
He bends closer, lips brushing her temple because he can get away with that in public and because he likes the way she tilts into him even when she’s trying to be cross. “Let me be the asshole sometimes.”
She turns her face slightly, just enough that her cheek brushes his jaw. “You’re already the asshole sometimes.”
“Exactly. I have experience.” His thumb moves again, slow over the delicate knobs at the top of her spine. “You don’t have to say yes to everybody just because they like you.”
She stares at the table for a second too long, at the fries, the damp glasses, the little chaos of napkins Dean has somehow shredded into a pile. When she speaks, her voice comes out quieter. “I know.”
Garrett doesn’t push. He’s learning that with her. The same way he’s learned that she gets overwhelmed at parties before she admits it, that she says I’m fine in a tone that means please notice but don’t make me explain this in front of people, that she can be the girl everyone loves and still go rigid when too many expectations hook into her at once.
So he keeps it simple. Keeps it warm and a little teasing because that’s where she can breathe. “Here’s the system,” he says. “You look at me. I say no. They get mad at me because I’m a huge dick. You stay perfect and beloved.”
She rolls her eyes, but her shoulder settles more fully into his side. “That’s not a system.”
“It’s a great system.”
Across the table, Tucker lifts a fry. “For what it’s worth, I support the system.”
Dean nods gravely. “Same. Mainly because watching Garrett politely tell people to fuck off is one of the few joys he provides.”
Logan slides into the booth beside Tucker with a fresh beer. “Wait, are we weaponising Garrett’s resting captain face? Because I’ve been saying we should do that for years.”
She groans and covers her face with one hand, but she’s laughing now, soft and helpless behind her fingers. Garrett feels it against his ribs and smiles down at her like an idiot, though he would deny the idiot part in court.
“See?” he murmurs, kissing the side of her head again. “Whole team effort.”
She drops her hand and looks up at him at last, eyes warm and slightly embarrassed and full of something that makes his chest go a little stupid. “You’re annoying.”
“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “But you picked me.”
Her mouth curves. “I did pull Garrett Graham.”
Dean gags immediately. “Please don’t say his full name during couple foreplay. Some of us are eating.”
Garrett flicks a fry at him without looking away from her. “You did,” he says, smug and soft at the same time because with her, apparently, he can be both and survive it. “So use me.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“Not like that,” he says, then pauses because, false advertising helps no one. “Also like that. But right now I meant for saying no.”
She laughs again, brighter this time, and tucks herself closer under his arm, her hand finding his knee beneath the table and squeezing once. Her fingers stay there afterward, warm through the denim, like some part of her has put down a weight she didn’t realise she’d been carrying.
A few minutes later, when the group project guy circles back and starts with, “Hey, sorry, one more thing–” she doesn’t answer right away.
She looks at Garrett.
Garrett smiles. “Nope,” he says, cheerful as hell. “She’s off the clock.”
The guy blinks. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, no problem.”
He leaves.
She stares at Garrett for a second, then bites her lip around the smile trying to happen. “You enjoyed that way too much.”
He leans in, brushing his mouth over hers once, soft and quick and shameless enough to make her cheeks go pink. “Baby,” he says, voice low, grin right there against her lips. “You have no idea.”
❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎
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Not in for the reason most would immediately think, but because you have a habit of dancing when you enjoy it.
The first time he noticed, the two of you were at a newer restaurant and, under the din of conversation, he could hear a radio playing. He chalked it up to you subconsciously hearing the beat.
The second time was when the two of you stopped for homemade gelato, but again, there was music. A lively little band playing at the bar next door's back patio.
With a shrug, and a grin, you were too cute when it happened, it fell to the back of his mind.
Sylus finally caught on when the next time he saw it, his chef had made you one of your favorite comfort meals. There was no music, nothing that could even be mistaken as any type of beat, and yet you wiggled back and forth on the stool as it was placed in front of you.
Added some arm motions after taking a bite.
He had laughed, the light kind that pulls your attention instantly. You had asked him what was funny, and he just said, "You."
You cocked your head, confused, and he shook his, feeding you a line about getting the fanciest grilled cheese in all of the N109 Zone and Linkon.
It quickly turned into a private game, one he enjoyed greatly for two reasons. The first was that he was able to spend time with you, which made anything palatable. The second was the excuse to dress you up and take you out.
Now, not everything the two of you ate was high end - Micheline star rated. Sometimes he would indulge your whims to go to some place a co-worker had mentioned off handed that you wanted to try.
What he realized quickly, however, was that whatever version of the dance escaped you was a fairly accurate indicator of the food.
You nearly always had a little shimmy when the plate was set before you, especially if it was visually appealing.
From there, after the first bite, it would range. If it was alright, you bounced your head. If it was good, a shoulder shimmy would make it's way out. The next level was a full body shake that he could only describe as a mini twist, but on a minute scale. As if a puppy was wagging it's tail.
But he knew it was delicious when your hands joined the fray. Sometimes the pumped the air right in front of you. Sometimes it was a little wider, out to the sides, while your whole body bounced back and forth.
If that dance slipped out, he would mark down the restaurant as one to return to later.
You had caught him once, staring, waiting for you to take your first bite. Sylus had been doing that for a while, leaning forward, fork in hand, but nothing moved to his mouth until after you had fully taken yours.
You had teased him - asking if he was using you to test for poison, and he had snorted and shook his head, taking a bite to subtly encourage you to eat what was in front of you.
Sylus wasn't even sure you consciously realized you were doing it or if it was because you were comfortable with him you didn't care that you did.
Either way, it was one of the many small things about you he kept tucked away close to his heart. There were many things about you to love - but your little happy food dance was one of his absolute favorites.
Could you write another story about Jungkook being jealous? I'm obsessed with this (⇀‸↼‶) I don’t have a specific plot in mind 😭 but could it be something about the reader having a crush on another idol? Maybe someone like Alejandro from Santos Bravos or Soobin from TXT 😿 Anyway, I love how you write! I love you! 😽💖
(Sorry if my request sounds stupid... I'm very shy when I ask for something like this 😿)
Its quite alright!!! I love you too 🤍 srry this one is so short, I hope its still cute!!
bias wrecker. Jungkook sfw
He told himself if he was ever going to date, it wasn’t going to be ARMY. Never.
Well, until he made the exception.
Now that he has, Jungkook cant help but feel entitled to that #1 spot in your heart. He was on everything- the back of your phone case, in your photocard holders, keychains, posters, your lockscreen, you name it.
What can he say, he was proud of it. Always a competitive person, he felt utterly undefeated. Until…
“Huh? Whos this?” Jungkook notices right away while he was reaching for his drink on the table. You had left your phone screen-down so you could focus on him inside the restaurant.
“Who’s what?” You ask as he turns the phone to see. Jungkook leans in, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of the new photocard.
“Soobin?” Jungkook realizes, already distracted. He’s opening your case up. “Where did my card go?”
“It’s in there, under Soobin. I got that one in the album you bought me.” You remind him, watching in amusement as he switches the photocard back to his. “What, you dont like it?” You pry.
“Thats my spot.” He says confidently, gently snapping the case back over your phone. “I am your bias. He can be second.”
Your face slowly changes to one of disbelief. “I dont know about that, Ive been really into TXT lately.” You taunt.
Jungkook leans back in his seat, his head tilting to the side. “aaah, is that it?” He raises his brows. “Really? Should I call him? Maybe he wants to take my place at the table.”
“Jungkook,” you express, exasperated. “That doesnt mean I dont love you.”
“But I’m not your bias,” he shakes his head, idly moving to grab another bite of his food. “You’re leaving me for another man.”
“You can both be my bias at the same time.” You try to meet him halfway, playing along. “You’re jealous?”
He wrinkles his nose, doing that little irritated head tilt again. “This wont do….” He complains. “Soobin cant have you even for a second…”
“He- he doesnt, Jungkook. Look at me.”
Jungkook defiantly turns his head away with crossed arms.
“I love you.” You say, expecting him to say it back.
“Nope.” He replies, glancing at you sideways only to break out in a shy smile.
“Say it back.” You insist, stealing something from his plate.
“Dont take my food!” He scoots his chair back towards the table, uncrossing his arms. In a second he’s picking the stolen food back with his chopsticks. You eventually steal the bite successfully.
“Then tell me you love me and you aren’t jealous.” You stipulate
pairing: strawberry shortcake x jack abbot. first part.
summary: after matching with your attending on tinder, you now have to spend an entire shift trying to avoid him. everything is going (almost) well until you get trapped in an elevator with him.
tags: fluff, joy is part of the night shift, langdon kinda too, er setting, workplace romance, age gap, coworkers to lovers, protective jack abbot, she falls first, he falls harder.
authors note: this is short and silly I KNOW. i just wanted to portray abbot the way I perceive him after that scene (in the gif). ALSO thank you so much for the reblogs and for asking to be added to the tag list. i never thought that was possible!! don't forget to reblog if you enjoyed it, please. 🙏🏻
@melissa66orion @rathatosy
The doors to the ER slid open once again, but this time you wished you could've stayed home.
You'd barely slept. Four hours at most, and ever since you woke up, you hadn't been able to think about anything except the mistake you made with your attending. You wondered if he'd slept well, probably he was sitting at home right now drinking coffee like nothing happened.
And here you were.
Technically your shift didn't start for another two hours, but the anxiety had dragged you back into the pitt anyway, which was funny because ten minutes ago you were seriously considering giving up and starting a new life somewhere in Alaska.
Your stomach twisted again just thinking about having to see him today.
Everything seemed calmer than usual, which honestly felt suspicious. You didn't even want to think too hard about it before you jinxed it. At this point you were convinced you personally carried bad luck around with you.
You nervously adjusted the sleeves of your oversized pink hoodie while scanning the station looking for the girls, and Whitaker.
It wasn't difficult to find Trinity. She was sitting beside Whitaker, aggressively stabbing at the computer keyboard before dramatically letting her head fall onto it. She quickly lifted her head again when Dennis touched her shoulder and pointed toward you with his head.
The second she saw you, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.
"Why are you here?"
Not even a hello.
"What room is free?" You asked immediately.
"Okay… not even a coffee first?" Whitaker joked.
"This is serious."
Something in your expression must've looked genuinely unstable because Whitaker's smile disappeared almost instantly.
Both of them stood up immediately and started walking through the hallway looking for an empty room. Luckily you nearly ran straight into Victoria on the way there. She gave you a confused look but smiled anyway, though the second she noticed Trinity and Whitaker walking in front of you like bodyguards, she silently followed behind.
The moment they found an empty trauma room, they closed the door behind you. The silence didn't last long, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat while trying to figure out how to even begin explaining what happened.
"Are you dating Abbot?" Whitaker asked slowly, crossing his arms.
You stared at him with a deeply what the fuck expression before dramatically looking between all three of them and pacing once across the room. "This MUST stay here."
"Sure." Trinity answered casually.
"I mean it." You took a deep breath, trying to find the exact words. "I matched with Abbot on Tinder." You said it quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
None of them spoke. Whitaker's jaw dropped slightly, Trinity closed her eyes like she was physically trying to process the information, while Victoria made a noise so high pitched it sounded almost dangerous.
"No you didn't." Santos whispered.
"YES I DID." A nervous laugh escaped you the second you heard yourself say it out loud. "It was an accident tho."
"Oh my GOD." Javadi grabbed your shoulders violently. "OH MY GOD."
Meanwhile Trinity was still staring at you suspiciously. "How is that an accident?"
"My phone slipped." You admitted embarrassed, rubbing your forehead while remembering the exact moment it happened.
"Wait, hold on." Santos started pacing too now. "So you swiped right and the match appeared immediately?"
"...Yes?"
Trinity slowly nodded while Javadi continued looking excited like she was personally watching the greatest romantic comedy of her life unfold in front of her. Meanwhile all you wanted was for somebody to tell you how you were supposed to continue existing after this.
"That wasn't even all of it... He texted me immediately after." You pulled your phone out and handed it to them.
Santos grabbed it instantly, holding it where all three of them could see the screen at once. While she scrolled through the messages, the only thing you could focus on were their reactions.
"No, because this is actually insane." Trinity finally said while handing the phone back.
You buried your face into your hands, already regretting everything that happened this morning.
Because it was insane.
Even though he'd always taken care of you, you'd never let yourself believe it could mean something else. That was exactly why having a crush on him always felt stupid and childish. Sure, he made your shifts better. Sure, your stomach flipped every time he looked at you too long. But it had always stayed harmless inside your own head.
Jack Abbot was supposed to stay safely inside your brain as your painfully attractive work crush. He was not supposed to flirt back, he was definitely not supposed to remember your favorite snacks, ask if you'd slept, or look at you like you personally softened something inside him every single shift.
"Why are we acting like this is a funeral?" Javadi asked, smiling. "He likes you. That's a good thing."
Her smile slowly disappeared when she noticed you still looked seconds away from cardiac arrest.
Honestly, you still couldn't process any of it correctly, and now you knew it was only a matter of hours before you had to see him again.
"Oh my god." You suddenly stopped pacing. "What if I say I feel sick and then pretend to faint, and you say you're coming with me so we can both clock out early?"
"That would be... amazing." Trinity admitted. "But no."
You genuinely considered throwing yourself through the nearest window. Or maybe walking outside and waiting in the ambulance bay long enough for somebody to accidentally hit you. But before you could answer, or even move, you heard Whitaker quietly go "Oh" then Dana saying hello to someone outside.
You could've died right there because the second you turned around, you saw Jack Abbot walking toward the nurses station. Coffee in one hand and backpack hanging from his shoulder, looking unfairly attractive for somebody who hadn't even finished his twelve hours of rest.
Maybe he was feeling the same way you were.
And almost like he sensed it, his eyes lifted immediately toward the trauma room. Toward you.
You were still wearing the bright pink hoodie that was impossible to miss but out of everything happening around him, you still couldn't believe the very first thing he noticed was you.
Abbot's expression shifted slightly with confusion when he noticed all four of you suspiciously crowded inside the trauma room. One eyebrow lifted with visible amusement before the corner of his mouth pulled into a small grin. It was subtle but you knew him well enough to know he wasn't stupid.
Your eyes followed him automatically as he got closer, and suddenly you completely forgot how breathing worked. Once he passed by the room, he lightly tapped two fingers against the trauma room window in greeting without even slowing down. Then he kept walking toward the lockers like absolutely nothing had happened.
The second he disappeared down the hallway, Victoria's mouth dropped open.
"This is the worst day of my life." You whispered weakly, still staring at the hallway where Abbot had disappeared.
"And your shift hasn't even started yet." Trinity replied while walking out of the room.
Not helping at all.
This was it now. There was no avoiding it anymore.
If luck was somehow still slightly on your side (which you seriously doubted) maybe this was just the calm before the storm. Maybe suddenly the ER would completely explode with emergencies and you'd spend the next twelve hours separated on opposite sides of the hospital. Maybe you'd get stuck in triage all shift and never have to leave it. But the second you clocked in, it felt like Jack Abbot was suddenly everywhere.
Every hallway, the bay, even somehow leaving the bathroom exactly when you were walking past it.
Maybe this had always happened and you'd just never noticed before. But now that you knew there was tension between you, real tension and not platonic, everything felt different. Worse.
And to make it even more unbearable, he clearly enjoyed it.
Every chance he got, he somehow ended up beside you. Like he was curious to see how nervous he could make you before you completely short circuited.
The first time happened barely twenty minutes later. You were restocking supplies into the tiny cabinet in triage, trying desperately to think about literally anything except him, when someone suddenly stepped beside you.
"You came in early."
The second you heard his voice, your entire body jumped, making a few gauze packets fall straight onto the floor. God, are you serious?
You crouched immediately to grab them while he casually leaned against the litter beside you, coffee still in hand, looking entirely too relaxed for somebody currently ruining your nervous system.
His eyes never left you. That was the problem with Jack Abbot, he looked at people too confidently, like he already knew exactly what effect he had on them and unfortunately for you, he was right.
You could feel his gaze following every movement while you picked up the gauze, and something about seeing him standing over you like that made heat crawl embarrassingly fast up your neck, making you quickly shook your head, trying to physically force the thoughts away before they got worse.
You didn't exactly have experience with this kind of thing. Honestly, you barely had experience with men at all. Most of your past attempts at flirting usually ended with you avoiding eye contact until the other person gave up and none of those guys had ever looked like that. None of them had been older either, which somehow made this whole thing feel even more dangerous.
"Are you okay?" He asked before taking another slow sip of coffee.
"Mhm."
"You sure, Shortcake?" One of his eyebrows lifted slightly.
Your head snapped toward him instantly at the nickname, and that little grin on his face widened just enough for you to realize that he knew exactly what he was doing. You stood up quickly nearly smashing your head directly into the metal shelf hanging from the wall but before you could hit it, Abbot's hand moved instantly above your head, stopping you from colliding with the sharp edge.
The gesture was small, almost automatic. Which somehow made it worse. He'd always been like that, like protecting you came naturally to him.
"Careful." He said softly.
Your eyes lifted toward him for half a second too long and the moment they met his, something in his expression shifted almost invisibly. Like he was watching every single nervous reaction cross your face in real time.
"Oh my god." You whispered under your breath before immediately escaping the room and leaving him standing there alone.
Within the next two hours, the entire ER somehow realized something was deeply wrong with you.
You dropped your pens constantly. Forgot to give the patients their stickers. Nearly handed someone the wrong chart. At some point you stress ate every single candy left in your pocket without even noticing.
"You dropped the blood pressure cuff three times." Shen whispered while walking beside you. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm just tired."
"Abbot said you came in early."
You stopped walking so abruptly Shen almost bumped into you. "I need to quit."
"You need a psychiatric."
Ellis suddenly appeared beside both of you like she'd materialized out of thin air. "What's wrong with the boss today?" She asked casually.
Shen shrugged, clearly not understanding what she meant, while you immediately kept walking before either of them could continue the conversation.
It was weird. Because it genuinely felt like something had suddenly snapped into place overnight. Like you'd become painfully aware of the invisible string that had apparently always existed between you and Jack Abbot.
And the worst part? Now that you knew it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Especially because he clearly wasn't helping.
If anything, he kept finding excuses to stay close to you. Whenever he handed you the tablet, his fingers brushed yours briefly before pulling away. Whenever he squeezed past you in crowded hallways, his hand would settle lightly against your back for just a second longer than necessary, guiding you forward while acting completely casual about it.
And every single time you looked at him, he was already looking at you first.
The hours dragged by painfully slow, each one bringing you closer to finally going home and sleep for ten consecutive years.
At least you were doing a decent job avoiding him until around five in the morning. That was when Lena sent both of you upstairs to pediatrics to deal with some transfer issue.
The second you heard your name attached to his, a long exhausted sigh escaped your body before you could stop it.
Jack appeared beside you a moment later, adjusting the stethoscope. Of course he looked good doing that too.
The two of you walked toward the elevators together in silence. Oddly enough, it wasn't awkward. Maybe both of you were too exhausted at this point to put actual energy into whatever this thing was becoming. Still, even without looking directly at him, you could feel him behind you constantly.
The elevator dinged open.
Jack stepped aside slightly and gestured for you to enter first with one lazy movement of his hand, just enough to make your stomach flip embarrassingly fast.
You stepped inside while he followed right behind you a second later, and the moment the elevator doors slid shut, your heart immediately started beating harder.
Suddenly you were very aware of the situation you were currently trapped in.
Small elevator. Jack Abbot standing directly beside you.
You focused aggressively on the glowing floor numbers above the doors instead of the man next to you, trying to force your brain to think about literally anything else.
The silence stretched for a few seconds. From the corner of your eye, you saw him open his mouth once like he was about to say something before stopping himself.
"Why are you avoiding me?" He finally asked, turning his head toward you.
"I'm not."
"You are." You could hear the grin in his voice before you even looked at him.
"I'm just tired."
"You can't even look at me." He said with a quiet laugh. Which unfortunately was true. "Did I do something wrong?"
"I did something wrong."
"You did?" He asked confused.
"You're my attending."
"Is that so?" He said, tilting his head. "I swiped right first, so..."
The elevator suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. You stared even harder at the floor numbers, silently begging for the doors to open already.
Jack leaned casually against the elevator wall beside you, arms crossed loosely now. Meanwhile you were one bad heartbeat away from passing out.
"Don't blame yourself." He said softly.
And against your better judgment, you finally looked at him properly. Huge mistake. Because he was already watching you with that same warm, entertained expression from earlier. Like he could practically see how flustered you were becoming and didn't mind it one bit. Maybe even liked it and somehow that made your entire face burn hotter.
You weren't used to this. You weren't used to men who flirted this confidently. While Jack Abbot looked at you like he already knew exactly what would happen if he got any closer.
The elevator suddenly jerked violently, both of you stumbled slightly before everything stopped completely. The lights flickered once and then the elevator went still.
Jack slowly looked up toward the ceiling and your stomach dropped instantly.
For a second, neither of you moved.
The soft hum of the emergency lights filled the elevator while your own heartbeat pounded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it too.
Nope. Absolutely not. You refused to get trapped inside a tiny elevator with Jack looking like that.
"This is actually my personal hell." You whispered, staring at the closed doors.
"You're being dramatic." A quiet laugh left him.
"I'm trapped in a metal box with my attending after accidentally matching with him on Tinder. I think I'm reacting appropriately."
That made him smile properly this time. You hated how much that worked on you.
He pushed himself off the elevator wall and reached toward the emergency panel, pressing the call button.
"Maintenance will reset it in a minute." He said casually.
Of course he sounded relaxed. Meanwhile you felt like your nervous system was slowly shutting down.
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, trying to ignore how small the elevator suddenly felt. Or how good he smelled standing this close. Your eyes squeezed shut for a second and, for some reason, your brain immediately thought about that Trisha Paytas picture where she's choking herself.
That was literally you at that moment.
"You okay, Shortcake?" He asked again, quieter this time.
Jack was already looking at you again, like he was trying to read every reaction on your face until he finally got the truth out of you.
"Please stop calling me that."
"Why?" One side of his mouth lifted slightly. "You like it."
"I do not like it."
"Are you sure?" His voice dropped softer. "Every time I say it, I see something in your eyes."
You looked away immediately before he noticed the effect he was having on you.
Unfortunately for you, he definitely noticed.
His laugh slipped out again, low and tired and way too attractive for five in the morning.
Jack stepped a little closer then. Not enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough for your entire body to immediately become aware of it.
"You know." He said lightly. "Langdon told me you love it when I call you that."
"He told you that?" Your eyes snapped toward him in horror.
That cocky expression appeared again instantly, and the corner of his mouth twitched when he realized he got exactly the reaction he wanted from you.
You genuinely wanted the elevator to crush you alive.
He looked way too pleased with himself now, arms crossed too while watching you completely unravel in front of him. And the worst part was that your nervousness seemed genuinely cute to him. He clearly wasn't used to girls reacting like this around him. Most women probably flirted back confidently, meanwhile you could barely maintain basic eye contact.
"I hate you." You muttered weakly.
"No you don't."
The confidence in his voice should've annoyed you. Instead it made heat spread through places it absolutely shouldn't.
The elevator stayed silent around both of you for another moment. Neither of you looked away this time.
Your brain kept screaming at you to say something normal. Something professional. Anything.
But then his eyes dropped to your mouth. And the second you realized you were looking at his lips too, the tension inside the elevator shifted so hard it almost felt physical.
Jack's expression softened slightly, like he was thinking about it too now. About how close he was standing and the fact that there was nobody else around.
Your stomach twisted nervously when his gaze slowly lifted back to yours again, like he was silently trying to figure out if you wanted this as much as he did.
And for one horrible second, you genuinely thought he was about to kiss you.
Both of you breathing heavier now, like the air inside the elevator had suddenly disappeared. Your pulse was probably completely tachycardic at this point, which honestly felt embarrassing considering all he was doing was looking at you.
Then he took another small step closer.
Your breath caught instantly.
With his head tilted slightly down now, he searched for your eyes again before his gaze dropped back to your lips for half a second. And without even realizing it, you nervously licked your own lips.
The effect that had on him was immediate.
You stopped hearing everything around you for a moment. There was only him. Until the elevator doors suddenly slammed open with a loud mechanical ding.
Both of you pulled apart slowly, almost reluctantly, like it took actual effort to force distance back between you.
Joy and Shen stood outside the elevator staring at both of you in confusion.
"Oh, okay." Joy said slowly.
You immediately walked out so fast it almost counted as fleeing. Meanwhile behind you, Jack cleared his throat once before casually following after you like absolutely nothing had happened at all.
SUMMARY: bad girls don't get to come. they get treated the way they deserve—inspected, teased, and denied. congratulations, you successfully pissed off Professor Riddle. now, live with the consequences. ;)
WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT. hole inspection. nasty, nasty stuff. teasing, oral f!receiving, punishment, spanking, spitting, tongue fucking, he quite literally makes a mess of our pussy, edging, fingering, clit play, he uses you as his personal cum dump, praise, Tom is FREAKY here, idk what the fuck is wrong with me, help, sos, uhhh im so feral rn im boutta combust, if u see this pls come fuck me Tom. :(
AUTHOR'S NOTE: guys im sorry this is so freaking nasty but I AM SO FUCKING horny. excuse me while I whither away in the corner of my bedroom. also, this was supposed to be a drabble.
wordcount: 2,1k
If you’re honest with yourself, you deserve this. You deserve to be spread out on his lap, facing the mirror built into his wardrobe while he lazily plays with the lace of your cotton panties. He brought you to his bedchambers a while ago, after dissolving a “late-night gathering” of students in the Slytherin common room, or, as referred to by him, a prohibited party.
“What were you hoping to achieve with this?” he asks, circling your entrance over the soaked fabric of your panties with the tip of his finger. “Attending these kinds of parties with the tiniest clothes you could find?”
You mewl in response, rolling your hips into his touch, not bothering to pay his question any attention. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't—he's been keeping you on edge for what must be more than an hour now, and alone the softest of touches has your mind blank.
It comes to your favour that he, of course, very well knows what you were aiming for. You wanted to provoke a reaction, and that, you have. Now, it's his turn to show you just what that'll mean for you.
"You knew what you were doing. Testing me. Wanted to see just how far," he moves your panties to the side and exhales sharply at the sight of your glistening pussy on display right in front of him. "fuck— just how far I'd go, is that it?"
The truth is, you didn't exactly intend on going there that night. Sure, these parties were especially fun to attend due to the risk they brought—but after a long week you were exhausted, and getting out of bed seemed a task nearly impossible.
Just when you’d abandoned the thought of joining your friends, you remembered a rather important detail you’d nearly forgotten.
It's Professor Riddle who’ll be patrolling the corridors that day alongside the prefects—and he's never been kind enough to let students enjoy themselves as other professors might after the exam season.
Now, knowing this, you could’ve warned the others in time and prevented them from getting caught—but you didn’t.
Instead, you put on the tiniest skirt you could find in your wardrobe alongside a low-cut crop top and snuck your way along the dark corridors towards the Slytherin common room.
Looking back, it was a petty thing to do. You knew that, if he were to see you amongst the others, he'd not just let you off with a meagre detention slip the others would receive. No, you would be spending the night in his bedroom and pay for your sins in a different way.
You'd take whatever he gave you—just like you had countless times.
・・・
“Look at you. All wet, and I haven’t even touched you properly—fucking pathetic.”
You whimper at his tone—cold and detached, like he speaks with everyone else—and try your best not to grind your clit against the solid outline of his cock, which has formed beneath his fine, hand-tailored dress pants.
You shut your eyes when the memory of making a mess on one of his most treasured pairs comes to your mind—or rather, the memory of how he made you apologise for it.
One of his digits dips between your folds, trailing along the length of your slit until he reaches your entrance, but he doesn't give you what you were hoping for—he keeps it there, the very tip of his finger applying just enough pressure to make you squirm, but not to push inside your slick, wanting pussy.
"Greedy fucking girl, and so damn wet. All for me, isn't it?" he murmurs, groaning when your tight walls practically try to suck him inside, and he pumps his finger a few times into the warmth of your pussy. "Or did you walk around like this, fancying someone else?"
His finger withdraws again, and you whine in protest. "No, no, I didn't— please, it's all for you. Only you."
Tom drags you backwards by your hips, far enough that his face is a mere breath away from your flushed pussy—and then, he circles your entrance with his thumb a couple times before he leans in, the low rumble of his voice sending vibrations through your entire body.
"Good, because this hole right here is mine, and mine alone."
Before you even get to react to his words, his index and middle finger spread to form a V-shape on your pussy, coaxing your sticky folds open. Tom murmurs something under his breath, adjusting his hips beneath you just so his bulge rubs against your upper stomach—way too far from where you want him.
Then, without warning, his hot tongue swipes through the mess he's made of your pussy, gathering your arousal and shoving it, alongside his tongue, back inside your drooling hole.
A pornographic moan leaves your lips, and your pussy clenches in pleasure—Tom though tsks behind you, his flat palm connecting with the curve of your ass with a mean slap!
"So sensitive," he purrs, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. "Missed me?"
Fuck you, you want to say—but you know better than to ruin your already minimal chances for release tonight.
"So much! Please, I need you, Tommy." You squeal when his hand strikes you again, more harshly this time.
"That's not my name, darling. You can do better than that."
"I— I need you. Please, sir," you mumble, watching the first tears roll over your cheeks in the mirror in front of you. You are so fucking frustrated, aware he won't give you what you're begging for any time soon.
He chuckles lowly in response, his arms circling around the front of your upper thighs to keep you anchored to him, his mouth back on your cunt, salvaging your taste before he fucks you with just the tip of his wet tongue, drawing frustrated moans from your bite-swollen lips.
"Too bad, sweetheart. Bad girls don't get what they want, let alone the pleasure they crave."
He unbuckles his belt, discards it on the floor without much care, and frees his aching cock from the confinement of his trousers—wrapping his right hand around it tightly, pumping himself at the sight of your puffy, drooling pussy, imagining just how good it'd feel to arch your back, shove your head into the pillows, and wreck you—as he has done so often, you both have lost count.
After a bad grade? Definitely. In the broom closet? Yeppp. In his classroom with unlocked doors when everyone else was watching the Quidditch championship finale? Fuck, yes. Summer holidays? Too fucking long, he'll teach you apparition before any of his other students just to take you on the creaking bed of his London apartment.
But this, this isn't about him today. This is supposed to be a punishment, a reminder of who's in charge—and who gets to tease whom.
Tom jerks himself slowly while his lips work on your clit, his tongue playing with the slick arousal now coating everything up to your inner thighs. When he senses you trembling, moans growing louder, hips greedier with the way they chase his touch—he takes one last glance at your pretty cunt, and then, as if you weren't sensitive and aroused enough, he spits onto the sticky mess between your folds, making you gasp.
With that, he shoves you further down the bed again, closer to the mirror placed so conveniently, you are able to see your mascara stain your cheeks.
"Now, I want you to look at yourself. Watch yourself in the mirror while I use your greedy pussy for my pleasure—and don't you fucking dare look away."
You cry out when he smacks the familiar, veiny length of his cock onto your swollen folds, and you're waiting—praying—for that heavenly feeling of being stretched wide around him, but it never comes.
Instead, he uses both of his thumbs to pry your folds open once more and guides his cock along your slickness, enough to coat his entire cock with your arousal in just a few thrusts.
"Tom— sir, please— please fuck me," you sob, at both the feeling of him pleasuring himself without giving you anything in return and the way a wrecked version of yourself reflects back at you as you stare into the mirror.
But Tom—Tom doesn't pay your pleas any attention. He's too focused on the way your drooling hole clenches every time he so much as comes close to it, how fucking wet you've gotten his cock with just a few slow thrusts between your folds.
His thumb curls over his length then, helping him not to slip from the warm embrace of your cunt as he increases his pace, slick squelching sounds filling the room, the air around you heavy with the scent of your combined arousal.
"So pretty, don't you think?" he rasps, not shifting his eyes to the mirror, keeping his gaze fixed on the way your pussy tries sucking him in with every shallow bump against your entrance. "The both of you, I mean."
"Please— I want, I need— inside, inside me, please," you babble, your head dipping forwards, wiping your tears on his sheets.
"No," Tom replies, urging you up again with his fingers curled into your hair, making you study your reflection again. "Keep watching, pretty girl. Watch as I make a mess of you."
You swallow tightly, nodding. Maybe if you behave now—
His hips slam against yours from below, and soon enough groans start spilling from his lips, losing himself in the pleasant, slick warmth your cunt is providing him. Never would he have thought fucking you like this—just having your sweet wet pussy pleasure him, not slamming into your tight walls—would feel this good.
But it does, and each time his cock, slick with his precum, spit, and your own arousal glides along your slit, nearly slipping inside your pulsing hole—he thinks he might as well fuck you like this every time you're deserving of some discipline.
No more deep, rough thrusts that have you screaming his name. No—he'd keep denying you, barely missing your clit each time he thrust between your sticky folds.
The mere thought of your frustrated tears pushes him closer to the edge, and after a few more thrusts of his hips, he abruptly stops—shoving you off of him completely, having you lie flat on the mattress.
You're confused for the split second between him eagerly thrusting up your folds and feeling his weight sink down on your thighs as he snaps his hips forwards, burying the entire length of his cock in your tight, wet walls with one single thrust.
You moan in relief—but Tom, he stays there, unmoving, watching your hole stretch around his base, feeling you pulse and clench around him.
Poor girl, thinking he'll finally give you what you've been begging for.
No.
One more slight flutter of your snug walls is all it takes to make him lose his composure, let him break.
"Fuck— good fucking girl, always so good to me—" he growls, his arm wrapping around your throat as his cock twitches and he spills himself inside you, coating your walls with his seed.
Your eyes roll back at the sensation of his hot cum flooding your pussy, but the mind-numbing sensation leaves you as quickly as it washed over you when he withdraws from your oversensitive walls, leaving you aching for more as he disappears in the bathroom and reemerges a few minutes later.
You turn your head towards him when his footsteps near the bed, scrunching your brows in annoyance. "Tom? Don't tell me—"
His lips curl into a mean grin, and he scoops you up, covering the both of you with his duvet, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I told you. Bad girls don't get to come. Learn your lesson, and I'll fuck you properly next time."
You throw a pillow at him, which he catches effortlessly, and turn to the side. "I hate you."
His hand dips between your thighs underneath the covers, dragging his middle finger down the length of your slit. "Sure you do, sweetheart. But this pussy—this wet fucking pussy—she loves me more than anything."
He doesn't let you clean yourself that night—you fall asleep with two of his fingers buried deep inside your painfully aroused cunt, keeping you plugged up, slick with your combined release.
And the next time you fuck—you have him tied up on a chair, humping his cock as though it were a mere toy.
Of course you don't let him cum—he's been a bad boy, after all.
part 2! <3
thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3
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masterlist. | oneshots.
Hi! I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a John Tucker x Female Reader fic from Off Campus
The reader is Beau’s cousin, around a year younger than the Briar group. She’s a nursing student, very academic, responsible, and the type who always has a plan for everything. She was also a talented athlete growing up so she never let loose
Beau convinces her to visit Briar for a weekend and actually have fun for once. The guys immediately like her because she’s smart, sarcastic, and can hold her own with them.
One scene I’d love included is the fruit game from the show. Tucker is asleep protecting a watermelon, and Beau jokingly challenges his cousin to use her “academic brain” to figure out how to steal it. Dean and the others start offering money if she can pull it off without waking Tucker, eventually getting up to $150.
She successfully steals the watermelon and hands it off to Dean, but in the process Tucker wakes up just enough to grab her instead. Still half asleep, he pulls her into his arms like she’s the watermelon he was supposed to be protecting. Everyone is losing their minds, Dean is celebrating, and she just blushes and says, “Worth it.”
I’d love a friends-to-lovers or slow-burn vibe where Tucker likes that she’s driven and intelligent, while she slowly learns how to let loose and enjoy college life a little more or even just a one shot
Or even another idea for another shot with the same girl where she’s at karaoke while Tucker’s singing “save a horse (ride a cowboy)” and she mumbles something dirty like “I wouldn’t mind that” and beau is in SHOCK
OH YOU BEAUTIFUL BRAIN YOU, I LOVE
Fruit Stealer
John Tucker X Fem!Reader
your entire life you had to be utterly perfect, there was no room for failure. if you failed, you would sit in your room and punish yourself the entire time you studied, no one ever understood that failing felt like dying to you. like your entire world was crashing down and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. you never cared about partying, or friends or drinking, none of it mattered if you failed.
when you got into college, you didn't look back. you moved into the dorms and closed yourself off. sure you were close with your roommate but that was it. you spent all of your time studying or at the school, you kept a job on the weekend so you could pay off student debt and things that would weigh you down in the future. it was so terrifying to you but you tried to ignore it all. tried to ignore the feeling of dread you got every time you thought you failed.
your cousin never understood why you cared so much about college, it was supposed to be a fun experience. every time someone talked about college, it was all good things and you desperately wanted to believe that you could have fun but fun didn't matter when you could fail.
you had finished midterms week and you were laying in your bed, finally taking the time to breathe. you knew next week would be the same hell and you didn't have the time to think or breathe or digest anything that had happened but right now you didn't care... that was until your phone rang and you rolled over to see beau, your beloved cousin was calling you and you picked up
"holy shit, is the world ending? you finally answered" he said with a laugh and in the background you heard
"Y/NNNNN!!!!! SHE'S ALIVE" that was dean, you knew it was dean by the sound of his voice and the fact that he had been beaus best friend for years. you met dean before, dean admired your work ethic and the way you didn't let any bullshit slide. you were kind and funny and smart, you were driven, an academic weapon and on the side you were a figure skater. dean loved watching you skate, he felt like he could see your emotions just played out on the ice and he adored it
"hi dean, hi beau...you need something?" you asked as you sat up, your roommate was gone for the weekend. she had invited you to go drinking considering she, too, was a med student and you survived hell week together but you opted out, on the words of needing to be alone and breathe by yourself.
"for you to breathe...you just finished midterms and you have the entire weekend, look drunk shakespeare is happening tonight and im begging you to be there...like on my knees begging you. you're my best friend, besides dean and i miss you so please please please just come" he begged and you sighed
"fine, fine, ill be there" you said and he let out a woop before he hollered to dean
"THE QUEEN IS COMING" and they both cheered. you laughed and ended the call. you changed into more appropriate clothes for drunk shakespeare and then you took the drive from your campus to briar. it was a two hour long drive but it felt nice, felt like coming home. you held your breath as you looked out the window and when you got there, dean was outside with beau. they turned at the sight of your car. you parked and they both cheered as you got out
"OH ITS THE QUEEN, SHALL I BOW?" dean hollered, the others looked over. garrett, logan and tucker all stared at dean and beau as they walked over to you and you laughed as you shoved deans shoulder. they liked you already.
"you shall bow, you peasant" you said and he nodded as he bowed and so did beau. you shook your head as you laughed, meanwhile tucker turned to both logan and garrett
"who's that?"
"beaus younger cousin, y/n... shes a med student at tufts" garrett said, both logan and tuckers eyes widened. tufts? thats an insane place to go for college, if only they knew you also got into harvard...
"so shes like a genius?" tucker said and garrett laughed with a nod. it was true that you got the genius gene
"she seems cool" logan said and the three of them nodded as they watched you interact with dean and beau. you laced your arm over their shoulder and made your way to drunk shakespeare with them. garrett, logan and tucker could only stare at the way you absolutely commanded the two of them
you made eye contact with tucker and smiled at him, his breath caught and he smiled back. the four guys noticed but they didn't say anything as you kept walking inside. in that moment, they knew that you were going to be apart of the fruit game. you were inside with them when you saw that justin had taken tuckers fruit, to which tucker said
"fuck!" and they handed him a cantaloupe, you laughed. dean and beau made eye contact and dean spoke up
"you have to take one of the fruits tonight" he said and you turned to him
"im sorry?"
"you didn't see how tucker looked at you when you walked in... i swear it was like heart eyes. hes basically in love with you and doesn't know it yet, honestly i think he would hand the fruit over if you asked but you're not. you're smart, you need to steal it from him" dean said and you turned to beau but he already had a grin on his face
"beau... no"
"i say its a great idea and hey...ill even sweeten the pot...ill give you twenty bucks to do it" he said, that got the attention of logan and garrett. tucker was off talking to jules, giving them the opportunity to talk to you
"ooo what are we betting about?" garrett questioned
"y/ns ability to steal a fruit from tucker but she said no, i said ill give her twenty bucks"
"twenty? ill give her fifty" logan said and you turned to him, this was clearly something that they truly wanted you to do and in the meantime, tucker lost the cantaloupe and got handed a larger fruit, being a watermelon. after about fifteen minutes, you landed on 150 being your agreement. tucker at that point was drunk and out of it.
you sighed
"watch this" you said as you walked over slowly, you looked at tucker and your surroundings before you slowly leaned down and grabbed the watermelon from his hold. it slipped right out and into your arms. dean and beau laughed silently as you went to bring it to them but tucker, even in his drunk, tired state reaching out and pulled you in.
"my watermelon grew legs... and it smells good...and it has hair... weird" he said as he held onto you. garrett grabbed his phone and recorded it so he could show it to sober tucker in the morning. beau held his breath, keeping his laugh contained.
you shrugged and handed off the watermelon to dean before you leaned into tucker
"worth it" you shrugged and they all laughed. if only you all knew that night would set off the timeline of your relationship with tucker and change the fold of reality
A/N: this was so long and im so proud of it! thank you so so much for the request and feel free to send more
pairing – garrett graham x petal!reader
summary – after running into garrett at the coffee shop, dinner feels like either a terrible idea or the first careful step toward something they both still want.
warnings – exes to lovers, second chance, emotional tension, soft/flirty banter, alcohol mention
notes from me – finally gave these cuties their dinner date!! hope u enjoy babes xx
word count – 5.2k
navigation – masterlist |
The restaurant wasn’t fancy enough to make the whole thing feel terrifying, which she appreciated, but it was nice enough that she had spent twenty minutes standing in front of her closet like she was preparing for a court appearance.
Small tables, warm lighting, a chalkboard wine list behind the bar, and that low evening hum of cutlery and conversation and people pretending not to listen to the table beside them.
The windows were fogged faintly at the edges from the cold outside, little beads of condensation collecting near the wooden frames, and the second she stepped through the door, the heat hit her cheeks hard enough to make her feel like she had already been caught doing something.
Which was ridiculous, because she was simply getting dinner. With Garrett. After a coffee shop conversation that had made her chest feel like someone had taken a key to a locked room she’d been avoiding and turned it very gently.
So, normal. Completely normal.
She paused near the host stand, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag as she glanced across the restaurant.
She had expected to beat him there. Garrett was many things – charming, annoying, unfairly good-looking in hoodies, apparently susceptible to hostile furniture – but punctual for emotionally loaded dinner plans hadn’t been a category she’d ever had to evaluate before.
She’d imagined having at least a minute to sit down, smooth her skirt, order water, arrange her face into something casual and mostly sane before he walked in.
Instead, he was already there. At a small table near the back, one shoulder angled toward the door like he’d been watching for her without wanting to look like he was watching for her.
Navy sweater this time, hair still a little damp at the ends like he’d showered after practice and then run his hands through it six different times while deciding whether that counted as styling.
There was a faint bruise blooming low near his jaw, just enough yellow-green at the edge to make her eyes catch on it before she could stop them. His phone sat facedown beside his water glass.
Garrett looked up just as the host asked if she had a booking. His face changed immediately. His eyes finding hers and warming, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin that started careful and failed within half a second.
“Hey,” she said when she reached him, her voice coming out softer than intended.
“Hey.” Garrett stood, and because he’d decided to become the sort of man who arrived early and remembered social manners, he reached for the back of her chair and pulled it out for her.
She blinked at him, then laughed under her breath because there was no universe where she could let that pass untouched. “Oh. Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead.”
Garrett’s mouth tipped. “Nope.”
She slid into the chair, setting her bag carefully against the leg of the table. “Should I be worried? Are you about to reveal you joined a secret society?”
“Can’t talk about it.”
“Mhm. First rule?”
“Compliment the lady’s coat and pull her chair out.”
“Disturbing.”
“Yeah, hazing’s gotten really refined.”
She smiled down at her menu before she meant to, and Garrett sat opposite her, looking pleased with himself in a way that would have annoyed her more if the sight of it didn’t settle something in her stomach.
The table was small enough that his knee nearly brushed hers beneath it, and both of them seemed to notice at the same time. He shifted back a fraction. She shifted too. Then, because the mutual restraint was so visible it had become its own problem, she tucked one ankle behind the other and pretended to be very interested in the appetisers.
For the first few minutes, they were almost too polite. It was awful, honestly. Painful in the way only two people who had once known how to share a bed without negotiating space could be painful while discussing bread.
Garrett asked how rehearsal scheduling had ended up after Allie’s missed calls, and she told him Dexter had decided to move a blocking session because one of the cast members had apparently lost emotional access to the dining table, which Garrett listened to with the grave expression of a man trying to understand theatre people as a species.
She asked how practice had been, and he said, “Loud,” then clarified that Coach had used the phrase “discipline starts in the neutral zone” so many times that Logan had started whispering it like a prayer every time someone dropped a puck.
“That feels like something Logan would turn into a cult,” she said, fingers resting around her water glass.
“He already tried,” Garrett said. “Tucker told him cult leaders need better posture.”
“He’s not wrong.”
“No, he’s usually not. That’s what makes him insufferable.”
“You live with Dean.”
“Dean’s insufferable but, like, in a different genre.”
She laughed at that, small but real, and Garrett’s eyes flicked to her mouth like he had heard the sound and wanted to keep it somewhere safe.
The look was quick. He didn’t linger. That somehow made it worse.
A server came over then, cheerful and slightly rushed, and Garrett looked at her before ordering like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to know what she wanted anymore. The hesitation was tiny, but she caught it anyway.
He used to order for her when she was indecisive, used to nudge the menu down with two fingers and say, baby, you’ve read the same pasta description four times, you want the pasta.
Now his gaze moved from her face to the menu and back again, careful around the old familiarity like it might bruise if handled wrong.
She saved him from it by ordering first. A glass of wine, the pasta, the salad she didn’t really want but felt compelled to add because adulthood occasionally demanded leaves. Garrett ordered the steak and a beer, then added the bread for the table after glancing at her for half a second too long.
She narrowed her eyes as the server left. “Was that bread for me?”
Garrett leaned back, one hand around his water glass. “I like bread.”
“Garrett.”
“What? Wheat’s… good.”
She pressed her lips together, refusing to give him the laugh too easily. He saw it anyway. His grin deepened just enough to make the candle on the table catch in the little crease near his cheek.
“Fine,” he said. “Maybe it was for you.”
“I can order my own bread.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t.”
She looked at him across the table. “How would you know?”
His grin softened at the edges. His thumb moved once over the condensation on his glass. “Because you’d stare at the menu and say you didn’t need it, then steal half of mine and act like it was my fault for placing it within range.”
The accuracy of it slipped under her guard so neatly that for a second she had no response. The room kept going around them, forks against plates, someone laughing too loudly near the bar, the front door opening to let in a brief slice of cold air before it closed again.
She looked down, pretending to adjust the napkin on her lap. “That sounds like slander,” she said.
“It’s documented behaviour.”
“By who?”
“Me. I lived it.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
She glanced up then, and the smile was waiting for her before she could stop it. Garrett caught it and smiled back, quieter this time, the two of them sitting with the little ache of it between them. The old ease had not come rushing back cleanly; it arrived in pieces, knocking politely first, checking whether the room was safe to enter.
The wine helped. One glass smoothing the edges of the table between them, warming the space under her sternum, making her hands less concerned with what they were doing.
The bread arrived first, warm enough that steam rose when Garrett tore a piece open, and he pushed the plate toward her without comment. She took one piece, then another three minutes later, and he had the decency not to look smug until she pointed a butter knife at him. “Don’t.”
Garrett lifted both hands. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re doing… your face.”
“I only have the one.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Wow.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “At dinner? After I bought emotional support bread?”
“You haven’t bought it yet.”
He shot her a look. “I’m paying.”
“Wow. Very generous.”
“I know. People say that.”
“Do they?”
“Constantly. Mostly elderly women and bartenders.”
She laughed, and this time she didn’t bother hiding it. Garrett’s eyes lit in response, bright enough that she had to look at the bread for a second because his face when he made her laugh had always been one of her less survivable experiences.
By the time the food came, the tentative layer had thinned into something easier. It still lived underneath everything, that awareness of the months between them, the things said badly, the things not said at all. But the conversation had found its old rhythm around it.
Garrett told her Dean had decided to start a pre-playoffs wellness protocol that involved buying a juicer off a guy from one of his classes and immediately using it to make something green enough that Tucker had asked whether it was meant to be consumed or poured into a lawn mower.
She told him Allie had threatened to stage an intervention because one of their castmates kept saying he was discovering the character through breath while consistently forgetting every entrance.
Garrett paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Through breath?”
“Apparently.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he doesn’t know his lines.”
“Right.” Garrett nodded. “We have that in hockey too.”
“You discover the puck through breath?”
“No, Logan discovers backchecking through vibes and then Coach discovers yelling through rage.”
She covered her mouth with her napkin because the laugh came too fast and too sharp, and the table beside them looked over. A middle-aged woman in a red scarf glanced between them with mild, deeply judgemental curiosity.
Garrett noticed immediately, because Garrett could feel an audience the way other people felt weather. He leaned slightly toward the other table, smile warm and obnoxiously innocent.
“Sorry,” he said. “She’s very disruptive.”
Her mouth fell open. “Me?”
The woman’s expression cracked despite herself.
Garrett looked back at her, eyes dancing. “You’re causing a scene.”
“I’m eating pasta.”
“Loudly.”
“I hope you choke on your steak.”
“There she is,” he said, too fondly.
The words landed, and for one second the joking air between them thinned. There she is. Like he’d been looking. Like he’d missed her in all her sharp little turns and dramatic threats and refusal to laugh when he deserved it, and had found her again somewhere between the bread plate and the second glass of wine.
Her fork paused against the edge of her bowl. Garrett’s smile faded by a fraction when he realised what he’d said, or maybe how it had sounded.
She saved them both by rolling her eyes. “You’re lucky I’m too classy to cause an actual scene.”
“Yeah, that’s always been your defining trait.”
“My elegance?”
“Your restraint.”
She gave him a look over her wine glass. “I once watched you try to open a bottle of champagne with a house key.”
Garrett pointed his fork at her. “That was Dean’s idea.”
“You were the one holding the key.”
“I was supporting a friend.”
“You dented the wall.”
“The wall was weak.”
She laughed again, helpless this time, and Garrett followed her into it, his shoulders loosening as he ducked his head. The woman at the other table looked over again. The man with her looked vaguely amused now, like he had started unwillingly following the plot.
Garrett bit the inside of his cheek, trying to recover some dignity and failing when she whispered, “The wall was weak,” under her breath and set him off again.
“Stop,” he said, laughing into his hand. “Jesus.”
“You said it!”
“You’re making it worse.”
“I’m discovering the joke through breath.”
He groaned, head tipping back for half a second, and she laughed so hard her eyes watered. It felt embarrassingly good. Too good, maybe. The kind of good that came with a little warning label attached, because the body could forget what the brain had carefully filed away.
Her ribs hurt from laughing. Her cheeks felt warm from wine and candlelight and Garrett looking at her like this, like every stupid thing out of her mouth was something he wanted to catch.
That was the part she had to be careful with. Garrett’s attention could make her feel chosen so quickly it almost frightened her, because she knew what it felt like when that attention shifted elsewhere.
She knew the sudden cold where his hand used to be. She knew the humiliation of wanting proof and hating herself for needing it.
But tonight, when the server came over and asked if they wanted another drink, Garrett didn’t glance around the room, didn’t let his charm spray out carelessly in every direction.
He was polite, because he was Garrett and would probably still be charming at a tax audit, but his body stayed angled toward her.
His eyes came back to her before the server had even finished speaking. “You want another wine?”
She looked at her glass, then at him. “Do you?”
“I’ve got morning practice,” he said with a grimace.
She groaned. “So boring.”
“Hey,” he protested. “I danced shirtless in a Shakespeare production.”
“You were a hostage.”
“I adapted,” he reminded her.
“You stripped.”
“There was crowd pressure.”
“You had no moral backbone.”
“I had excellent rhythm.”
She stared at him.
Garrett’s mouth twitched. “Okay. Decent rhythm.”
“You looked very pleased with yourself.”
“Because everyone was chanting my name.”
“That’s exactly the problem with you.”
His eyes held hers across the table, the teasing still there but softer beneath it. “Yeah?”
She swallowed a little around the sudden warmth at the back of her throat. The easy answer would have been yes, obviously, because Garrett Graham and crowd approval had been married long before she came along.
But the wine had loosened too much, maybe. Or the night had. Or the way he had remembered the bread and turned his attention back to her every time the world gave him an opening not to.
“Not tonight,” she said, quieter.
Garrett’s face changed. He didn’t grin. Didn’t make it a victory. He only looked at her for a second, then nodded once. “Good.”
It shouldn’t have felt as big as it did. It was dinner. It was bread. It was Garrett behaving like a grown-up for longer than ten seconds at a time. It wasn’t the grand repair of everything they’d ever done badly.
Still, the smallness of it was exactly what made it dangerous. Big promises could be distrusted. Small choices had weight.
She got another drink, and by the time their plates had been cleared, the restaurant had thinned into the later-dinner crowd: quieter tables, lower voices, the occasional clink of someone stacking glasses behind the bar.
Garrett had pushed his empty beer bottle to the side and was telling her about a team meeting where Coach had tried to use a motivational video and accidentally cast it from his phone with his unread messages still visible at the top of the screen.
“No,” she said, delighted. “What did they say?”
Garrett rubbed a hand over his mouth, already laughing. “His wife texted, where are the lemons.”
She stared at him, waiting.
“That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s the whole message. But Logan whispers, ‘Coach has a lemon problem,’ and Dean loses it. Completely. Shoulders shaking, face red, trying to pretend he’s coughing. Then Coach pauses the video and goes, ‘Di Laurentis, do you need medical attention?’ and Dean, because he has no survival instinct, says, ‘No, sir, just thinking about lemons.’”
She made a sound that was unfortunately louder than planned and had to press her napkin to her mouth again. The red-scarf woman looked over for the third time, and this time she was smiling openly.
She lifted a hand in apology. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Garrett leaned back in his chair, looking unbearably smug. “Told you. Disruptive.”
She pointed at him. “You’re telling stupid stories in public.”
“Private team business, actually. You should feel honoured.”
“I do. Deeply.”
“Good.”
The bill arrived tucked inside a little black folder, and she reached for her bag automatically.
Garrett’s hand landed on the folder first. “Don’t,” he said.
She paused. “Garrett.”
“I asked you to dinner.”
“I can pay for my own food.”
“I know you can.”
“Then–”
“I asked,” he said again. “Let me.”
There was a version of her, one with a sharper pride and less wine and a worse memory of how things had ended, that might have argued on principle until the server came back and found them in a quiet financial standoff beside the remains of the bread basket.
But his voice didn’t make it feel like a power move. It felt like him wanting to take care of one clean, simple thing after months of every other thing between them being complicated.
So she leaned back and let her hand fall away from her bag. “Fine.”
Garrett’s eyes flicked up. “Yeah?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I would never.”
“You always say that right before making it weird.”
“That’s part of my process.”
She smiled down at the table while he paid, tracing one finger through the faint condensation ring left by her glass. The room felt softer now. The kind of late-night restaurant softness that made time seem less strict.
She should have been tired. She was tired, a little, but it sat underneath the warmer thing blooming carefully in her chest, the strange, tentative relief of an evening that had not collapsed under the weight of what it meant.
Outside, the cold came for them immediately. She had barely stepped onto the pavement before the air slid under the edges of her coat and found every bit of skin it could punish.
The streetlights threw pale circles across the wet road, and the restaurant door shut behind them with a muffled thump, cutting off the heat and the low chatter. She folded her arms across herself on instinct.
Garrett noticed. “Cold?”
“No,” she said, because pride survived wine.
He looked at her. She held his gaze for half a second, then her breath fogged in front of her face and ruined the entire performance. “A little.”
Garrett huffed a laugh and was already shrugging out of his jacket before she could pretend she didn’t need it. “Come here.”
“Garrett, you’ll freeze.”
He stepped closer and settled the jacket around her shoulders, his hands lingering only long enough to tug the collar into place. The weight of it landed warm over her, heavier than her own coat, still carrying his body heat through the lining.
And his smell. Clean soap, cold air, the faintest trace of whatever detergent the hockey house used when the machine wasn’t being abused by four men who thought fabric softener was fake.
Under that, just him. Warm skin and something steady she’d spent weeks pretending not to miss with the full force of her dignity.
It hit so hard she had to look away.
“Warmer?” he asked.
She nodded, pulling the jacket closer with both hands. “Mhm.”
Garrett’s gaze stayed on her face for a beat, like he’d seen the tiny shift and was deciding, kindly, not to name it. Then he tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants and started walking beside her, angling himself slightly closer to the curb without making a thing of it.
The walk back toward her dorm was quiet at first, though it wasn’t bad. Their shoes moved over damp pavement, the campus streets mostly empty now except for a few students bundled in scarves and the distant sound of someone laughing too loudly near one of the residence halls.
Wind moved through the bare trees, rattling the branches softly. Somewhere, a car rolled past with bass thudding low through closed windows.
She glanced at Garrett from inside the collar of his jacket. “Your jacket smells like you.”
His mouth lifted. “That a complaint?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It also smells a little like hockey house laundry room.”
“That is a complaint.”
“It’s an observation.”
“Our laundry room has been through a lot.”
“I know. I’ve seen it.”
“Then you understand why we don’t discuss it in public.”
She smiled, tucking her chin deeper into the warmth. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
They reached the crosswalk at the edge of campus, the little red hand glowing on the signal. A few cars passed, headlights sliding over them in bright white strips.
Garrett stopped beside her, close enough that his sleeve brushed the jacket he had put on her, and for a second they both stood there looking at the empty road like it required deep concentration.
The light changed. Garrett stepped off the curb and reached for her hand out of habit.
It happened so naturally that neither of them seemed to understand it until it was already done. His fingers slid through hers, warm and sure, palm closing around her hand as they started across the street.
The contact shot up her arm with ridiculous, familiar precision, waking every small memory stored in her skin. Coffee shop lines. Cold walks after games. His thumb brushing over her knuckles while he talked to someone else, back when she still believed the touch meant she was anchored there.
Halfway across, Garrett realised. She felt it in the slight catch of his hand. Saw it in the way his head turned toward her, careful, asking without words whether he had overstepped.
For one heartbeat, the old reflex rose between them – his hand opening, hers being left empty, the sudden air.
She tightened her grip before he could let go. Her fingers closed around his, firm enough to answer.
Garrett’s eyes dropped to their joined hands, then lifted back to her face. The corner of his mouth softened, but he didn’t grin, he only held on.
They crossed the rest of the road like that. The whole walk shifted after. Barely. Completely. Their hands stayed linked between them, swinging lightly once when Garrett adjusted his stride to match hers.
His thumb moved over the side of her hand, slow and absent, and the gesture made something behind her ribs ache in the softest, most inconvenient way.
She wanted to tell him she had missed this. She wanted to tell him that holding his hand in public had never been about ownership, not really, even if it had come out that way sometimes.
It had been about not disappearing. About his body saying, without fuss, she’s with me, while the rest of the world looked.
She pouted before she could stop herself. “I’m not tiny.”
“No?”
“I am average height and, like, emotionally tall.”
He laughed, the sound slipping into the cold air between them. “Emotionally tall?”
“Yes.”
“Is that like discovering character through breath?”
“Exactly.”
“So you’re short through breath.”
She gasped. “Take me home immediately.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“Faster.”
Garrett shook his head, still smiling, and squeezed her hand once. That little squeeze nearly did more damage than anything else, because it was so ordinary.
Her hand fit in his exactly the same way it used to, and the knowledge sat low and warm in her stomach as they turned onto the path leading toward her dorm.
By the time they reached the steps, neither of them let go immediately. The dorm building rose above them in all its unromantic brick-and-fluorescent-window glory, a few rooms lit yellow, one window on the second floor cracked open despite the cold.
Someone had stuck a half-peeled campus event poster crookedly near the entrance. The whole place smelled faintly like wet leaves and the terrible cafeteria coffee that lived permanently in the vents.
Garrett stopped at the bottom of the steps, his jacket still around her shoulders, her hand still in his. He looked up at the door, then back at her. “You good to get in?”
She nodded. “Mhm.”
“Good.”
Neither of them moved.
Their joined hands hung between them. Garrett’s thumb shifted once over her knuckle and then stilled, like he’d just realised he was doing it again. His face was half-shadowed by the light over the entrance, curls messy from the wind, cheeks faintly pink from the cold.
He looked a little younger like this. Less golden boy, less rink captain, less campus-wide problem. Just Garrett, standing outside her dorm in a sweater without a jacket because his was around her shoulders, trying to choose the right words and looking almost annoyed at how much he cared about getting them right.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he said finally.
Her chest warmed so quickly she almost hated him for it. “Me too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She tightened the jacket around herself, mostly to have something to do with her hands now that she had gently let his go. “Even with the lemon story.”
“Especially with the lemon story.”
“It was very vulnerable of you to share.”
He shrugged. “Team confidentiality means nothing to me.”
“I gathered.”
Garrett smiled, then looked down for a second, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. The movement was so familiar it made her mouth soften before she could stop it.
“We should, um.” He cleared his throat, eyes coming back to hers. “After the game maybe? Get dinner again, or a drink, or just… hang out. I dunno.”
She stared at him for half a breath, then let the grin come because he looked so painfully earnest beneath the attempted casualness that not teasing him would have been cruel to both of them.
“Are you asking me on a second date, Graham?”
Garrett huffed, but the tips of his ears went faintly red. “Uh, I guess so.”
“You guess?”
“I am asking,” he corrected, pointing at her lightly. “I’m just trying not to make it sound like I rehearsed it.”
“Did you rehearse it?”
“No.”
She lifted her brows.
Garrett’s mouth twitched. “Not out loud.”
A laugh slipped out of her, soft and helpless, and he smiled back with the kind of relief that made her want to step closer. She stayed where she was, just barely.
He shifted his weight. “Does it count if it’s a…” His face did something uncertain, the humour flickering around the edges of something real. “A second chance second date?”
She looked at him, at the careful set of his mouth, the way he had clearly meant the joke to hold more of the weight than it could. Something in her chest opened a little, warm and sore.
“Oh,” she said, trying to keep her voice light because if she didn’t, it would go soft enough to ruin them both. “We’re calling it a second chance, are we?”
Garrett blinked. The confidence dropped from his face so fast it almost made her regret it. “I mean, I thought that’s what it was.”
Her heart twisted. Fuck. Garrett Graham, temporarily humbled by sincerity. Somebody should have sold tickets.
She stepped closer before the moment could bruise. “I’m teasing you.”
His shoulders loosened a fraction. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He let out a breath, then narrowed his eyes at her slightly, recovering himself piece by piece. “That was mean.”
“You like me mean.”
“Mhm,” he murmured, and it came out quieter than the joke deserved.
The air between them changed again. The cold pressed around her cheeks. His jacket was warm over her shoulders.
He was close enough now that she could see the faint nick near his jaw, the tiny damp shine of his lower lip where he’d bitten it while thinking, the way his eyes kept moving over her face like he was still checking whether he was allowed to stay in this moment.
She rose onto her toes before she could overthink it and kissed his cheek. Warm skin, a faint brush of stubble, the clean familiar smell of him filling her lungs so quickly it made her chest hurt.
Garrett went still. When she eased back down, his eyes had softened in a way that made him look entirely unprepared to be left on a sidewalk.
“I’ll see you this weekend,” she said.
He nodded once, slow. “Yeah. See you then.”
She slipped his jacket from her shoulders and held it out. For one tiny second, Garrett looked like he might tell her to keep it. She could see the impulse cross his face, could almost hear the casual line he would have used to make it sound easy.
Keep it, baby. You’re cold.
But he seemed to think better of it, or maybe he was learning when not to make a gesture do more than the moment could hold. He took it from her, fingers brushing hers lightly around the fabric.
“Text me when you’re inside?” he asked.
She gave him a look. “I’m going up three stairs.”
“Humour me.”
“You’re very bossy for a man asking for a second chance second date.”
“Concerned,” he corrected.
She smiled, shaking her head, then turned and climbed the steps. At the door, she glanced back. Garrett was still there at the bottom, jacket hooked over one arm now, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants against the cold.
He looked up at her with that small, almost-private smile, the one that had always been more dangerous than the bright public grin.
“Goodnight, Garrett,” she said.
“Goodnight,” he said, then added, because he could not help himself, “Try not to get taken out by any furniture on the way in.”
She rolled her eyes so hard it nearly counted as cardio. “One chair humbles you and suddenly you’re projecting.”
“That chair had bad intentions.”
“Goodnight.”
He grinned then, full and warm and stupidly pleased with himself, and she had to pull the door open before her face gave away too much. The lobby heat wrapped around her as she stepped inside, smelling faintly like carpet cleaner, radiator dust, and someone’s microwave popcorn.
The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the cold, muffling the street, leaving Garrett on the other side of the glass under the dorm light.
Her phone buzzed before she had even reached the first stairwell.
Garrett: You made it inside. Heroic.
She stopped on the landing, biting down on a smile that came anyway. She typed back with cold fingers and a heart doing something soft and stupid beneath her ribs.
barely. the stairs were aggressive.
His reply came almost immediately.
Garrett: Campus furniture problem. I’ve been saying this.
She laughed under her breath, quiet in the empty stairwell, and for the first time in weeks, the sound didn’t feel like it had to fight its way out of her.
Summary: When a journalism assignment sends her to interview Briar’s star quarterback, she expects a good grade and nothing more. Beau Maxwell has other problems. He just can’t stop thinking about her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The last thing you wanted was to spend your Thursday afternoon surrounded by football players.
Unfortunately, your professor had other plans.
"Sports profiles are due in three weeks," Professor Williams had announced at the beginning of class. "And before anyone complains, yes, you actually have to interview a real athlete. It needs to be filmed, professionally edited, and submitted as both a written profile and video segment."
Which was how you ended up walking across campus with your cameraman, Lucas, toward Briar's football facility with a notebook tucked under your arm and absolutely no desire to be there.
"You look nervous," Lucas commented as he adjusted the expensive camera hanging around his neck.
"I'm not nervous."
"You almost walked into a trash can ten seconds ago."
"That’s because I wasn’t looking where i was going" you said firmly, eyebrows furrowed.
You sighed dramatically and pushed open the doors. The building was bigger than you expected and significantly louder than any journalism building you'd ever stepped foot in. Voices echoed through the hallways, music blasted from somewhere in the distance, and every few seconds you heard either shouting or what sounded suspiciously like someone being body slammed into a wall.
"I already hate this," you informed him.
"You hate everything."
"I don't hate everything." You frowned at him
"You definitely hate football." He said like to prove a point. Which was wrong.
"I hate sports. Every kind."
The student assistant at the front desk pointed you toward the practice field after checking your appointment schedule. By the time you stepped outside, your stomach had tightened slightly. The football team was in the middle of practice, players running drills while coaches barked instructions from the sidelines. It was loud, chaotic, and somehow even more intimidating than you'd imagined.
You pulled your notebook closer against your chest.
"Okay," you said. "Which one is Beau Maxwell?" You scanned the field.
"I have no idea."
"Great start, we’re gonna crush this and get a big fat F on our foreheads." You said with fake optimism, already getting irritated and upset for being in this position.
Before he could answer, a voice spoke from behind you.
"Can I help you?"
You jumped so hard your notebook nearly slipped out of your hands. Lucas immediately started laughing.
"Oh, that's embarrassing."
"Shut up."
Slowly turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with the most unfairly attractive person you'd ever seen. For a second your brain completely stalled.
He was tall. Really tall. Dark hair slightly damp from practice. Broad shoulders. Blue eyes. The kind of blue eyes that should probably be illegal because nobody should be allowed to look that good while standing in the middle of a football field.
The guy looked between you and Lucas.
Then back to you and he smiled. And somehow that made everything worse.
"Sorry," he said, clearly trying not to laugh. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't scare me."
"You jumped."
"I tripped."
Beside you, Lucas looked delighted. "Oh, this is already my favorite interview."
You considered pushing him into traffic later.
"I'm here to interview someone," you explained quickly before things could get any more embarrassing.
The guy nodded. “Okay." His gaze dropped briefly to the notebook in your arms. "Who are you interviewing?"
You checked your notes. "Uhh…Beau Maxwell."
Something immediately changed in his expression. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh really?"
You frowned. “Yeah."
The stranger held out his hand. "Hi."
You stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the hand.
"Hi?"
His grin became impossible to ignore. “I'm Beau."
Silence.
Of course the guy you'd spent the last week researching happened to be standing directly in front of you while you made a complete idiot of yourself.
Beau was still smiling. Actually, smiling wasn't the right word. He looked entertained. "You don't seem very confident in that answer," he said.
"You don't look like a Beau." The words escaped before you could stop them. Immediately your face heated.
Lucas made a choking noise beside you. Beau blinked then he laughed.
"What exactly does a Beau look like?"
"I don't know forget I said it."
Lucas slowly lowered the camera, whispering to you. "I think he's flirting with you."
Your head whipped toward him. “I am conducting a professional interview."
"Sure."
"Lucas shut up.”
Beau looked like he was having the best day of his life. And the worst part was that he hadn't stopped looking at you since the conversation started. Which was strange because Beau Maxwell had done dozens of interviews before. Reporters came and went every season. Students asked questions. Journalists followed the team around. None of them had ever mattered.
Then you showed up carrying a notebook bigger than your understanding of football and immediately informed him he didn't look like a Beau. And suddenly he couldn't remember a single thing his coach had said during practice.
The interview went surprisingly smoothly. Once the camera started rolling, you slipped into the version of yourself that rarely got nervous. You asked your questions, Beau answered them, and before long you were already moving through the list faster than expected.
Every answer led naturally into the next question, and despite your complete lack of football knowledge, you managed to keep the conversation flowing. Beau seemed happy to talk, which made your job easier, and after forty minutes you finally reached the last page of your notes.
"That's all I've got," you said with a small smile toward the camera. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today."
"No problem."
Lucas cut the recording and lowered the camera. You crouched beside your bag and started organizing everything with the efficiency of someone who had three other things to do before dinner.
Beau watched the entire process. "You always work this fast?"
You looked up briefly and let out a small “hm?”
"You finished the interview and immediately started packing."
"Because I'm finished."
He stared.
That wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for. Not that he knew what answer he had been hoping for.
You zipped your bag closed. "I have another interview in forty-five minutes."
"Today?"
"Yeah."
Beau laughed softly. A smile appeared briefly on your face before disappearing again as you checked something on your phone.
"Well," you said, standing and slinging your bag over your shoulder, "thank you again."
"That's it?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it. He immediately regretted how disappointed he sounded.
A small crease appeared between your eyebrows. "Was there supposed to be more?"
"No."
"Okay." You looked at him expectantly.
Beau had absolutely no idea what to say next.
For the first time in his life, Beau Maxwell, quarterback, captain, professional flirt, had completely run out of words.
You glanced toward Lucas, who was already waiting by the exit.
"I should go."
"Right."
You offered him a polite smile. The same professional smile you'd given him at the beginning of the interview.
"Good luck with the rest of the season." Then, just like that, you turned and started walking away.
Beau watched you go. Watched you disappear across the field beside your cameraman. Watched you push open the facility doors without looking back once.
As if interviewing Briar's star quarterback was just another item on your schedule.
As if he wasn't currently standing there wondering why the hell he suddenly cared whether a journalism major came back.
A football hit him directly in the shoulder.
"Ow…”
"Coach has been yelling your name for 10 minutes," one of the guys informed him.
Beau didn't take his eyes off the building.
"Who was that?"
His teammate followed his gaze. "The reporter?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know."
The answer irritated him immediately. He wanted to know. He wanted to know your name. How old you were. What year you were. Why you hated sports. Most importantly, he wanted to know when he'd see you again. Unfortunately, the only thing he actually knew was that you were a journalism major.
Three days later, Beau was still thinking about her, which was irritating because he had absolutely no reason to be. He'd done dozens of interviews over the years. Reporters came and went. Students asked questions. Journalists followed the team around all the time. None of them had ever stayed in his head longer than an hour, yet somehow the journalism major who openly admitted she hated sports had managed to occupy an embarrassing amount of his thoughts.
Dean was enjoying it far too much.
"You don't even know her name bro ," Dean said, taking a drink from his coffee while Beau glared across the student center.
"I know she's a journalism major… AND i know her camera man’s name was Lucas."
Dean looked unimpressed.
"Wow. Incredible. Maybe next week you'll learn her last name."
"Shut up."
"I'm serious. You've been weird for three days."
"I have not."
"You have not flirted with anyone is 3 days Beau, this is very concerning at this point."
"Bro, my hearts not in it."
"That's what makes it concerning."
Beau rolled his eyes and looked away, already regretting sitting down with Dean in the first place. Unfortunately, Dean knew him too well. The second Beau got interested in something, Dean noticed. The second Beau tried pretending he wasn't interested, Dean noticed that too.
The conversation died off for a minute when Dean started checking something on his phone. Beau wasn't paying much attention until movement near the entrance caught his eye.
There you were.
You walked into the student center carrying entirely too much stuff. A laptop was tucked under one arm, a coffee balanced in one hand, your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear while you listened to someone talking. You looked stressed.
Beau sat up straighter before he could stop himself. Dean immediately noticed.
"Oh, is that her?."
Beau didn't answer.
Dean followed his gaze and grinned.
"she is." He exclaimed excited.
"Stop."
Dean laughed under his breath while you continued walking through the student center completely unaware of either of them. You weren't looking around. You weren't people-watching. You weren't doing anything except speed-walking toward an empty table while scrolling through something on your phone.
Beau waited for a glance. You walked right past. Not a flicker of recognition in you. Not even a single look.
Dean physically turned in his chair to watch you continue across the room. Then he looked back at Beau.
"Oh, that's rough buddy."
Beau frowned. "What?"
"She doesn't remember you."
"She interviewed me, she has to remember me."
Dean snorted. "Apparently not memorably."
Across the room you dropped into a chair and immediately opened your laptop. Within seconds your attention was completely absorbed by whatever project was currently ruining your life. Beau watched you type something, stop, groan quietly to yourself, take a sip of coffee, then immediately start typing again.
"You should go talk to her."
Beau shook his head. “No."
"Why?"
"Because that's weird. And she’s clearly busy.”
Dean stared at him. "You literally spent three days thinking about her."
"I did not spend three days thinking about her."
And before Beau could stop him, Dean pushed his chair back and stood. Beau immediately narrowed his eyes.
"Dean."
Dean smiled, shoulders rolled back, eyes twinkled in clear mischief he was about to do. "Relax."
"Dean what are you doing.” He was panicking now.
"I said relax bro."
"Dean sit down.”
But Dean was already walking away. Straight toward your table.
Beau considered leaving. Maybe transferring schools. Possibly changing countries. Hopefully getting into a accident and dying.
Meanwhile, you didn't even notice Dean until he stopped beside your table. You looked up from your laptop, blinking once.
"Hi."
"Hi?”
There was a brief pause.
Finally you tilted your head slightly. "Can I help you?"
Dean smiled easily. "My friend there wanted to come talk to you but he's being a coward about it." He pointed towards very flustered and nervous looking Beau.
You looked over your shoulder and followed where Dean was pointing. Your eyes landed on Beau.
Beau watched recognition try very hard to happen. It didn't.
You looked back at Dean. "Sorry."
Dean immediately started laughing. "Sorry?"
You nodded. "Am I supposed to know him?"
From across the room Beau closed his eyes from embarrassment or maybe dissatisfaction. Who knows.
Dean looked delighted. "You really don't remember him?”
You frowned. "I feel like I should now.”
Dean pointed again. "Football."
Then your eyes widened. "Oh."
Dean immediately looked interested.
"That's the football guy."
The laugh that left Dean was loud enough that several people turned around. Across the room Beau looked offended. You glanced between them, confused.
"What?"
Dean dropped into the chair across from you, still laughing. "Nothing. It's just that my friend over there has spent the last three days acting like he got struck by lightning when he met you, and your description of him is apparently 'the football guy.'"
You blinked slowly at him. "I interviewed a lot of people this week."
Dean put a hand over his heart. "Oh, that is devastating."
"I didn't mean it in a bad way."
Beau didn’t really think about it before he was already walking. Dean was still laughing when he pushed his chair back, and he didn’t even bother arguing with him this time because something about you looking up from that table, confused and slightly annoyed, had done something very inconvenient to his brain.
You were still sitting there with your laptop open and your attention half on Dean and half on whatever he had just said, and Beau stopped in front of the table without really planning what he was going to say because up close it was even worse, in the sense that you looked exactly the same as in his head but somehow more real.
Dean leaned back in his chair immediately like he was enjoying every second of this, and you glanced between them like this was mildly inconvenient but not particularly important before your attention settled on Beau for a second longer than anyone else in the room, although it still didn’t look like recognition so much as mild confusion at why the football guy was suddenly standing in front of you again.
“Hi,” Beau said first because Dean clearly wasn’t going to save him, and you responded with a quick “hi” that sounded polite but already distracted.
And somehow that ‘’hi’ made him forget whatever he had been about to say next for a second.
Dean, clearly entertained, gestured vaguely between the two of you and added, “he just wanted to come over because he’s been weird about you since your interview,”
You immediately frowned a little like that was unnecessary information before looking back at Beau and saying, “I’m sorry, I don’t really remember, I’ve had a lot of interviews and I’m kind of just trying to get through everything this week.”
Beau nodded quickly because that made sense even if it hit slightly harder than expected, and he tried to keep his voice normal when he said, “yeah, I just recognized you, that’s all, I thought I should say hi properly since we didn’t really get to talk after,”
You gave him a small, distracted and very awkward smile. “That’s nice, but I actually need to get back to this,”
You were already closing your laptop halfway and shifting your things like you were preparing to leave.
Beau started to say something like “right, yeah, of course,” you were already shaking your head a little as if to politely end it before it started.
You stood up quickly after that, adjusting your bag strap and glancing at your phone like your attention had already moved somewhere else, and you added, “it was nice meeting you again, I think, but I’ve really got to go.”
Beau stepped slightly aside without thinking so you could pass, and you gave him a quick polite smile again before walking away from the table just as fast as you had arrived, already typing something into your phone again before you even reached the exit.
Dean waited until you were out of earshot before letting out a low whistle and leaning back again like he was watching a disaster he hadn’t even had to cause, while Beau stayed standing for a second longer than necessary looking at the empty space where you had just been.
“She’s a busy woman.” Dean said finally with a grin that didn’t help at all.
Beau just sat back down slowly because somehow that was the only thing that made sense when the person who had been living in his head for three days didn’t even stay long enough to remember him properly.
The first time Logan called you a good girl, he did not mean to. Which was a problem in itself, if he had meant to, perhaps you could have prepared.
If there had been warning, if he had looked at you with that slow, dangerous little smile and said it deliberately, you might have had enough time to collect yourself. To decide what face to make. To arrange your dignity into something presentable before it abandoned you entirely.
It was still early enough that certain things between you and Logan felt like discoveries rather than habits. Not awkward anymore, luckily you were past the worst of that. Past the first trembling moments of figuring out where to put your hands, when to ask, how to say something without feeling like every word had been dragged from somewhere too exposed.
But it was new enough that he still watched you closely.
You were in his room at the hockey house, Logan had been sitting against the headboard and you had started by kissing him there, then somehow ended up between his legs on the mattress with your knees pressed into the sheets and your hair falling over one shoulder. His door was locked. The house was noisy enough downstairs that privacy felt possible, but not silent enough to be too intense. Somewhere beneath you, Dean was shouting about someone stealing his cereal, which meant the world was still irritatingly alive outside the room.
Inside, it was warm. Logan was warmer.
He had one hand in your hair, not gripping. Just resting there, fingers curved gently against the back of your head. His other hand was fisted loosely in the sheets beside his thigh, like he was trying very hard to keep it there.
You learnt quickly that you liked that. You liked seeing his restraint, even though you were not entirely sure what to do with it yet. You had done this before.
Not often enough to be casual. Not rarely enough to be nervous in the same way. There was a strange little space between those things, where you wanted badly to be good at it but did not want to look like you were trying too hard. Which was stupid, because trying was the point.. Trying was academically and socially defensible.
Unfortunately, none of that made you feel less exposed with your mouth on him and Logan breathing your name like a warning.
“Slow,” he murmured.
You paused just enough to look up.
His head was tipped back against the wall, eyes dark and fixed on you. His sweatshirt was shoved up his stomach, jeans open, hair a mess from your hands. He looked less composed than usual, which helped. A lot.
“Too much?” you asked.
His mouth parted.
“No,” his laugh came out rough, “God, no. Just—slow down a little.”
You blinked.
“I thought you liked—”
“I do.”
“That was not a complete sentence.”
He looked at you then, properly, and even in the heat of it his mouth twitched.
“You want notes?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrows lifted and you immediately regretted sounding so eager.
“Not like an evaluation,” you clarified.
“Cherry.”
“What?”
“You are between my legs asking for constructive feedback.”
Your face warmed, “Well, now you’re making it sound clinical.”
“It sounded clinical when you said notes.”
“I like being thorough.”
“I’m aware.”
You narrowed your eyes. He smiled, but the smile did not last long because your hand moved again and his breath caught hard enough to interrupt whatever smug thing he had been about to say.
There. You liked that too, that you could cut him off without using words.
You tried again, slower this time, paying attention to the way his stomach tightened and his fingers pressed into your hair before he remembered himself and loosened them. His breathing shifted. You watched his face, greedy for signs, for proof, for anything that told you you were doing it right.
Logan noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“You don’t have to think so hard,” he said, voice low.
You pulled back just enough to answer, one hand still wrapped around him.
“I am not thinking hard.”
“You’re concentrating.”
“I’m learning.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
His eyes darkened at that.
Something about the word changed him. Not much. Just enough for the hand in your hair to flex, thumb brushing near your temple.
“Okay,” he stroked your hair, “Then slower.”
You obeyed.
His jaw tightened as he sighed, “Use your hand too. Like— yeah. There.”
Your pulse jumped.
There.
Such a stupidly satisfying word.
You adjusted, following the rhythm he guided you into, letting him show you without pushing you, his hand careful in your hair and his voice rougher each time he gave you another tiny instruction. It should have made you embarrassed. It did. But there was something else underneath it, something warmer and more dangerous than embarrassment.
You liked being guided by him.
You liked that he could tell you what to do without making you feel small.
You liked the way his voice went uneven when you listened.
“Just like that,” he moaned softly.
Your eyes flicked up.
His head had fallen back again, throat exposed, lips parted. He looked wrecked enough that your pride bloomed in your chest, hot and pleased. You kept going, slower, better, more certain now.
Logan’s hand tightened in the sheets,“That’s it,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Good girl.”
Everything stopped.
Not outside.
Outside, Dean was still yelling about cereal justice. Someone laughed in the hallway. Music thudded faintly through the floor.
But in your body, everything stopped.
And Logan felt it.
His eyes opened, head lifting from the wall and gaze dropping to you with sharp, immediate attention. The hand in your hair stilled completely.
You were still between his legs, still touching him, still too close to pretend you had simply remembered an appointment.
His expression slowly shifted,“Oh?”
You pulled back, face already hot.
“No.”
His mouth curved.
“No?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you learn something.”
Logan breathed out a laugh, but it came out too rough to be casual,“Baby.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said enough with your eyebrows.”
“My eyebrows?”
“Yes.”
“They’re involved now?”
“They’re very communicative.”
His smile widened, and the heat in your face became unbearable because he was still looking at you like that. Like he had found a drawer you had not known was unlocked. He lifted his hand from your hair and touched your jaw instead, gentle enough that you could have moved away without effort.
“You like that?”
“No.”
His thumb brushed once along your cheek,“No?”
You stared at him.
He waited.
That was the thing about Logan. He did not always fill silence when he knew it would do the work for him. He just waited, face warm and amused and careful, hand steady at your jaw.
“Maybe.”
His eyes darkened, “Colour?”
The question landed softly, grounding everything at once.
“Green,” you said too quickly.
His smile changed, “Yeah?” His thumb moved under your chin, tilting your face up a fraction. “My good girl’s green?”
Your entire body reacted.
Logan noticed that too.
His breath shifted, and for one second he looked like he had forgotten what game he was playing.
Then he laughed, quiet and ruined, “Oh, Cherry.”
“You cannot say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re pleased with yourself.”
“I am pleased with myself.”
“That is not attractive.”
“It’s a little attractive.”
“It is not.”
“You’re still holding me.”
You looked down.
You were, hand still on him- not moving the entire time you had made the discovery. In fact, your grip had tightened
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” he replied, voice rougher now. “I know.”
You should have stopped. You considered stopping.
Not because you wanted to, but because it would have restored some kind of balance. You could have sat back, crossed your arms, accused him of misconduct in the field of vocabulary, and turned the whole thing into a joke before it became something he could use.
Instead, you looked at him; properly- studying his face, the flush on his cheekbones and the little stunned glint in his eye,like your reaction had done something to him too. Like he had said the words without thinking, watched you respond, and realised in real time that he had found a way to make you softer than either of you had been expecting.
That made you want to hear it again. Badly.
Which was inconvenient for your propriety, and humiliating for your ego- but unconventionally motivating for the rest of you.
You leaned back down.
Logan’s hand twitched, “Cherry.”
You ignored the warning in his voice, you knew exactly what you were doing now.
Mostly.
You took him into your mouth again. Slower at first, because he had said slower and you were suddenly, catastrophically invested in doing this correctly. His hand returned to your hair, fingers threading through carefully, then tightening when you used your hand the way he had shown you.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
That was very nice.
You did it again. His hips shifted, barely. He caught himself immediately, hand flattening against the mattress.
You looked up. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on you, and all the smugness had taken a significant hit. You hollowed your cheeks a little, using what you had learned, what he had told you, what his body was telling you now.
His head hit the wall, “Baby.”
You hummed in response, his whole body jerked in response.
“Jesus.”
You pulled back just enough to breathe, hand still moving, “Notes?”
He laughed, but there was no humour left in it. Only disbelief.
“You want notes right now?”
“Yes.”
His eyes dropped to your mouth.
Then back to your eyes.
“Slow again.”
You listened. His breathing turned ragged.
“Hand— yeah. Just like that.”
Warmth spread through your chest. In anticipation. You were waiting for the two words to reward your actions, and you hated it.
Logan’s mouth parted, then curved with sudden understanding.
“Oh,” he said softly.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
His voice dropped, “You’re trying to get me to say it again.”
Your face burned.
“No.”
“No?”
You did not answer.
He shifted his hand in your hair, not pushing, not forcing, just holding enough to make your stomach tighten.
“Look at me.”
You did. It was a mistake for your resolve, everything was a mistake.
His eyes were dark and bright at once, amusement tangled with want, want tangled with something softer because he understood exactly how new this was. Exactly how much you hated that he understood.
“If you want it,” he said, low, “you can have it.”
Your throat moved.
“But you’re gonna have to stop pretending you don’t.”
That was unfair.
You stared at him for one stubborn second. Then lowered your mouth again.
This time, you did not rush.
You did exactly what he had told you. Slower. Hand moving with your mouth. Eyes up. Breathing carefully. Not trying to impress him with force, not trying to hide behind performance.
His grip tightened.
“That’s it,” he breathed.
You held his gaze.
His jaw flexed.
Then, rougher, “Good girl.”
There it was.
The words went through you like heat.
It was embarrassing how immediately they worked. Your focus sharpened. Your body seemed to understand them before your mind did, every nerve lighting up with pleased, greedy purpose. It was not even that you became softer, exactly.
You became determined. Dangerously determined.
Logan realised a second too late.
Because you went for it- properly.
You didn’t rush and your moves hadn’t become clumsy, but you were suddenly much more committed to proving the praise deserved repeating. Your free hand slid to his thigh, fingers pressing into denim. Your mouth moved with more confidence now, following every broken sound he made, every shift in his breathing, every tightening of his hand in your hair.
His smugness vanished completely.
“Oh, fuck.”
You would have smiled if your mouth had been free.
It was not. So you did the next best thing.
You kept going.
Logan’s hand slammed against the mattress, fingers twisting in the sheet,“Cherry.”
It came out beautifully wrecked.
You looked up, and the sight of him nearly undid you. His head tipped back, throat working, chest rising hard, hair messy from your earlier hands, green sweatshirt shoved up over his stomach. He looked like someone had given you secret instructions and you had followed them too well.
That was, technically, what had happened.
“Baby,” he said, voice strained, “slow down.”
You immediately did.
His eyes opened. Logan’s expression softened for half a second before the heat swallowed it.
“Good,” he murmured, and then, because apparently he had no survival instinct left, “good girl.”
Your eyes fluttered.
His breath caught, “You really like that.”
You pulled back, mouth warm, face hotter.
“I am providing positive reinforcement.”
For one second, he stared at you and then he laughed, a rough, helpless sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised you.
“Positive reinforcement?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to call it that?”
“It’s accurate.”
“You’re the one being reinforced.”
You frowned, “That is not how I’m choosing to frame this.”
He sat up a little, hand still in your hair, eyes so dark you lost your next thought.
“No?”
“No.”
His thumb brushed your cheek.
“You sure?”
You swallowed.
Then, quieter, “Maybe it works both ways.”
That did something to him.
You saw it happen.
His amusement faded into something more intent, more affected. His hand slid from your hair to your jaw, thumb resting lightly near the corner of your mouth.
“Yeah?” he said.
You nodded once.
He looked at you for a long second and then kissed you.
It should have been too strange, considering where your mouth had been, but Logan did not seem to care. The kiss was deep and warm and messy enough to make your knees shift against the bedspread. His hand held your face like he was trying not to grip too hard, like he was reminding himself that this was still new, that you were still learning, that the softness he had found was not something to grab at carelessly.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“Still green?”
Your chest warmed, “Yes.”
“Good.”
You closed your eyes.
He laughed softly, “Not even the whole phrase.”
“Shut up.”
“You reacted to good.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I am leaving.”
“You’re kneeling.”
“I am spiritually leaving.”
He kissed the side of your mouth,“Stay.”
You did.
Obviously.
You stayed because he asked softly, because his hand was warm at your face, because you liked how he sounded when you got it right. Because he had said good girl and the world had not ended, even though your dignity had suffered a temporary structural collapse.
You went back down again.
This time, Logan was less composed from the start. He still guided you, but his voice had rough edges now, the instructions broken up by breath and curses and your name. He told you when to slow down, when to use your hand, when to look at him, and every time you listened, he praised you for it.
Not every time with the words.
Sometimes it was good. Sometimes there. Sometimes just a low, wrecked yeah that made your thighs press together where you knelt. But when he did say it, when good girl slipped into the room again, you felt it everywhere.
And Logan knew and he was absolutely going to become unbearable about it. Later.
For now, he was too close to be smug.
His hand tightened gently in your hair, “Cherry.”
You looked up. He was breathing hard, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like he was holding himself back with his teeth.
“I’m close.”
Your stomach flipped, “Do you want me to stop?”
His laugh sounded almost pained, “No.”
“Tell me,” you pleaded.
The words came out before you could make them prettier.
His expression changed.
His hand softened in your hair.
“Keep going,” he said, voice low, “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”
Your heart stuttered.
He came with your name in his mouth and one hand careful in your hair, his whole body tensing under you before he went loose against the headboard. You stayed close until he gently tugged you up, pulling you into his lap with the kind of urgency that was more emotional than physical.
He kissed you first.
Then your cheek.
Then your forehead.
Then, absurdly, the tip of your nose.
You blinked at him.
“What was that?”
“Gratitude.”
“You kissed my nose out of gratitude?”
“Yeah.”
“That is not standard protocol.”
“I’m improvising.”
“You should workshop it.”
His laugh was quiet against your skin.
You sat in his lap, slightly dazed and trying to recover your dignity while he looked at you like recovering your dignity was not a thing he had any interest in helping you do.
After a minute, his thumb brushed your lower lip.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Too much?”
You shook your head.
“No.” Then, because honesty had already ruined enough of your evening, you added, “I liked it.”
His eyes softened.
“What part?”
You gave him a look.
“Do not fish.”
“I’m not.”
“You are absolutely fishing.”
“I’m asking.”
“You know.”
His mouth curved.
“Do I?”
You looked away.
“Logan.”
“Cherry.”
“You cannot call me that casually.”
His eyebrows lifted,“Cherry?”
You glared.
He grinned,“Oh.” His hand slid to your waist, “That.”
“Yes. That.”
“Good girl?”
Your whole body betrayed you. Immediately.
He saw and the grin faded into something slower,“There it is.”
“You are evil.”
“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Just informed.”
“I hate informed men.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
“You want me to forget?”
You turned back to him.
He was teasing, but the question under it was real. Warm. Careful. Offering you the out before you had to ask for one.
Your expression softened despite yourself, “No.”
His hand moved gently over your back.
“No?”
“No.” You swallowed. “Just don’t be smug.”
“That might be hard.”
“Try.”
“For you?”
You nodded once.
His mouth brushed yours, “Okay.”
You did not believe him. Which was wise, because ten seconds later, when he handed you the water bottle from his nightstand and you took it automatically, he murmured, “Attagirl,” under his breath.
You stopped.
Slowly turned your head.
He was looking away.
Badly.
“Logan.”
“Hm?”
“I heard that.”
“Heard what?”
“You’re testing adjacent vocabulary.”
“I’m hydrating you.”
“You are conducting research.”
“Positive reinforcement,” he said solemnly.
You stared at him.
Then hit him in the chest with a pillow.
He laughed properly then, catching it before you could swing again, pulling you down with him until you were both lying half-sideways on the bed, your hair in his face, his sweatshirt still shoved up, the room warm and messy and ridiculous around you.
Downstairs, Dean yelled, “FOR THE LAST TIME, WHO TOOK MY CEREAL?”
You and Logan both went still.
Then Logan looked at you.
You looked back.
He whispered, “Wasn’t me.”
You whispered, “I think Allie took it for our dorm .”
He laughed again, quieter this time, and pulled you closer.
You tucked your face into his neck, still embarrassed, still warm, still buzzing faintly with the knowledge that something new had been found and carefully kept.
Logan’s hand moved slowly over your back.
A little while later, when you thought he might have fallen asleep, his voice came softly near your ear.
“You really were good, you know.”
Your heart squeezed and you lifted your head
He was watching you with tired, warm eyes.
“You can just say thank you,” you said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
A pause.
Then, because you were you, “I still think your terminology caused unnecessary complications.”
His mouth curved.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Noted.”
“You’re going to do it again.”
“Probably.”
“At least be academically responsible.”
“What does that mean?”
“Controlled conditions. Clear variables. No surprise terminology.”
He brushed hair from your face, smiling like he could not help it.
“And if I say it accidentally?”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Then I suppose we’ll have to document the effects.”
Very slowly, his expression changed, “Positive reinforcement?”
synopsis: your boyfriend has a problem. he cant stop clinging to you, finding every excuse to cuddle right up next to you, sometimes even on you. but you want to show him you love him too, so you do what you do best.
word count: 836
“draco. youre acting like an actual pest—,” you say, trying to push his head away from where it rests on your chest. he resists, burying his face further into your pyjamas.
“draco.”
“yes, love?” he says, muffled through your clothes. he shifts, peering up at you with those mist-covered grey eyes you can never seem to resist.
“nothing.” you huff, threading your fingers through his hair, shifting his head back again so his face is pressed against your front.
“i can feel your stupid smirk.”
he laughs, palms cool by your waist, riding your shirt up a bit, making you gasp. “youre like a corpse. pale as one too,” you huff, bending your head down to kiss his hair.
he chuckles again, squeezing your waist. “yeah?”
you hum, slightly drifting off to sleep in your now basically shared bed in the single-bed dorm room you requested. “this defeats the purpose of having a single-person bedroom.” you say through a yawn.
“we know damn well you want me to be here.” he says with a half-smug smile. he shifts, starting to lightly kiss your neck, feeling your breathing grow more relaxed.
“good night, draco.”
“night,” he mumbles against your jaw.
“love.” you stir, draco’s gruff morning voice waking you up. “hm? i was asleep,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes once you noticed he wasn’t laying on you anymore.
“i saw that.” he chuckled, pushing your hair out of your face. “i love you,” he says. you blink.
“well? something to say to me after that?”
“huh? oh. i love you, too.” draco rolls his eyes,
“yet you needed to be reminded to say it back?”
you knew he was just joking, but your stomach made that weird feeling—the bad, guilty kind. “just woke up, baby. sorry,” you mumble, squeezing his wrist.
he grins, “i know. im kidding,” he stands up, “gonna shower. in my own bathroom, ive pestered you enough.” he chuckles at his own joke, unlocking and locking the door behind him.
you lean back, mind rushing. what could you do to make it up to him? these past couple of days, he’s been remarkably sweet and clingy with you, both emotionally and especially physically.
you sighed, reaching for your wand on your bedside drawer, blinking when you grasp your quill instead. you blink again, a slow realization coming in.
a couple hours and lessons later, around nine pm, you hear three familiar knocks on your bedroom door. you smile, getting the long, folded piece of parchment from your bedside table drawer and putting it inside your robes’ pocket before opening the door.
“you havent changed yet?” draco frowns. “mm, just put my robes back on. was cold,” he raises a brow, taking the robe off of your shoulders, actions smooth.
the letter falls to the ground, he picks it up. “a love letter, hm?” he fails to bite back a smile as you hang your robes, revealing your short pyjama shorts and his shirt underneath.
“read it, come on.”
he does, opening the parchment, guiding you onto his lap once he sits down on the edge of your bed, eyes traveling and stopping on the page.
dear draco,
i love you, you know that, right? in case you don’t, i’m writing this letter to remind you. i love it when you smirk after making me flustered. i love it when you bite your lip whilst concentrating in potions. i love it when your chuckle turns raspy for no reason.
i love it when you’re tired sometimes, not because i like seeing you suffer but because of the way your breath feels on my skin, like im all you need to feel better. i love it when you whisper praises in my ear at night, i love it when you kiss the one part of my neck that makes me squirm.
i love it when you pretend you can’t find something just so you can ask me for help, and shrug when i complain once finding it in plain sight. i love it when your eyes look like they physically soften when you’re around me or looking at me.
i love it when your hair turns fluffy and soft after a good quiddditch practice. i love it when you enthusiastically talk about quidditch with me, even if i don’t understand half the terms you’re using. i love it when you explain things to me for the umpteenth time and never get bored or annoyed with it.
i love it when you can practically sense when somethings wrong, even if I dont say it outright or even show it. i love it when you sigh while im playing and fidgeting around with your hair. i love it when you say you love me out loud. i love it when you listen to my talks about utter nonsense.
i love it. i love you; always, in all ways.
he finally looks at you, folding the paper with care. he kisses you fervently, pulling away only when your eyes start to flutter.
you catch your breath, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you all over.
warnings: Luke Castellan x shy!reader, fem reader intended, fluff
The fire was weak but still crackling in front of you, its warm hue casting a comforting glow on you all as you chatted animatedly on the beach, feet deep in the warm sand.
“Still, we were supposed to be a trio and now the only three I am is third wheel,” you groaned as you looked at your friends, sitting on the same log with their fingers intertwined over the rough bark, but there was no real bite to it.
Silena smiled amusedly, leaning her head into Charles’ shoulder. “Come onnnn, you know you love us together,” she cooed, and like to prove a point, Beckendorf pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
“Yeah, yeah, you guys are cute…but I’m too single for your cheesy shit right now,” you replied flatly, raising a pleading hand to shield your eyes from the view of them.
Your friend suddenly straightened back up, a conspiratory expression on her face as she leaned a little forward, closer to the fire. “You know who else just got very single again today?”
Beckendorf leaned back on the log, looking fondly at his girlfriend, and you didn’t even have time to take a guess before Silena hurriedly continued.
“Connor!”
“Wait, someone was actually dating that guy?” you inquired, raising a surprised brow at the information.
“Yeah, this girl, you know, what’s her name…” Silena turned to Charlie for help, her brows furrowed as she tried to remember.
“Chloe?”
“Yes, Chloe!” she exclaimed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks babe. But yeah, Chloe, the girl from Apollo cabin, she…”
Silena kept on describing a week long relationship you’d apparently missed, and you couldn’t help but feel so at ease. You loved evenings like that, feet in the sun warmed sand, fire crackling in the pit under the starry night, gossiping and laughing loudly and spouting out nonsense but nobody cared. It was the kind of moments in which you felt the most like you could fully be yourself, with people you trusted.
Apparently tonight, that moment was to be cut short.
“Yo, Silena, do we really need to be talking about me like that?” some voice interjected from a little further down the beach behind you.
You turned around, surprised to see three figures walking up to your small circle: Connor, Lee, and Luke. Fuck.
“Boys wonder,” Beckendorf greeted, dabbing them up one by one as Silena simply waved at them. Connor asked if they could join in, and the girl was to tell them to sit down, throwing you a pointed look before tilting her head in direction of Luke, who’d settled right next to you.
Your eyes widened, brows pinched up as you quickly shook your head no to whatever she was implying.
The story with Luke? There was no story to tell. You filed away every micro interaction with him but they were rarely more than a greeting, a nod in your direction before you fled the scene. You appreciated the view from afar, but you were way too anxious to ever get the real version up close.
You weren’t necessarily introverted, just… selective. With your close friends? No filter, just loud laugh and bad jokes, because you knew them as much as they knew you and you trusted them with your whole self never to judge you. When you got just a little out of that circle, though, you’d usually shut down like a clam, closing over yourself and barely uttering a word, content with just listening to people and trying not to be perceived.
So yeah, getting your space invaded by three guys you barely ever talked to? Not great. Somewhat forced proximity with a guy you purposefully avoided because he made you a flustered mess? Even worse.
“But I mean, Connor, she did dump you pretty good, that was entertaining,” Silena exclaimed with a high pitched, mocking laugh, the boy looking like he was slowly sinking into the sand.
You were slowly bringing your knees to your chest, eyes looking at the dancing flames, when Luke leaned in a bit closer, balancing his weight on his elbow in the sand between you two. “You were there when it happened? Pretty spectacular.”
You could feel his gaze on the side of your face, and it was only making you want to retreat in your arms. You kept staring right in front of you at the fire, slowly dying in the pit at the center of the makeshift circle, hoping his attention would just fade away quickly.
“Nope,” you said in a breath, softly shaking your head.
And you couldn’t see it, but the way Luke’s gaze softened when it was on you was noticeable, Silena elbowing her boyfriend on the other side of the circle to show him too. After all, Luke wasn’t really good at hiding it, it probably wasn’t the first time the pair had caught him red-handed like now. You intrigued him, somehow maybe a little more than that even, this girl he couldn’t even get a little close to without her slipping back into her shell. He found it so endearing he found ways to be near you, from time to time, like this exact moment.
Luke held in a soft laugh at your reaction, an easy smile noticeable on his lips. “Want me to tell you?”
You simply shrugged, cheeks burning up already and you could feel it. He probably could see it too, but he didn’t say anything.
“Well basically, Connor hadn’t even got on the steps of cabin 7 and she was waiting for him at the door already,” Luke started in a low voice, so it would only carry to you, and eventually averting his eyes from you to look at the fire too. “And that girl—gods bless her, she looked absolutely mad—, she just started throwing stuff at him, like books and all! She was all ‘you’re such an asshole’ and ‘get out of my face’,” he continued, trying to give the best impression of Chloe’s voice in a hushed scream.
You couldn’t help let out a fit of laughter that you were quick to cut short, burying your face in the arm that rested on your knees.
Again, Luke didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help but mark it down as a small victory somehow, even if it was just a monologue and even if it wasn’t really much of an interaction. Somehow it just made him want to hear you laugh more often, maybe even be the reason behind it. He could work his way up to it, he was patient.
The boy stopped talking after that, leaning back on his hands with his legs extended in front of him at a reasonable distance from you. He laughed with the others, chimed in here and there, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him from time to time, watching as the fire sharpened his features and the stars almost reflected in his eyes like they did at the surface of the Long Island sound.
You just observed the conversations as they flowed in front of you, nodding when Silena checked on you from across the flames, letting a small smile peak through when Lee recounted the most hilariously unbelievable stories. Maybe at the back of your head you were trying to find a the perfect moment to slip out unnoticed, sure, but at least you were having a little fun for now.
Just as you felt yourself fading in the background enough, you thought it could be the perfect moment to just retreat back to your cabin and sleep off the tension this whole situation was causing. You threw a glance towards Silena who immediately held your gaze, the silent agreement passing through your eyes like telling her you were gonna leave.
You did a quick check left and right, making sure people were too engrossed in their own conversations to bother pointing out your departure, when your eyes caught Luke’s, staring right back at you. Your eyes widened, his easy grin did too, and suddenly all your thoughts scrambled.
You instinctively stood up to leave, much unlike how you’d planned to do it originally, and the conversations cut off around you. Your internal panic was reaching high levels, your cheeks flushed red, and the physical weight of Luke’s gaze on you as well as everyone one else’s wasn’t helping. So you took in a deep breath, closing your eyes before turning around to the rest of the circle. Noticing their eyes clearly now, the deep breath quickly became shallow.
“I- um…” you stuttered out, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides. “Goodnight,” you simply breathed out, just distinct enough to be understood, before turning on your feet and walking towards the treeline hurriedly.
Moments after you left, Connor pretty roughly elbowed Luke in his side, the boy groaning at the impact. “Dude! The fuck was that for?”
“We get all the way here after dinner just because you wanna talk to a girl, and then you barely exchange anything!” Connor exclaimed, clearly pissed, before he turned to face Silena and Charles for a second. “I mean, I like you guys, but Luke, you better get your ass over to her and walk her back to her cabin or I’m gonna punch you for forcing me to come all the way to the beach.”
Luke’s face was unbothered as he looked in the direction in which you’d left, same easy smile on his lips, maybe even fonder now. “Come on, don’t be a whiny prick, she’d probably get a heart attack if I did.”
“Dying a guineapig’s death-”
“Shut up, Fletcher,” Silena cut him off immediately, “or I’m personally gonna make you eat your bow.”
Lee raised his hands in surrender, his friends laughing around the circle, Connor turning to Luke again as he looked into the weak flames.
“Seriously though, dude-”
“Nah, I don’t wanna hear your advice, you’re already bad at this stuff on the usual and it might be worse when you received a flowerpot square in the forehead during the day,” Luke teased, tilting his head back to look at the dark sky twinkling with small stars. “I’ll follow her rhythm, maybe it’ll get us somewhere.”
Connor sighed dramatically. “You’re such a s- oof!”
He didn’t even get to finish before Beckendorf shoved his chest to fall back in the sand with a cloud of dust, everyone bursting in a fit of laughter. “Shut up and take example on him, at least Luke didn’t get a book in the stomach today.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever…”
The group carried on teasing Connor about his misfortune—the one he brought upon himself—, but Luke’s mind was already somewhere else, tracing the constellations in the sky and figuring out how to spark a conversation next. He was patient, sure, but he didn’t mind creating his own opportunities to push fate a little in the right direction.
First time writing a shy reader, kinda nervous ( ܸ._.)՞՞
jk but like so not my usual reader i literally had to brainstorm w myself (think.) about how tf to write them. damn.
summary: beau knows the rules, but that doesn’t stop him when someone else tries hitting on you.
series: part two of bad idea right
warnings: drinking, swearing
word count: 3.51k
authors note: hi party people, we've got our first official series to come from off campus! naturally still trying to plan what comes next as I am trying to follow the rough timeline of the show but with that being said if you want something in the series then do let me know!
previous part
Beau swore that he had wronged someone in a past life.
Because in his current one he was experiencing a level of torture that he thought nobody was possible of inflicting on another person “you are going to get me killed.” Beau grumbled against your mouth as his hands rested on your waist.
It made you grin “I’m just a girl chilling on her bed.” You played defensively as you gasped feeling his hips grind against you.
The boy laughed “you say that like you aren’t in my shirt.” Beau pointed out as he looked down at the football training shirt.
The grey fabric practically drowned you, reminding him out that day you were in his jersey “hey finders keepers losers weepers.” You stuck your tongue out at him earning an immediate laugh.
Beau tucked your hair behind your ear “you’re lucky that it looks better on you anyways.” He murmured leaning in to kiss your neck.
You shook your head as you let your hands cup his cheeks before you pulled his attentions back to your eyes “you know what looks better on me?” You batted your eyelashes at the boy who swore he melted into your bed at that moment.
You had this way of looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered. Sure he looked at you like that too.
It was funny how time had a way of stopping when you shut your bedroom door. The apartment had become your safe haven once the girls found out about you two, it became a place where you didn’t have to hide “what does baby?” Beau asked as he cocked his head.
You ran your tongue along your teeth “if it’s off of me.” Your words were met with an immediate groan as his head fell onto your shoulder.
It made you laugh which was only made louder when the door burst open “absolutely not!” Allie shook her head.
She was stood with Hannah who grinned when you looked past the boy on top of you “you need to get ready.” Allie pointed her finger in your direction “and you need to go finish helping set up your stupid house for this.” She moved her attention to Beau.
It made the boy groan “I hate your roommates.” He grumbled when he finally sat up.
You mocked him with a pout “they’re my roommates.” You reminded him as you giggled “and we’re also the ones who keep your asses safe.” Hannah reminded you of remembering when Garrett had an impromptu drop in and Beau was left being forced into your room.
In a way it was almost ironic that Beau dropped in on girls night, just for Garrett to do the same thing thirty minutes later. That’s how you ended up being forced to fake a cold for a week after you had to hide in your bedroom too.
Beau sighed as he knew that the girls were right “what is it that you want from us?” He asked as he let his hand snake around your waist once more.
Allie rolled her eyes “for you to go away so that we can get her dressed.” Beau looked down to what you were in.
What was just his t-shirt “well I think she looks perfect.” He confessed making both girls pretend to gag “nice try.” Allie crossed her arms.
Beau grinned “now go away.” She added making the boy frown.
He reached for your hand “no don’t look at her she can’t help you.” Hannah stopped him making you laugh.
The boy looked at you like you had just gone to the dark side “I will see you later.” He went to kiss you but your roommates remained strong “go!”
You toyed with your necklace as you laughed seeing them shove him out “you know your boyfriend is obsessed with you right?” Allie shook her head and you couldn’t even argue.
Because the feeling was right, and listening to people still calling him your boyfriend made your stomach feel funny.
It came when the rain was pouring outside.
Beau came over after he finished a late class and practically slipped into your bed with you the moment he got a chance as you had complained that you were too cold to practically do anything.
That’s how the two of you ended up watching Mamma Mia on your laptop together “so just so we’re clear Sam’s the dad right?” His words made you pause your laptop, leaning up from his chest.
You turned to Beau and let out the harshest sigh you possibly could have “it’s a good thing you’re pretty cause you my friend are wrong.” You shook your head as you felt his hand on your back.
Beau cocked his head “it’s so clearly Bill!” You whined not realising that the boy in front of you had gone strangely quiet.
His fingers brushed up your arm absentmindedly. His fingers were slower as if his mind had drifted somewhere else entirely “you’re staring.” Your voice was soft as it pulled him back to you.
He smiled when his eyes flicked back to yours “no I’m not.”
“Oh yes you are.”
And then he paused as he let out a hard exhale “I’m just thinking.” He shrugged as he leaned on his arm “that’s dangerous.” You grinned as your eyes shone this glimmer of mischief.
He rolled his eyes as he huffed out a laugh “do you ever think about how this started?” He asked quietly as his arm tightened around your waist.
You blinked as you cocked your head “how you’re wrong about a piece of cultural history?” You spoke so simply that it almost made him laugh.
Beau shook his head “I mean us.” You turned to be fully in his arms “I think about it all the time.”
It made you smile “what about us?” You furrowed your brows.
His thumb brushed against your waist, almost nervous in a way you weren’t really used to seeing him in “I don’t want to just be your friend.” His words made you grow confused.
“I’m not tracking with you Maxwell.”
He frowned, trying to figure out how he was meant to say it “what are we?” His hand reached up to cup your cheek.
You chewed at the inside of your lip “I mean.” You couldn’t find the words to articulate it “we’re serious.” You remembered that night when the girls found out about him when you confessed that.
Beau nodded “they called me your boyfriend.” He reminded you as if it wasn’t something that you were already thinking about.
You licked your lips “I liked it when they did that.” His confession made you melt as he sat up talk as if it was about to make what he said more proper than when he was laying down “I want you like that.”
He ran his fingers through his hair “you do have me like that Beau.” You nodded as he shook his head “not officially.”
That made you nervous “what about Dean-” his hands cupped your cheeks “I know I can’t have you in public.”
It should have stung. It should have made your heart break “but I want you in all the ways that matter to us.” Beau forced his lips into a smile when you grinned “who would have thought I’d get Beau Maxwell getting all cute?”
He pecked your lips “your boyfriend Beau Maxwell actually.”
It lingered in your mind as you walked into the house “Dean might kill me in this.” You shook your head at the two girls who laughed “well then aren’t we glad that you dressed up for your boyfriend.” Allie took a cup one of the guys who smiled at her before she gave it to you.
You downed it without thinking twice as you nodded “remember if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” Hannah patted your lower back when you guys finally spotted Beau.
He was stood in some black shirt and a backwards hat that made him look dangerously good “I-I,” You cut yourself off as your throat felt dry.
Now you were learning how the world felt as it was so unfair.
And then he looked up and finally saw you.
Before he completely stopped moving.
It was almost funny how obvious he was when he wasn’t meant to.
But somehow it felt like something only you guys were meant to know.
Like his body forgot how to function for a second every time you walked into a room “oh my god,” Allie whispered beside you, delighted “look at his face.”
Hannah snorted looking at the boy “he’s gone.” Beau really was, his drink lowered slowly in his hand as his eyes dragged down your body.
The dress.
Your legs.
The way the black fabric hugged you in all the places he already knew too well.
It was something that Allie found in her closet, and she knew the moment you put it on that it was practically made for you.
And Beau knew it by the way his eyes looked back up at yours.
And the look on his face made heat crawl up your neck instantly.
Because that wasn’t secretive.
That wasn’t subtle.
That was him reminding you that he was yours.
You swallowed as Allie grinned wickedly, “mission accomplished.” Across the room, Garrett said something to Beau that clearly went unheard.
Beau forced himself to nod as you smiled “think your man is thinking the same thing.” You winked at Hannah, who turned the same colour of red you swore your cheeks were.
Beau was the first one to make his way over “I’ll meet him there.” Hannah squeezed your hand as she walked to Garrett before he had the chance to unintentionally cockblock you.
Allie squeezed your arm “oh that boy looks sick!” She giggled like a kid in a candy store “try keep him breathing after midnight.” She teased as she gave you one last twirl.
You barely got a chance to respond before he was stood right in front of you. The boy made sure that there was enough space for it not to be overwhelmingly noticable, but he was close enough that you could still smell his cologne.
His eyes dropped again, straight to the dress. Then your legs.
And to round off the trip they went back to your eyes, and the look that he gave you was enough to make your stomach flip “hi there, handsome.” You smiled sweetly.
Beau exhaled through his nose as his eyes sharpened “you are doing this on purpose.” His words were directed at Allie but his eyes never left you.
He let out a low whistle “c’mon baby I mean.” He reached out to put his hands on your waist but he quickly stopped himself.
It was the part that you hated, the fact that he couldn’t just reach out and touch you, it almost made you feel jealous of Hannah and Garrett behind you, who got to be real in front of everyone when Hannah was still crushing on Justin two weeks ago, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that she was still crushing on the singer.
Sure you knew it was wrong to not be 100% happy for your friend, but you craved the publicity that her relationship got, “you look like trouble.” Beau finally found the words as he made you smile.
Of course, he’d notice when his compliments made your heart soar, but you’d do everything in your power to hide the effect they had on you “that’s not very nice.” You lightly teased him as he shook his head.
Beau decided to step forward again, this time allowing his mouth to drop to your ear “last time I checked, I wasn’t trying to be fucking nice.” He grumbled as he let his hand run along your waist.
Honestly, that moment had done more to you than anything else. The thought of him peeling you out of your dress was something that seemed to be on both of your minds.
Which was a dangerous look to have on a man in a room full of people “you are going to be the death of me.” He mumbled as he leaned back to take a look at you in full again.
His jaw flexed as his eyes darkened. Beau was really weighing up the consequences of throwing you over his shoulder and bringing you upstairs
But then it happened, “Beau!” Dean’s voice called out, making your boyfriend step back.
The boy groaned while you instead laughed “hey Deano.” You smiled seeing your very drunk and very oblivious brother sling his arm around Beau’s shoulders.
Dean let his eyes linger over your body “you clean up nicely.” He announced as you tried your best not to look nervous.
“Thanks?”
Your brother ignored you as he saw how Beau smiled at you “see this is why I have rules.” Dean slurred as he pointed his finger accusingly at his best friend.
It made Beau’s eyes widen, “what rules?” He asked as he tried his hardest to act like you weren’t there and you tried the same thing with him.
Dean continued, “you can’t hook up with any of my friends.” You had to force a laugh out of your lips “oh please, I’d never.” You scratched your arm nervously as if your brother knew everything.
Thankfully he stumbled shortly after, making Beau practically catch him “you are drunk.” Dean shook his head “I am having a better time than the two of you it seems.” He corrected his friend as you smiled.
It was nice seeing the boys together, you had to admit it “c’mon lets get you some water.” Beau’s suggestion fell onto deaf ears “we are doing shots.”
Dean looked at you “without her.” That was what your brother was always like so you really weren’t annoyed.
Beau frowned as he really didn’t want to leave you “have fun boys.” You sent Beau a salute as he got pulled back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of people.
Before you knew it, the party had gotten louder.
Hotter and somehow more crowded even.
Allie disappeared outside to answer a call from Shawn while Hannah was talking to Justin in some corner as Garrett was in the bathroom.
Which left you alone as you got a drink in the kitchen “you’re Dean’s sister right?” You looked up to see a guy that you vaugly remembered as one of the lowerclassmen on the football team.
You nodded as you watched him smile too widely “that’s sick.” He reeked of alcohol, and it made your nose scrunch in disgust.
The boy didn’t leave “you got a boyfriend?” He stepped closer to you instead.
Your heart skipped “why?” You knew you should have just said yes but you stopped yourself from having to explain this to Dean “because I think we should fix that.”
He reached for your hand as you shook your head, “I’m good,” the boy didn’t stop “c’mon don’t shut me down that fast.” He made you cringe when you stepped back realising that you were now against the counter.
Before you even had the chance to panic you heard him “pretty sure she’s good.” Beau clenched his fists as he stood behind you both.
“Can’t you take a hint?”
It made the other boy laugh “we are just taking.” You took the chance to wriggle out of his space.
Opting to slot into Beau’s side instead “no she was trying to get away from you.” Beau wrapped his arm around your shoulder.
He squeezed his arm making the other guy snarl, “why do you care?” Beau tensed against you “because she isn’t up for the taking.”
Beau spoke so simply, unaware of the fact that you were just about ready to make out with your boyfriend in the middle of party, without caring who saw you “whatever.” The boy raised his hands in surrender as he walked off.
The brunette turned his attention to you “you okay?” His expression softened as he made you smile.
You softly laughed “a lot better now that you’re here.” Your words made him almost melt.
His hand cupped your cheek as his eyes stared at your lips “fuck you’re gorgeous.” He murmured doing everything in his power to not kiss you.
His words were sweet as you nodded “you’re not too bad yourself pretty boy.” You shook your head, as you leaned closer to him. Your lips mere inches away from him.
And just like last time the moment was cut before it had a chance to begin “Beau c’mon someone is sick on our couch!” One of his roommates groaned making you sigh.
Beau was ready to stay with you and leave the mess for someone else to deal with “no talking to strange men.” Beau grumbled as it made you let out a low laugh “is that your takeaway from this?”
He wanted to plant his feet in the ground and never leave you “I’ll behave.” He didn’t believe that you would, but still he couldn’t stay.
Not when he was literally being pulled away “I’m serious!” Was the last thing that he said as he got pulled back into the crowd.
Allie appeared beside you as you grinned “y’know he was ready to like actually fight that guy.” She squeezed your hand, making your cheeks turn red.
You licked your lips “that guy was weird.” It sent a shiver down your spine.
She gasped dramatically “no way, your secret boyfriend who is obsessed with you, got jealous?” She teased you as she let out a laugh when you rolled your eyes.
The girl looped her arm into yours, leaning her head against your shoulder “I am literally living for this.” You snorted as you shook your head “you are enjoying this way too much.”
Allie nodded as if it was the most honest thing that you could have said “because it took you two so damn long to let us in!”
She remembered how awkward you and Beau were when you first started sneaking around “y’know he used to look at you like a lost puppy.” Hannah reappeared next to you as you shook your head.
“No he didn’t.”
Your defensiveness made them laugh “you love him.” Hannah elbowed your side as she slipped her arm into yours.
You chewed at the inside of your cheek “yeah I do.” You nodded as you realised that you really meant it.
Both girls squealed as they jumped up and down, seeing your eyes land on Beau’s. You did always managed to find him in the crowd.
And like always, Beau was looking at you too.
Allie stood in front of you as she grabbed your face “this is like the best day of my life.” Her words made you groan.
You shook your head “Allie!” You whined as you hated how well the girls could read you.
Hannah watched as you scrunched your nose “I hate you both.” You grumbled making her stick her tongue out at you.
Allie grinned as she let out a laugh “but we are still the ones helping you two sneak around.” She poked your nose as Hannah giggled.
And they were right.
Because when you couldn’t find Beau anymore. Rather than going home with the girls, you opted to slip up to his room to get some quiet and hopeful company “was wondering how long it would take you to come here.” Beau smiled as he toyed with his watch.
The door shut behind you “I was waiting for you to come and get me.” You smirked as the boy stood up from his bed.
His steps towards you were painfully slow “was trying to do that most of the night.” His hand reached for yours as he smiled.
His calloused fingers were rough against your skin “seemed like you didn’t do a very good job.” You let out a breathy laugh when he walked you back into the door.
Beau licked his lips “you enjoy breaking the rules?” Your lips hovered over his as you smiled.
He grinned “last I checked Dean said his friends couldn’t hook up with you.” He recounted the conversation as if you weren’t there when it happened.
You finally scoffed as you sent him a confused look “and what are we doing?”
Beau brushed his nose against yours “I am dating you.” His lips engulfed yours when you started walking him backwards against his bed.
The boy grunted when he pulled you down with him “do you enjoy wearing something trying to kill me?” Beau asked as his thigh drew these tiny circles against your inner thigh.
You smiled sweetly, “you look pretty alive to me.” You batted your eyelashes, almost making the boy’s heart stop.
Beau nodded “that’s cause I have been planning on getting you out of this from the moment you got here.” Your body squirmed as you clenched your thighs against him.
Summary: Beau catches a guy making you uncomfortable at a party and immediately steps in when he realizes you’ve been trying to handle it alone. Or smth like that….
By the time Beau finally convinced you to come to the party, you’d already made him promise three separate times that he wasn’t allowed to abandon you. Not because you couldn’t survive on your own, but because parties weren’t really your thing and both of you knew it.
You liked quieter places, smaller groups, nights spent stretched out on Beau’s couch while he half-watched a movie and half-used you as a pillow. Beau, on the other hand, could walk into a room full of strangers and somehow leave with twenty new friends. The fact that the two of you worked at all was still a mystery to most people.
You were curled comfortably against his side on one of the couches when the conversation around you eventually shifted into some story involving Dean and what sounded like a truly alarming amount of alcohol. You’d stopped trying to follow ten minutes ago, content to listen to Beau’s heartbeat beneath your cheek while he absentmindedly played with your fingers.
Every so often somebody would make a comment and Beau would tilt his head down to murmur something in your ear, usually just to make you laugh. It was the sort of thing he did without thinking, the sort of thing that had become so normal over the course of your relationship that neither of you really noticed anymore.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked suddenly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looked down at you.
You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts. “Nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing.” Beau’s mouth curved into a grin. “I’ve known you too long for that answer to work.”
You rolled your eyes even as you felt yourself smiling again. “Maybe I was just having a nice time.”
“Because of me?”
The confidence in his voice made you laugh.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
Across the room someone groaned loudly. “Jesus Christ, do you two ever stop?”
Beau didn’t even look away from you. “Not really.”
The reaction was immediate. A chorus of complaints erupted from every direction while you buried your face against his shoulder, laughing despite yourself. Beau looked entirely too pleased with the situation, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer as though proving everyone’s point was the most natural thing in the world.
“I don’t know what you guys want,” Beau replied, completely unapologetic. “I have a girlfriend. Am I supposed to pretend I don’t like her?”
“Thats what normal people do.”
“That sucks.”
You could actually hear the smile in his voice, and when you glanced up at him he was already looking down at you. It was ridiculous, honestly. The two of you had been together long enough that being apart for an hour wasn’t a big deal, yet somehow Beau still looked at you like he’d just discovered you existed.
Eventually he stood up, stretching his arms above his head before glancing down at your empty cup. “I’m getting another drink. Do you want anything?”
You handed him the cup. “Whatever you’re getting.”
“That’s a very dangerous amount of trust baby.”
“I’ve seen your coffee order, Beau. You’re not exactly adventurous.”
He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Wow.”
You smiled as he disappeared into the crowd, already getting stopped twice before he even made it three steps. It should’ve been funny and it was but your eyes still followed him a little longer than necessary, like your body always needed to know where he was.
When someone dropped down beside you, you didn’t think much of it at first.
He was familiar in that vague campus way. You smiled politely. Answered politely. Sat a little straighter out of habit. It started normal enough.
At first it was proximity too close when you spoke, leaning in like there wasn’t an invisible line you were quietly trying to draw. Then it was touch. A hand on your arm mid-laugh, like punctuation.
You froze for half a second, then shifted your arm back into your lap.
“Oh…sorry,” you said quickly, automatic politeness kicking in. “I’m just kind of….yeah.”
You adjusted again.
He didn’t move. You tried to keep your voice light anyway. Tried to keep it normal.
“My boyfriend actually…..”you started once, still smiling.
He nodded without really hearing you. And then his hand came back. This time on your knee. Like he hadn’t registered the space you were trying to create at all.
Your smile tightened.
You moved your leg away slowly, heart starting to beat in a way you didn’t like not panic exactly, just that uncomfortable awareness that you were stuck being the “nice” one in a situation where you didn’t feel like you had the right to be direct.
“I think my boyfriend….”you tried again, firmer now.
He talked over you. Your gaze flicked across the room again. Still no Beau. Your fingers curled in your lap. You shifted your body slightly toward the edge of the couch, trying to create distance without turning it into a moment. Like if you were careful enough, you could just… exit politely.
His hand followed anyway.
That was the moment your smile stopped working entirely. Your eyes dropped. Your shoulders pulled in slightly. You stopped speaking at all.
And you started looking for Beau like it was the only thing keeping you anchored.
Then..
“Baby.”
Everything in your body reacted before your mind caught up. You turned instantly. Beau was there behind the couch. And the second he saw your face, his expression changed so sharply it was like the noise of the party dulled around him.
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
He wasn’t even halfway through walking over before his eyes tracked everything at once your posture, your hands folded too tightly, the way you were angled away from the guy beside you like your body had been trying to leave without permission.
Then his gaze dropped.
To your arm and knee. The space you kept trying to rebuild and couldn’t. Something in his jaw locked. Beau set the drink he was holding down carefully on the nearest surface.
Then he looked at the guy.
“You need to move,” Beau said.
The guy laughed nervously. “Dude, I was just talking to her..”
Beau stepped closer.
“No,” Beau said. “You were touching her after she moved away from you. More than once.”
The guy blinked. “I didn’t realize..”
Beau cut him off instantly.
“You did,” he said. “Because she kept moving away.”
Silence hit hard. You sat completely still, watching Beau like you were suddenly remembering you weren’t alone in this moment anymore.
The guy shifted, trying again. “I wasn’t trying to make her uncomfortable.”
Beau’s eyes flicked down briefly to your hands, still curled tight in your lap.
Then back up.
“Yeah,” Beau said flatly. “She is uncomfortable, so get the fuck up now.”
Beau finally turned his head slightly toward you, voice dropping instantly.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
You nodded, and Beau straightened, then reached for your hand without hesitation, lacing your fingers like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Then he looked at the guy one last time.
“No one sits next to her again unless she says so,” Beau said.“And you’re done talking to her.” And then Beau turned fully back to you, thumb brushing once over your knuckles like he was making sure you were still there, still okay, still with him.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “We’re leaving.”
Beau didn’t let go of your hand as he guided you through the crowd. People moved aside when they saw him coming, voices fading in and out like background noise you didn’t have to process anymore.
You stayed half a step behind him at first. Then you matched his pace. Then, without really thinking about it, you were closer shoulder brushing his arm, your grip tightening like your body was only just remembering what safety felt like.
Beau glanced down at you once. And his expression softened in a way that didn’t match the tension still sitting in his jaw.
“You’re okay,” he said quietly, like he wasn’t asking.
You nodded anyway.
“I’m okay,” you echoed, softer.
But your voice wavered just a little at the edges, like it didn’t fully believe itself yet.
Beau slowed near the hallway, where the noise of the party dulled into something distant and muffled. He stopped there for a second, turning slightly so you were in front of him instead of beside him.
“Hey,” he said gently.
You looked up. His thumb brushed over your knuckles again, slow this time, grounding instead of absentminded.
“You did nothing wrong back there,” he said.
Your throat tightened immediately. “I know, I just…”
“No,” he cut in softly, not sharp, just certain. “Don’t do that. Don’t overthink it.”
You went quiet. Beau watched your face for a second longer than necessary, like he was checking every small shift in your expression.
Then his voice dropped even lower. “You were trying to be polite while someone wasn’t listening to you,” he said. “That’s not on you.”
Something in your chest pulled tight again, but this time it wasn’t just discomfort. It was everything you hadn’t known where to put until now.
You looked down at your hand in his.
“I didn’t like it, i told him i have a boyfriend five times,” you admitted quietly.
Beau didn’t hesitate.
“I know.”
Then, softer almost like it mattered more than anything else he’d said all night “You don’t ever have to sit through that again just because you don’t want to be rude.”
Your fingers curled slightly in his.
“I didn’t want to make a scene,” you whispered.
Beau exhaled through his nose, a small, controlled breath like he was trying not to let something heavier spill out.
“You don’t have to make a scene,” he said. “You just have to look for me.”
That made you finally look up fully.
His expression was steady now, but his eyes were still sharp in that protective way like part of him was still back in that room, watching, remembering.
“If you ever feel like that again,” he said quietly, “you don’t negotiate your way out of it. You don’t wait. You don’t explain yourself. You just come to me.”
Your throat tightened again.
“And if I can’t?” you asked, smaller than you meant to.
Beau’s grip on your hand tightened slightly not painful, just certain. “Then I come to you,” he said simply.
Neither of you moved. Then Beau shifted slightly closer, his shoulder brushing yours now, and his voice softened again.
Summary: Max always thought you never asked for much because you didn’t need much, low-maintenance to a fault, until he finally overhears the truth.
4.4k words / Masterlist
Max had always appreciated how easy you were to love.
You didn’t demand. You didn’t sulk over missed dates. There were no passive-aggressive comments about him not posting you enough or forgetting to text back when a race weekend swallowed him whole. You never made him feel guilty for the parts of his life that were already complicated. When he was travelling or exhausted, you simply kissed his forehead and told him to rest. When his schedule changed last minute, you never got upset, never made him sit through a tense silence or apologise for the same thing five different ways, you just shrugged with that soft little smile of yours and said, “We’ll figure it out.”
You weren’t just low-maintenance, you were selfless, unshakeably chill in a way that made loving you feel almost effortless. You understood the pressure, the travel, the media, the endless demands on his time, and you never tried to add yourself to the list of things he needed to manage.
You made room for his life before he even had to ask. You bent around the complicated edges of his world so naturally that, after a while, Max stopped noticing how much you were bending at all.
It was refreshing. Comforting, even. Being with you never felt like another obligation waiting for him when he got home. You were warmth, quiet, peace… but it also made it easy for Max to coast.
Because when you said you didn’t need flowers, he believed you. When you told him birthdays weren’t a big deal, he took your word for it.
When you said you didn’t mind that his attention was always half-distracted by Red Bull, his sim rig, his phone, or whatever new team crisis was unfolding in the background, he didn’t stop to wonder whether you meant it. He didn’t ask himself if you were genuinely fine with being loved in the gaps, or if you had simply learned to make your wants small enough that they never became inconvenient.
He didn’t notice that every time you said, “Don’t worry about it,” you were teaching him that he didn’t have to.
Until he saw the way your smile dimmed at Daniel’s girlfriend’s birthday party.
The boat was filled with champagne and noise, a private Monaco affair organised by Daniel, of course, because no one else could make a birthday party feel quite that excessive and still somehow charming. There was a neon sign glowing above the bar, a curated playlist that seemed suspiciously full of songs Daniel liked more than his girlfriend did, and custom cupcakes with everyone’s faces printed on them. Max didn’t even know you could do that.
You sat beside him with a drink in hand, your shoulder brushing his every now and then as the boat rocked gently against the water. To anyone else you looked perfectly fine, but Max had started paying closer attention now.
Your laugh came half a second too late, your smile faded too quickly, and your eyes kept drifting back to the couple across the deck.
Daniel’s girlfriend had her arms slung around his neck, his jacket draped over her shoulders, and a glittery tiara with Birthday Girl written across the front sitting slightly crooked on her head. Daniel kept adjusting it for her, grinning every time she swatted his hand away, and when she leaned into him, he kissed her temple without seeming to think about it. Thoughtless in the best way, like loving her out loud was simply instinct.
“You made it!” Daniel said, pulling Max into a hug before turning to you with even more enthusiasm. “And you look amazing. Seriously, come on, look at you.”
You laughed, a bit surprised, and looked down at yourself like you hadn’t expected anyone to notice.
Max noticed that.
Daniel’s girlfriend came over next, glowing, happy, adored. She hugged you tightly and thanked you both for coming, then turned to show you the bracelet Daniel had bought her. It was delicate and expensive, the kind of jewellery Max would never have picked out on his own because he would have convinced himself he didn’t know what he was doing and given up before trying.
“He surprised me with it this morning,” she said, beaming. “And he pretended he forgot my birthday for, like, ten minutes, which was evil, but then he had breakfast set up on the balcony.”
Daniel, overhearing, lifted his glass. “Romance is alive and well ladies and gentlemen.”
Normal Daniel. Loud, teasing, affectionate Daniel, who made a spectacle out of caring because he had never been embarrassed by warmth in the same way Max sometimes was, but then Max looked at you.
You were smiling. Of course you were smiling.
You were always polite. Always kind. Always good at being happy for other people, even when something inside you was quietly aching. There was something different about it then, something Max had never noticed before because he had never had reason to look for it.
Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.
You didn’t look devastated, you didn’t withdraw your hand from his arm or go quiet in a way anyone else would pick up on. You just looked at the bracelet on Daniel’s girlfriend’s wrist, then at the flowers, then at the wall of photos, and for half a second your expression morphed into something almost wistful.
Max felt it like a punch he had no right to react to.
The conversation moved on around him. Daniel was talking about the cake, someone else was laughing about how long it had taken to get the decorations right. His girlfriend was telling you how Daniel had been secretly planning it for weeks, badly, apparently, because he almost exposed himself several times.
You laughed at the story.
You said, “That’s really sweet.”
Max heard the softness in your voice.
For the first time all night, Max looked at the party properly. He looked at the flowers. The photos. The custom menu cards with her name on them. The cake Daniel had apparently taste-tested three times because the first one “didn’t feel like her.”
Then Max looked at you.
You were standing beside him with nothing from him except your own practiced understanding.
No flowers.
No post.
No planned birthday dinner he hadn’t rescheduled.
No little public signs that he was proud to love you.
No evidence, really, that Max Verstappen had ever looked at the woman beside him and thought, she deserves to feel chosen.
His stomach twisted, because suddenly he remembered your last birthday with a clarity that made him feel slightly sick.
He had been in Milton Keynes for simulator work. He’d called you late, later than he meant to, and you had answered in bed, face lit softly by your phone screen. You had smiled like you were happy just to hear from him. He had apologised again for not being able to be there. You had said it didn’t matter and he had promised to make it up to you. You had said, “Don’t stress, honestly. I had a nice day.”
Had you?
Had you really?
Or had you said that because it was easier than admitting you had wanted him there?
He thought about the flowers you always claimed not to need. The birthdays you said weren’t important. The dates you never demanded. The posts you never asked for. The attention you pretended not to miss.
Beside him, you glanced up. “You okay?”
Max blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by the gentleness of your voice. That made it worse somehow, even now you were checking on him.
“Yeah,” he said, too quickly. “Fine.”
You studied him for a moment, clearly not convinced, but you didn’t push. You never pushed. You simply nodded and looked back towards the others, your shoulder brushing lightly against his sleeve.
Max hated that too. He hated that you gave him space even when maybe he deserved pressure.
He hated that you had made yourself so easy to keep that he had forgotten keeping you was still something he had to actively do.
For the rest of the night, he couldn’t stop watching you.
He watched Daniel’s girlfriend pull you into photos, watched you laugh as someone handed you a party hat you refused to wear for about ten seconds. He watched you compliment the decorations, watched you ask questions about the planning, watched your fingers lightly brush over one of the flower arrangements when you thought no one was looking.
You liked flowers.
Of course you liked flowers.
Maybe not in the over-the-top, expensive, social-media way, but you liked them. He could tell by the way you touched the petals carefully, the way your face warmed when Daniel’s girlfriend told you Daniel had chosen them because they reminded him of a dress she once wore in Monaco.
Max stood there, silent and increasingly irritated with himself.
How many things had you convinced yourself you didn’t need simply because he had never offered them?
How many wants had you softened into jokes so they wouldn’t feel like demands?
How many times had you made yourself smaller around his life and called it love?
Later, when everyone gathered around the cake, Daniel made a speech. A terrible speech, because it was Daniel, so half of it was jokes and the other half was him pretending not to get emotional. Then he spoke about how his girlfriend made his life better. How she put up with him. How she deserved more than one night of being celebrated, but he hoped this was a decent start.
Everyone laughed.
His girlfriend cried.
You smiled.
Max felt like the worst boyfriend in the world.
He complimented you in private, usually quietly, usually after you’d done something for him. He told you he loved you, yes, but often in bed, or before hanging up, or in passing when one of you was leaving. He assumed you knew. He assumed choosing you privately counted the same as making you feel chosen.
On the drive home you were quieter than usual.
Your head rested against the window, city lights sliding over your face in brief flashes. Your heels were in your lap because you had taken them off the second you got in the car, and your fingers played absently with the strap like your mind was somewhere else.
Max kept glancing over. Usually he liked quiet with you, it was comfortable and easy, you didn’t need to fill every silence.
Tonight the quiet felt full of everything you weren’t saying.
“Did you have a good time?” he asked eventually.
You turned your head, smiling faintly. “Yeah. It was lovely.”
Lovely.
The word sat between you.
Max swallowed. “Daniel did a lot.”
“He did,” you said, and your voice was warm. “It was really sweet.”
There it was again. That careful admiration.
Max’s hands flexed around the steering wheel. “You like that kind of thing?”
You looked at him properly then, brows lifting a little. “What kind of thing?”
He shrugged, trying to sound casual and failing. “All of it. The flowers. The photos. The big party.”
You looked away and gave a small laugh, the kind that tried to make a truth sound harmless. “I mean, I don’t need all that.”
Max’s chest tightened.
That wasn’t what he had asked.
“I didn’t ask if you needed it.”
Your fingers stopped moving against the shoe strap and for a moment you said nothing. Then you looked down and smiled again, but this one was worse than the one at the party because it was meant only for him, meant to reassure him, meant to protect him from feeling bad about something he had already done.
“I just think it’s nice,” you said carefully. “For her. Daniel clearly put a lot of thought into it.”
Max nodded once, jaw tense.
Thought.
That was the word that stayed with him.
You didn’t need a private room full of flowers or a custom cake or a wall of photographs. You probably didn’t even want something that big, but you wanted thought. You wanted evidence that he had paused, considered you, and chosen to make you feel loved on purpose.
Max, who could analyse tyre degradation over fifty laps, who could remember tiny setup changes from races years ago, who could spend hours perfecting a sim lap by half a tenth, had somehow convinced himself he was incapable of remembering to buy you flowers.
“I should have done more for your birthday,” he said.
You went very still.
The car felt smaller suddenly.
“Max…”
“No,” he said, because he knew that tone. He knew you were about to let him off the hook again. “I should have.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
You exhaled quietly and looked out of the window again. “I told you it was fine.”
“I know you did.”
“Then why are you bringing it up?”
Because I finally saw your face, he wanted to say. Because I finally realised you have been asking for so little that I stopped giving you even that and I do not know how to forgive myself for not noticing sooner.
But Max had never been good with words when they mattered most.
So he said, “Because I think you say things are fine when they're not.”
Your mouth pressed together. That tiny movement cut through him more than any argument would have.
You weren’t angry, but part of him wished you were. Anger would have given him something to meet, something to fix, something loud enough that he couldn’t ignore it, you just looked tired and that was worse.
“I don’t want to be difficult,” you said after a while.
“You're not difficult,” he said immediately.
You gave him a small, sad smile. “I know. I just mean… your life is already a lot. You have so many people needing things from you all the time I never wanted to be another thing on the list.”
“You are not a thing on the list.”
“Aren’t I?” you asked softly.
Max didn’t answer fast enough, once again words failed him, he hated himself for that.
You turned your face back towards the window, and the reflection showed him the truth he had been avoiding all night. You weren’t crying or making a scene. You weren’t asking him to turn the car around or apologise in some grand dramatic way. You were simply sitting there beside him carrying a hurt that had clearly existed long before tonight.
He figured you’d be home from your errands by now.
Probably curled up somewhere in the apartment, wearing one of his hoodies like you always did when he was away for more than a few days. Maybe on the sofa with your knees tucked beneath you, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, or half-watching one of those comfort shows you liked to put on in the background while you waited for him. The thought came easily, warmly, and Max found himself smiling before he had even opened the door properly.
He liked coming home to you.
He liked the small signs of you scattered through his space. Your shoes by the door, your hair tie abandoned on the coffee table, your mug in the sink because you always forgot to rinse it. Your presence had softened the apartment in ways he hadn’t realised he needed, turning it from somewhere he slept between races into somewhere that actually felt like home.
The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside, but not empty.
Max kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, already turning toward the living room when he heard your voice from the bedroom. Then he heard your best friend’s name, and realised you were on the phone.
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He was about to call out, to let you know he was back, but something about your tone made him stop before the words left his mouth. So he stayed quiet, halfway down the hall, one hand still resting against the wall.
“I’m not upset he did all that for her,” you were saying. “It’s sweet. It is.”
There was a pause.
Max’s body went strangely still.
He knew, instantly, what you were talking about.
“It’s just…” You exhaled shakily. “He’s never done anything like that for me.”
The words hit him hard. Max stared at the floor, heartbeat slowing into something heavy and uncomfortable.
“I don’t ask for much,” you continued, and your voice was smaller now, like you were embarrassed to even say it out loud. “I know I don’t. I never wanted to pressure him or make him feel like he had to go out of his way when his life is already so much. I thought if I was easygoing and low-maintenance, it would make things easier on him.”
His throat tightened.
“But sometimes—” Your voice broke so softly he almost missed it. “Sometimes I wish he’d do something without me having to ask.”
Max’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall.
He could feel every careless assumption he had ever made beginning to turn over in his head, one after another, each one worse than the last.
You didn’t care if he forgot plans, if he came home distracted, if he said he would make it up to you and then didn’t, because something else came up and you smiled like it was fine.
“Maybe I enabled it by alway saying I was fine... but I don’t need grand gestures,” you went on, voice wobbling now. “I know that’s not really him, and I don’t want him to be anyone else. I don’t want a big show just for the sake of it, but it would be nice to feel special sometimes… to feel like he thought about me without me having to ask.”
Max’s chest ached.
He looked toward the bedroom door, but he couldn’t move.
“I just want to know he wants to do those things for me,” you whispered. “Not because he’s apologising or because someone else did it first… because he loves me enough to notice.”
Max couldn’t breathe properly.
He hadn’t known.
He really hadn’t known.
He thought you meant it when you said you didn’t care about birthdays, anniversaries, flowers, or all the romantic things he had always been bad at. He had thought that was part of what made you you. Unbothered by the kind of performative relationship stuff he had never known how to do properly.
The conversation ended a few minutes later.
He heard the soft rustle of sheets then your footsteps moving across the bedroom floor. Max reacted too late, still trapped in the weight of what he had heard and only barely managed to step back into the hallway before you came out.
You stopped when you saw him.
For one awful second, neither of you said anything and then he smiled and wrapped you in a hug pretending like he hadn’t heard a word.
That night Max sat alone in the dark of the living room for a long time, head in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t bring himself to do anything except sit there in the silence and let every word he had overheard replay in his head until it felt carved into him.
He kept hearing your voice.
“to feel like he thought about me without me having to ask.”
He pressed the heels of his hands harder against his eyes.
God.
How many moments had you swallowed your disappointment before he could even notice it was there, dimming yourself down just to be easier to love?
It gutted him.
You hadn’t asked him for the world. You hadn’t asked him to become someone he wasn’t. You only wanted to feel considered. Somehow he had made the best thing in his life feel like she had to be grateful for whatever was left of him at the end of the day.
You deserved fireworks, even if you were the kind of girl who said she didn’t need them. You didn’t want more from him. You just wanted to matter enough for him to give it anyway.
You didn’t expect anything to change.
Max was always kind, attentive in the ways he knew how to be. He noticed when you were cold and passed you his hoodie without making a big thing of it. He reached for your hand in crowded places because he liked knowing exactly where you were. He remembered how you took your coffee, which side of the bed you preferred, the shows you put on when you needed background noise. He loved you. You knew he did.
So when he suggested you take a weekend off together “Somewhere quiet, just us” you didn’t overthink it. You figured he wanted to disappear for a couple of days, somewhere without cameras, team radios, sponsor obligations, or someone asking him about tyre degradation.
It wasn’t until you stepped onto the lakeside dock in Switzerland that you realised something was different.
The cottage was small but charming, tucked away by the water with warm wood walls, soft cream blankets, and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the whole place glow with the late afternoon light. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t the kind of place chosen to impress anyone, it felt private, thoughtful, almost painfully intimate.
Inside there were your favourite snacks arranged in the kitchen. Your favourite wine chilling in the fridge. Your comfort blanket folded over the armchair by the window. Your favourite book was already resting on the bedside table, the old, worn copy you had once told him you reread whenever your head felt too loud.
You frowned, turning slowly back to him. “Did you… did you set this up?”
Max leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, trying for casual and not quite managing it. “Maybe.”
You narrowed your eyes, sceptical. “What’s going on?”
His smirk softened a little. He just looked at you and there was something unusually careful in his expression, something that made your chest tighten before he had even said a word.
“I listened,” he said.
You blinked. Max glanced down briefly, like the words felt awkward in his mouth, but when he looked back up he didn’t look away again.
“I didn’t realise how much I’d taken for granted,” he continued quietly. “How much you gave by never asking. You made it easy for me, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve stopped trying.”
Your throat tightened.
“Max…”
“No, let me say it,” he murmured, taking a small step closer. “You always said things were fine. That you didn’t need flowers, or birthdays, or plans, or all the extra stuff and I believed you because it was easier because it meant I didn’t have to think about whether you were only saying it so I wouldn’t feel bad.”
You swallowed hard, looking away before your face could betray too much.
He walked you further inside, his hand warm at the small of your back, and that was when you noticed the little table by the window. It had been set for two, facing the lake as the sun began to lower behind the mountains. Candlelight, flowers, two plates, homemade pasta that looked slightly lopsided and very clearly like his doing, and a little folded note beside your place.
You stared at it for a second before picking it up.
In his messy, all-caps handwriting, it said:
I SHOULD HAVE MADE YOU FEEL SPECIAL BEFORE NOW. I’M GOING TO DO BETTER.
Max’s face shifted immediately, concern cutting through the nervousness. “Schatje…”
You shook your head quickly trying to laugh it off, but your voice came out thin. “I wanted to be cool,” you whispered. “I wanted to be the girlfriend who didn’t care about all that stuff. I thought if I asked for too much then I’d just become another pressure for you.”
Max stepped closer and cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped out despite your best efforts.
“You are the most important person in my life,” he murmured. “You always are.” His voice dropped softer, rougher. “I wish I could give you the world and I’m sorry it took me this long to show it.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him, at the nervous set of his mouth and the careful way he held you, like he understood now that easiness was not the same thing as not needing anything.
Then you finally kissed him.
Later that night you were curled against his chest with the fireplace crackling softly in the background, the cottage wrapped in that quiet, golden kind of warmth that made everything outside feel very far away.
Max had one arm around you, his hand resting beneath the hem of your sweater, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against your skin.
You smiled into his shoulder, cheek pressed against the soft fabric as you listened to the steady beat of his.
“So,” you mumbled, voice sleepy but teasing, “is this a one-time gesture or…”
Max’s chest moved beneath you as he chuckled. “Oh no.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Oh no?”
“No,” he said, tightening his arm around you. “You’re getting so much romance now it’ll annoy you.”
You looked up at him trying and failing not to smile. “Really?”
He nodded solemnly, like he was discussing race strategy. “Really. I’m talking airport reunions. Flowers for no reason. Random poetry.”
“Poetry?” you repeated, laughing already.
“Bad poetry,” he corrected. “Very bad. Rhymes way too much.”
“Oh, God.”
“And a cheesy playlist,” he added, completely serious. “Maybe several. One for the car. One for when I’m away. One with songs you’ll make fun of me for.”
You laughed properly then, burying your face in his neck as warmth spread through your chest. It was never about the playlist, or the flowers, or whatever terrible poetry Max Verstappen might attempt in the name of love.
It was that he was thinking about it. That he had finally understood the difference between you not needing to be spoiled and you still deserving to be cherished.
Max turned his head and pressed a kiss into your hair. “I’m serious,” he murmured, quieter now. “I don’t want you wondering anymore.”
Your laughter softened. You lifted your face again, looking at him through the firelight. “Wondering what?”
“If I think about you,” he said. “If I notice. If I care enough to try.”
Your throat tightened, but this time the feeling wasn’t painful. Max brushed his thumb along your cheek. “I do,” he said. “I’ll show you better now.”
For a moment you just looked at him, then you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth before tucking yourself back against him.
“That sounds perfect.” you whispered, smiling against his neck.
Simon Riley’s never thought that before—until they’re barreling down his driveway, barking up a storm at you. A pretty thing in the neighborhood, pushing a stroller.
He follows after his stubborn German Shepherds, gruffly ordering them to heel. They won’t hurt you, of course, but you don’t know that. He braces himself for the screams when he rounds the mailbox. A terrified mother and her child, chased by three trained-to-kill dogs and a masked man—
Laughter stops him in his tracks.
Cap, Kilo, and Mac are planted on their asses, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. Your toddler’s giggling so hard she’s nearly tippin’ out of her seat as she yanks on Mac’s ear, earning a face full of slobber for it.
And you—you’re bent over, one hand holding Cap’s paw, the other scratching behind Kilo’s ears.
“Cute pups,” you say.
Cute...what?
You look up at him, past his mask and into his eyes. He freezes. But you just smile.
“You military?”
He ends up not replying, because the setting sun catches in your eyes and his brain is temporarily short-circuited. You’re not deterred, however, your chin tilting to the gun holstered at his hip.
“My husband was, too.” Your gaze drops to the paw in your hand. “He did an op down in Coal Ridge last year.”
You don’t have to say anything else. Everyone knows what went down in the ridge.
Ghost tries to find something—anything—to say. Condolences would be a start. But nothing he thinks of is good enough, or sounds right in his head. So he just stands there, looming over you, watching you pet his assassin dogs.
And then—it hits him in the chest like a bullet.
You’re all alone in that house at the end of the street with your little girl.
Something rears its head under his ribs. A protective urge so strong it’s almost staggering.
“Well,” you sigh, straightening and offering him a playful, cute little salute. “Have a good one.” Your eyes flick to the insignia on his sleeve. “Lieutenant.”
As you stroll away into the setting sun, Simon watches you go, and the ‘cute pups’ whine at his feet as you leave.
And suddenly, three guard dogs don't seem like enough after all.
on the outside looking in, you had the ultimate dream life. you were pretty, with luscious hair and big eyes, a smile that was talked about constantly in your absence. you were popular, with every single person in your vicinity naturally drawn to you. most importantly? you were warmth defined. you were sweet and kind, not just to those in your circle, but to anyone and everyone. you had it all, or so it seemed.
the one problem? you were empty. you had parents who were shallow and absent, checking in once every few months out of mere obligation. you were failing your physics class, despite putting the work in and staying up to revise constantly. you had what felt like a million responsibilities on your shoulders, your job, your apartment, your education. no one was privy to these hiccups in your life, they were a little secret held close to your heart and to your most trusted friends whilst everyone fantasised what it would be like to be you for a day. if only they knew how sad you were.
to the external world, you were perfection bottled. this didn’t minimise the hole you felt in your chest.
it also brought you to your current predicament, currently in your professor’s classroom 10 minutes before your class was about to begin. mr jofferey was a pompous man, half misogyny and the other half shallow ego - you despised him, and you hated the fact you were the only girl in his class. it meant picking on you was that much easier, and now? he had failed you on your last module, despite the effort you’d put into your research.
“sir, i’m begging. a remark, a reread, anything.” you all but pleaded as you rounded his desk with your bag slung over your shoulders.
his response was a roll of his eyes, his glasses tipped down. “what would be the point? you failed, y/n. no doubt spent your time shopping or whatever it is you girls tend to do.”
your eyes narrowed. “i spent three straight nights in the library, sir.”
to this, he rolled his eyes again. “even if that were true, i don’t see what the fuss is. i personally don’t believe you have what it takes to be a part of this course, and if it were up to me you’d already be kicked out. alas, that choice is yours and yours alone.” he dismissively said, despite your heart dropping to your stomach.
this year had been difficult for you. you’d dealt with a horrible breakup, your ex being potentially the worst man ever to be born, whilst your parents had managed to win awards for being the worst guardians known to man. all that, combined with the stress of being a young woman merely existing meant your grades had slipped - physics being the hardest.
“mr jofferey, i’m not leaving.” you firmly hissed. you knew he was punishing you for your presence as opposed to your work and it was suffocating. “i’m happy to rework my project, i’m just asking you to give me a chance.”
he narrowed his eyes at you, before tipping his head over to the person who had just walked into his class, despite being early.
“ah, here’s an example of intelligence for you miss l/n.” he condescendingly clapped his hands once. “jungkook has managed to excel in all of his projects, i see that boy in the library at every hour of the day.”
you could feel a sting in your eyes whilst you desperately tried to hold back tears from the way the older man was treating you. you peered over to the person he was talking about, and for a moment, you felt your head stop racing. a complete and utter silence.
tall and broad, jeon jungkook stood completely unaware of what he had just walked into. the tops of his cheeks were dusted pink in a light blush, and his glasses slipped down his nose slightly, causing him to push them up. big eyes were hidden behind frames but the plumpness of his lips, the cute nature of his face - it struck you silent. was he knew? you’d not heard anyone mention a jungkook before?
“now, i’m going to top up my coffee before our class begins. i’d suggest you take a leaf out of jungkook’s book and begin preparing early for the lesson, y/n.” you heard your professor grumble, before leaving the room.
you flinched at the sound of the door shutting hard, before composing yourself. you wiped your eyes a little, eyes flicking up to meet that of the tall boy who was facing you. nervously, you shifted from foot to foot.
“he’s a prick.” you murmured, breaking the silence as you felt slightly uncomfortable in the presence of someone so attractive, at a moment of utter vulnerability.
jungkook didn’t respond, simply nodded slightly before pulling out his laptop and his supplies. you could feel your eyes stinging once more as embarrassment flooded you, rushing over to your seat on the other side of the room, doing the same. you slid into your seat, shoulders slumped and lip slightly pouted.
what were you going to do? now that you’d failed this project, this meant you’d have to get a high grade in your final assignment, which would be announced today. not that it was impossible, but your professor was clearly picking on you, bullying you because he didn’t want a girl in his classroom. would you be kicked out if you failed? would you then have to be embarrassed for the rest of your life? would you be labelled a failure for the remainder of your days?
someone cleared their throat next to you, pulling you out of your thoughts.
jeon jungkook was unlike most guys his age. he was a self assured, nerd. he liked star wars and marvel, his room filled with figurines, lego and comics. he had assembled a new gaming system, his pc his current pride and joy for when he played with his equally geeky friends. he was smart beyond words, with a loving family and a close circle that were just like him. his problem? he was invisible.
no one actually knew jeon jungkook. he’d shared this same classroom with you for over 3 years now, and to any ordinary person, you were two classmates. to someone who looked close enough, they’d see that the tall boy was utterly and entirely obsessed with you.
you were the love of his life, the object of his desires and most importantly, the single person that occupied his brain. he remembered the first time he ever saw you, walking past him in the hallway whilst laughing brightly and he swore his life had changed in that moment. you exuded warmth, you were the human embodiment of sunshine and he wanted nothing more than to simply have you look at him. to notice.
he wasn’t an idiot though, pretty girls like you didn’t look at quiet guys like jungkook. your ex was popular too, although by no means someone anyone actually liked. rude, abrasive, a nuisance - you were doing charity work and it was available to the world to see. he watched you come into class with blotchy skin and sore eyes, no doubt mourning the loss of your relationship. jungkook wanted to protect you like the superheroes he’d read about. wanted you to be his MJ, someone who would see him and accept.
that brought you to this current moment, big, teary eyes looking up to meet the gaze of no other than the tall boy from across the room. he had moved so quickly, you had hardly noticed him making his way over but from one look at the way he was holding all of his stuff, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“group project gets announced today.” jungkook softly reminded you, voice dripped in soothing honey, already doing wonders in relaxing your racing mind. “i know jofferey is horrible, and he’ll probably fail you just because he can even if you put a lot of work in.”
your lip began to quiver at the confirmation of your racing thoughts, making his eyes widen and then wince.
“but.” he quickly added. you peered up again, sniffling through your tears. “i can..i can help you? we can work together if that’s something you’re comfortable with. he can’t fail both of us, right?” he offered, the nervous twinge in his tone completely lost on you.
you sniffled again, wiping your eyes quickly although the tears that were brushed were quickly replaced with new ones.
“really?” you hopefully asked. “but, why would you do that? he likes you, i don’t wanna change that just because i’m dumb.”
jungkook’s face contorted immediately. “don’t say that, you’re not dumb. you’re more than capable.” he instantly shook his head, frown larger than yours. “and i’ve seen you at the library…i know you work hard, which means this is just jofferey on his power trip trying to bully you out of the course. but we won’t let him.”
you let out a little noise, tears dropping faster and faster as you shakily nodded, hands wiping your eyes. “promise?”
he could have sworn his entire chest had caved in at the sound of you so small and yet so hopeful. you sounded like you’d been given a lifeline, and the fact it was coming from him made him feel like more of a man than he had his entire life. his chest puffed out a little before he gave you a solid nod.
“i promise.”
——
the library was quieter than you expected on the third floor, not that you’d ever been here before. you typically stuck to the ground or top, where most of your friends studied, it was perhaps a rule unsaid that the floors in between were where the most academically inclined went.
jungkook sat, materials ready on his desk. his heart was thumping out of his chest, his hands slightly clammy as he readied his source materials for you to use. usually, he’d use his star wars pen to write his notes but he didn’t want you to laugh at him, instead opting for a black biro. his books however still had little stickers on them, with pokemon and random figures.
he peered up, watching as you walked in, two minutes earlier than your agreed scheduled time. dressed in a cute little cardigan and a tiny grey skirt, jungkook wanted to openly wail at how warm you looked. so sweet all over. his eyes trailed down your legs, where long socks sat on your thighs, small feet covered in the cutest shoes. he snapped his eyes up immediately once he realised he was probably staring, cheeks blaring red.
“hi.” you whispered over at him with a shy smile, putting your bag down next to you as you slid beside him.
jungkook flushed again, expecting you to sit opposite him. not that he was complaining, never.
“hi.” he whispered back, making your smile brighten.
“i just wanna say something if that’s okay.”
he nodded, running a hand over the back of his neck whilst pulling the materials he had placed above to you, beside him.
“i’m so sorry you have to waste your time on this project with me, i know there are so many smarter people in our course that could probably up your grade.” you nervously shuffled your hands on your lap, avoiding his gaze. “but i promise to work really hard and if i’m not pulling my weight, you can be as mean as you want, i’m really committed.”
jungkook blinked at you, rapidly before closing his eyes tightly for a few seconds. was it too much to stand up and scream from the bottom of his lungs? you were sweetness defined, and though he had gotten a taste of it from watching you for months now, perhaps to an alarming rate, seeing it up close was completely different. targeted at him too? he was fighting for his life.
“i don’t think i’m wasting my time at all.” he murmured, with a shake of his head. it was clear he was quiet and shy, but in that moment, felt a need to confirm a few things. “and i would never be mean to you. especially not over something like this.”
with furrowed brows, you peered up at him nervously. he was telling the truth, you could see his honesty etched on every corner of his face whilst you nibbled on your lip. you gave him a shy nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before turning to the stuff in front of you.
you gasped suddenly, perhaps a little too loudly judging from the heads that snapped up to look at you. jungkook’s eyes widened in confusion, rapidly looking at you and his surroundings but you hardly noticed.
“jungkook, is that a plusle sticker?” you excitedly asked, hands instantly falling onto his thigh without thinking.
your large eyes were suddenly so close to him, peering up at him with a sudden excitement that he could feel in every inch of his body.
“yes?” he confirmed nervously, blinking rapidly down at you again.
you squeaked, again completely inappropriate considering you were in a library. your bag was suddenly on your own lap as you rummaged through, picking out your notebook and placing it on the desk, showing it to him. “look!”
his eyes couldn’t leave your face, awe etched into every corner of his pupils but he knew he’d look crazy if he just sat here and stared at you. peering over, his own chest exploded at the little sticker you owned, slightly worn through. “is that..minun?”
you nodded with a wide grin, pushing it towards him. both of your books were now touching, the pokemon that often were associated as a pair stood side by side in front of you, exciting you to no end.
jungkook’s brain was about to burst. fuck.
“we match.” you head tilted, smile bright.
the excitement in your tone was palpable, causing his cheeks to flush pink and hands shake a little. you were matching with him, an act not purposefully done and yet fate was so kind. he had no idea you liked pokemon, figured someone like you would have no interest in it whatsoever but seeing it now visibly had him intrigued.
you noticed the way his cheeks stained, and it made your stomach tighten. god, he was so pretty - did he know that?
“yeah. we do.” he hummed to himself, making eye contact with you to offer a sincere grin.
the next few minutes were spent with you both discussing your favourite pokemon, jungkook coming out of his shell as he animatedly told you little facts that, in all honesty, did nothing to spare him from his nerd identity. unbeknownst to him, you were fucking enamoured by it, sitting up in your seat, eyes big and roaming over him.
soon enough, you were both coming down from your high, and the actual work began. he was explaining a theory to you, pen in hand whilst he traced certain parts of the textbook for you to understand.
“i don’t get it.” you admitted.
jungkook looked over at you, only to find you with a sad pout and downcast eyes. he wanted to scream.
he shuffled closer to you, knees slightly grazing. “that’s okay, do you want me to go over it again?”
you nodded in response.
wandering hands shuffled until you were in close proximity to the much taller man, his broad shoulders tilted in a way to avoid intimidating you. he was being patient beyond words, and you weren’t used to it in all honesty. you weren’t exactly being easy, none of this made sense, even the equations you had studied tirelessly were now blending into one.
“take it easy, y/n.” he murmured. “this is just the research stage, we have enough time to get this done.”
you peered up at him. “i’m sorry i’m being stupid.”
“don’t say that.”
you blinked, mouth falling open. you’d never heard jungkook speak like that before, hard and targeted. he wasn’t being mean, but he was certainly being firm.
“you’re not stupid. i don’t like you saying that about yourself.” he reiterated, a clear sense of agitation in his shoulders. never directed at you, and that you recognised immediately - a foreign concept that was now taking over you entirely.
you weren’t sure what to say, and judging from the pink of jungkook’s cheeks, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.
“how about we stop here for today?” he nervously asked, peering down at you through his lashes. “we’ve done a lot, gone through a few concepts and i don’t expect you to get everything straight away.”
you nodded a little, still in a daze. “okay.”
he nodded, suddenly nibbling on the inside of his cheek as he watched you get up, sweetly organising all of his notes that you messed up. he couldn’t bring himself to stop you.
he was enamoured. half awe, and half shock - he’d never seen anyone so pretty, and even though he knew you were way out of his league; he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for you to notice him the same way. would you hold his hand? kiss him, caress him? would you let him pamper you, take care of your needs in every way? he wanted to die in between your legs, but that was a whole other conversation.
he was snapped out of his gaze once you whispered a little ta da, grin bright and wide at the little pile that you made.
“thank you.” he flushed. you grinned wider at his acknowledgment.
“same time tomorrow?” you quipped whilst sorting your own bag. this earned you a nod.
and as you turned to leave the library after a goodbye, jungkook found himself tipping his head back, groaning quietly under his breath with closed eyes. fuck. you were gonna ruin him.
—
this was not how you thought you’d be spending your friday night, but how could you complain?
you sat in seokjin’s frat house, weeks later, drinks unlimited, music booming, everyone around you having a great time. some were dancing whilst others playing games like beer pong - you sat on the couch with all of your friends around you.
“so he’s just tutoring you for free?” namjoon asked in curiosity.
“well, he’s my project partner but he’s kinda tutoring me too, he went over all of the equations yesterday, kept explaining the theories we were gonna use too.” you excitedly told them.
all of them were listening curiously. you weren’t one to be enamoured by anyone, especially not after your horrible ex, who had done unrepairable damage to you and your brain. yet, here you sat, having gathered all 7 of them to animatedly tell them you’d found a crush - nerdy jungkook at that.
“he sounds lovely.” yejin excitedly nodded next to you, giving you a big thumbs up. “yeah, really patient too.” jimin nodded, earning a few agreeing noises from hobi, and yoongi.
you tucked your hair behind your ear. “he really is. oh! he even got annoyed a little the other week because i made a throwaway comment about being stupid or something, i don’t even remember, but he was so…firm.” you groaned out loud, making yejin squeal excitedly.
the boys rarely indulged in girl chat between you and yejin, but you were the baby of the group, and they were incredibly protective. from what they could figure out, jungkook seemed like a genuinely nice person, someone they hoped you’d find soon.
“i wanna meet him.” jin hummed. “should have invited him tonight, y/n, we could have gotten to know him.”
“well, i don’t know…i don’t think he sees me like that, he’s just really nice.” your posture fell.
yejin and yoongi shared a glance, frowning. jimin flinched at your words. he knew better than most that this doubt stemmed from your ex, his cruel words, things that he’d scream at you every chance he could. they were now etched into the ridges of your brain, you couldn’t get them out no matter how hard you tried.
“i think he’s probably half in love with you already, and that’s me being very casual, sweetheart.” taehyung scoffed. “yeah, from what it sounds like, he genuinely likes you, y/nnie.” yejin agreed, as everyone stood up, whilst she took your hand to do the same.
you couldn’t bring yourself to believe them. you stood up, taking your best friends hand with a little grin whilst ignoring the gaping hole within your chest, echoing things you wanted to dismiss so badly. it consumed you. it was horrible how quickly your mood could shift, without even one semblance of a trigger, but everyone knew the reason. you had the best friends in the world, and they were committed to making you see otherwise.
you all parted, whilst you headed upstairs to go to the bathroom really quickly. you wanted to use jin’s personal one since it was cleaner, rushing up the stairs in your heels. people were kissing everywhere, to your right, left, behind, in front of- you grimaced at first but then your thoughts began to wonder.
would jungkook kiss like that? you imagined he would be soft, maybe unsure. the thought of him potentially even being rougher or harder than you expected nearly had you collapsing on the stairs.
soon you had done your business, coming out of the room, only to be bombarded by the one single individual you did not want to see. with your back hitting the wall of the hallway, your eyes widened as they made contact with your ex.
he hummed, eyes peering over you, taking his time to look you up and down. he knew he intimidated you, quite enjoyed it even, watching the way your shoulders would rise and hands would shake. was this his effect?
“hello, y/n. thought it was you going in, but thought i’d check.”
“what are you doing here? jin didn’t invite you.” you weakly protested, making him hum again, whilst taking a step towards you.
he tilted his head. “and yet i’m here. look at you, hm?” he reached out, grazing your hip. his touch disgusted you. “this dress is too short.”
“don’t fucking touch me.” you hissed, yanking yourself away. you began to walk down the hall, further and further away from his but he soon caught up. considering everyone around you was drunk, you knew no one was coming to your aid.
your legs picked up, making it halfway down the stairs before he even began ascending, your eyes meeting that of namjoon’s immediately. you made your way over, legs shaking and hands reaching out for him, which he instantly obliged, eyebrows furrowed.
“y/n? what’s wrong? what happened?” he asked, confused.
you couldn’t get the words out, simply turning around with ragged breath only to find him gone. he wasn’t on the stairs, wasn’t anywhere you could see him and that did nothing for your poor brain. yejin noticed your shaky figure, coming over and making sure you were alright.
you managed to mumble out what had happened, resulting in hobi and yoongi personally taking you home. you sat in hobi’s car whilst you closed your eyes, yoongi holding your hand to ground you - your ex was no laughing matter. the guy was evil.
the thought of making you hurt made him happy. he genuinely believed he had ownership over you, that you were nothing more than a toy to be messed with - your brain was now as a result of that. having parents that had never shown you love, you were a hopeless romantic, you wanted as much of it as you could get to fill the hole they’d never even attempted to touch - his perfect victim.
and now, you sat in your room, makeup off, hair in a ponytail, wearing your sleep shorts and your camisole. you had been lounging on your bed, staring into space, tears streaming down your face. it was a lot, and you weren’t ready for it, hadn’t even thought of him in a while. his touch was what repulsed you the most, though.
you sighed, wiping your eyes. you felt suffocated in your apartment, you needed fresh air.
pulling on a hoodie, you grabbed your phone and keys before you headed out, standing by the entrance of your apartment to breathe. you did exactly that for a few minutes, eyes closed and exhaling. you opted on walking to the shop which sat a few minutes away, next to a cluster of different buildings.
you headed in, getting a snack, before noticing the beaming lights that were erupting from the building across the street. this was the local internet cafe, it was usually pretty quiet in there but judging from the flashing lights of all the monitors, it seemed like it was a busy night. you were a curious girl by nature, so you couldn’t help walk across the street, big eyes peering into the window. nothing could have prepared you for what you were looking at.
countless people were stood around a single person playing, cheering and egging him on. screams and shouts were deafening as you stood outside, head tilted, watching as expert hands glided over the mouse and keyboard. it dawned on you once you noticed the particular tattoos covering the individuals hand that the man in question was no other than jungkook himself.
a little gasp left you. you inched closer to the glass. everyone was leaning in closer now, causing you to do the same, your hands pressed gently against the shop window as you watched jungkook work. he was enchanting, his fingers moving rapidly whilst his gaze was locked. he looked so serious, completely unlike the quiet, almost bashful man that so patiently helped you.
your heartbeat was quickening up. you tilted closer at the same time as everyone else and for a moment, pure silence.
a beat passed.
you released a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding as the entire shop erupted in roars, jungkook’s screen showing his victory whilst everyone all but screamed. your wide eyes grew further, lips parting as your hands dropped from the window, watching everyone in genuine awe. people were embracing him, patting him on the back, congratulating him.
the thing that floored you was the sheer confidence radiating from him. was this the same jungkook? the one that blushed when you waved past him in the corridor? the same one who stuttered for a full 30 seconds when you told him you liked his haircut? the casual grin on his face whilst he basked in everyone’s joy did nothing for the pang between your legs, your throat suddenly dry. you’d wanted him before but now? now you needed him.
jungkook basked in the glory of his win, laughing quietly as people cheered and whooped. his eyes flickered over everyone as he made his way through, his grin showcasing his bunny smile. his gaze ran across the crowd before slowly falling onto you, who stood outside, lips parted and eyes wide in wonder.
upon being caught, you stepped back, cheeks flushing almost instantly as you watched his eyes widen a little, and his confident grin soften immediately. you weren’t sure what to do, so you offered a small little wave, realising that he might not want you to perceive him. the moment felt oddly intimate, the two of you stood silent, straight and direct whilst the people around him continued their loud bellows. after a moment or two, you watched him glide past people, making his way outside to you.
he stepped out, cold winter air flushing against his warm skin. “hi.”
“hi.” you shyly responded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “you were so good.”
“i didn’t realise you were watching, would have tried to make it look a bit cooler.”
you laughed, for what felt like the first time in a while. your throat felt scratchy and your eyes were visibly red - alongside the blotchy nature of your skin, it was obvious you had been crying tonight and jungkook’s stomach plummeted.
“you okay?” he asked, taking a step towards you. you didn’t move back, simply letting him come closer.
you nodded, looking down at your feet as you shuffled them against the concrete.
jungkook noticed you weren’t being yourself. bag full of snacks in hand, noticing you had bought yourself your favourite gummy bears - something you once told him you only did when you were super stressed during a project meeting.
his heart was beating too fast. “wanna come in?”
you looked up immediately, sore eyes widening. “oh! um, i’ve never like..gamed before.” you flushed pink. “and i really wouldn’t wanna intrude, you don’t have to stop just..you know because i’m here, i’d hate to be in the way.”
he watched as you shook your head, shoulders lifting whilst your eyes flickered to meet his gaze and away, almost embarrassed. he noticed the way you were speaking, second guessing yourself with every phrase - he wasn’t sure what had happened, but he knew it was enough to make your brain hurt.
“you could never, ever get in the way.” jungkook whispered. as though it was for you to hear and you alone, to keep tightly in your pocket. “i think if you were in there, i’d probably have won a lot quicker. motivation, and all of that.”
your eyes were blinking away the shock your face was visibly showing. was it hot outside or was the heat on your cheeks just spreading?
“and more importantly, i’d love for you to come in. i can show you the game if you want, anyone can play it. you can dress up your character, there’s this one dress i think you’d like.” jungkook teased, taking another step towards you.
he now stood so close. you could smell his cologne, addicting, and you closed your eyes for a second as it swirled into your mind. you nodded a little, still unsure and second guessing yourself, but you needed a reprise from the horrible evening you’d had.
at your confirmation, he bravely reached for your hand and took it within his. your gaze met his once again, the two of you staring at one another almost longingly before he intertwined your fingers. “let’s head in.”
he did exactly that, taking you and pulling you towards the shop, guiding you in whilst opening the door for you. it seemed in that moment everyone stopped and stared at you, mouth agape and both noise and chatter stopping immediately. you were the most popular girl in their school - this was nerd central, a complete 180 of where they’d expect you to be.
more importantly, you were holding jungkook’s hand so intimately, whilst he guided you to his chair, shielding you from everyone a little. they were curious, confused and genuinely in awe - were you guys dating, they wondered? popular, pretty y/n and geeky, jungkook who won mmorpg tournaments on behalf of his club.
you nervously looked around, blush intensifying as people shamelessly watched you. the chatter had died and you were feeling insecure at the thought of being unwanted, jungkook hovering over you. “jungkook, i..i can leave if it’s a problem, i don’t mind. pinky promise.”
he scoffed at the thought, tucking his chair in so you were comfortably sat at his desk, whilst he leaned over you. “they’re just shocked a pretty girl like you is sat at my desk, believe me, they’re happy to see you; they just don’t know if they’re dreaming.”
you found yourself curling into jungkook despite him being above you. it was an act unconsciously done, and was clearly a means for protection which he was truly more than happy to provide. he felt his chest puff, shoulders straightening, feeling wanted and needed.
“okay pretty girl, let’s get you an account sorted.”
your eyes flickered up at him, lips parting. he turned to look at you too, a grin forming on his lips at your reaction to the compliment. fuck, he wanted to kiss you so badly, bite your red cheeks or just smother you in how he felt about you.
“why aren’t you sitting too?” you hummed, turning in your seat.
everyone had settled in now, and though they were still staring, you could see it truly wasn’t malicious - people like you didn’t come here very often and this was a safe haven where people got to enjoy their hobbies. they simply wondered whether you were secretly like them too. but upon looking at everyone, you realised there were no other seats.
“oh that’s okay, wanna make sure you’re comfortable. you gotta customise your character.”
you furrowed your eyebrows. “no, please sit.” with a shake to your head, you stood, pushing yourself out once you scooted your legs to the ground. jungkook nearly audibly groaned with how cute you were without even trying.
before he could even blink, you had him situated on his seat, your eyes flicking over to confirm there were no other seats. you looked over at him, flustered, pink cheeks, eyes a little glazed over - you wanted him like this always. it made your stomach drop in want.
instead, you hummed as you sat on his lap, your back to his chest immediately as you made yourself comfortable, as though it was the most blasé thing in the world.
jungkook’s eyes closed for a moment, feeling your body so tightly pressed against his was one of his fantasies, and the fact it was happening so casually nearly had him biting his own hand. his brain moved slower than his body, with his arm wrapping around your waist to push you flush against his back. he leaned forward, feet planted on the ground to push you tightly in.
“comfortable?” he whispered against you, making you nod, peering over at him over your shoulder, your faces incredibly close. your nose booped his slightly, making a shallow breath leave him, though that did nothing to stop the hump of your heart.
“very.” you confirmed, making him grin at you.
you felt so protected, so safe with his large arm around you, his hand pressed against your tummy in a way that had your head swirling. one of your fingers immediately began playing with his, whilst his other hand moved the mouse.
“ooh, i wanna have pink hair!” you chose immediately, making him do that for you. you began dictating your outfit choices, to which he listened and laughed heartily, enjoying you customising your character to your taste. he was being so patient, as he always was, and it made you feel good, better than good even.
you leaned forward, pointing at the screen. “can we have matching swords?”
“yeah, this one’s really special, you have to do this quest that takes like a week to get it. you can have mine for now and then i’ll get one, so we can match okay?”
jungkook didn’t have the heart to tell you that it was the most sought after thing in the game, and that it was incredibly hard to obtain. for you? he was getting that fucking sword again.
“it’s pretty. matches my outfit, look.” you grinned, pushing back into his chest again making his arm tighten around you as you all but cuddled against him. he was loving this, feeling his pretty girl all curled into him whilst he got to show off what he was good at - the fact you were genuinely impressed only made him feel better.
“mm, is pretty, love it.” he murmured into your ear, making you shift your ass tighter against him subconsciously. his voice was so deep, you brain was melting.
you both played together, whilst curled into one another, very evidently flirting. he would bounce something at you, only for you to do the same right back - the both of you towed a line that you’d never dared to do before and you were obsessed. now that you’d had a taste of it, you needed more.
he was teaching you how to fight in game but you were failing miserably, unsure of how to move your hand as fast as the controls needed on the keyboard. “it’s hard.” you whined, huffing a little against his chest.
he wanted to groan loudly into the air. you were so fucking cute and he could barely compute it. without thinking, his hands both slid from holding your hips tightly down onto him, to down your arms and where your hands sat on the keyboard and mouse. “let me guide you.”
the flutters you experienced up and down your body were driving you insane. the cafe was pretty empty now considering it was 3 in the morning, save from the sleeping worker at the front of the shop to some lone players right on the other side of the room. it felt so intimate, feeling his fingers glide against you until they sat on top of your own.
they shifted you from left to right, up and down, whilst you excitedly watched on screen. you were finally winning a match, and the squeals you were letting out felt like a victory in itself to the tatted boy.
soon, your opponent was dead, making you bounce a little on his lap, excitedly turning to him. “we won!”
“you won.” he corrected with a big grin, only making your bright smile even wider as you all but clapped your hands.
he turned you so you were facing the screen, your quiet giggles forcing him to wrap his arms around you again. he got the courage to drop his head in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent openly despite it being quite the direct act.
you tilted your head slightly, as though to give him some more room to do so, clearly enjoying it just as much as he was. it was like you were both experiencing something that couldn’t be touched by the outside world, and you loved it.
“mm, jungkook? aren’t you tired? it’s so late.” you questioned curiously, whilst he continued to nuzzle your neck, hot breath tickling your skin.
“could sleep like this.” he grunted.
you rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help the smile that was forming; feeling giddy at the prospect of someone you fancied so much displaying such affection.
he groaned as you tried to stand up, as a bid to go home, pulling you back into his lap almost immediately, in a completely different position. now, you were facing him.
the little gasp that left you was quiet but heavy, his eyes flickering over your face, the rise and fall of your chest, and the shake of your hands. most importantly? you could feel his hardness underneath you, prodding against your core just right.
jungkook sobered up a little at the moment, realising the intimacy, and beyond how he felt about you, your comfort always came first. his hands travelled to your hips once more, about to pick you up and move you but you beat him to it, grinding just once against him.
“o..oh.” you let out a stuttered noise, whilst he let out a strangled grunt. you looked up at him through your lashes, noticing the way his eyebrows knitted together, lips parting, whilst his hands gripped your body tight.
you did it again, earning yourself another grunt before doing it again, and again, and again, until you were a whining mess against him. you weren’t sure how this had quickly escalated like this, but you were grinding your clothed core against his, the two of you moving in unison whilst trying to be as quiet as possible. though the shop was practically empty, he didn’t want anyone to see you like this. he felt possessive at the mere thought.
flickering lights from the computer monitors were the only thing illuminating both of your faces, your foreheads pressed against one another whilst you both chased something you’d been craving for too long.
his fingers were pressing into the skin underneath your hoodie, imprints left on your hips while he guided you, as a means to alleviate the pressure in your thighs. neither of you spoke, didn’t need to, enamoured by the look on each other’s faces. his eyes were trained on your lips, wanting to move forward and capture them for his own but it felt so much more intimate, and despite what was happening, he worried you wouldn’t want that.
you found yourself inching forward, breaths mingling and lips brushing, and yet not touching. jungkook was about to press them against yours when the cafe owner yawned, standing up.
“alright, closing up in two minutes. everyone go home.” he grumbled, still half asleep.
you both jolted away from each other, gasping quietly. it was like cold water was dumped onto you, as you scrambled off of his lap embarrassedly, cheeks burning red. jungkook had sunk into his chair, legs parted, chest heaving and eyes wide. neither of you knew what to say, causing you to shift from foot to foot - the entirety of the past few hours dawning on you both.
you liked him. beyond words, even, but this suddenly felt like too much and entirely not enough. jungkook could see the confusion on your face and immediately stood, logging out and shutting his computer down before turning to you.
“do you live close by?” he asked, gently, unsure of whether you’d be okay if he touched you.
you couldn’t respond, not trusting your voice. his eyes wandered over you, so patient, so warm, as though he was willing to take this at whatever pace you wanted, despite the tent in his joggers being visible.
he lead you outside, the cold air nipping at your legs, the warmth running through your body so quickly replaced. “do you live nearby?” he gently asked again, his fingers twitching to hold you.
“yeah.” you confirmed, throat suddenly scratchy. “just across, over there.” you pointed at the apartment building, your window visible. “can i walk you?”
you nodded, almost shy, as he reached for your hand, gently intertwining his fingers with yours. he wanted you to know, to see his feelings towards you - surely you could recognise them clear as day, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by expressing them. especially considering he’d liked you for years, way before you even knew he existed. the imbalance was clear, and he’d rather have a taste of you than nothing at all - he was content with merely being around you if it meant he got to exist in your circle.
the walk took only a few minutes, and it was spent in silence. your brain was racing. you wanted him, wanted to continue, wanted more, so much more, but you were scared. you’d already been so badly burned by your ex, the prospect of it potentially happening again terrified you - you genuinely wouldn’t survive it, especially considering your strong feelings for the boba eye’d man beside you. you didn’t realise your overthinking had clouded your vision, unaware that you had stopped right outside your door.
“y/n?” jungkook called softly.
your eyes flickered up, instantly. his gaze was patient as ever, running over your features as you mumbled something incoherent, your cheeks a gentle shade of pink. he watched as you fiddled with your keys.
“would…would you like to come in?” you asked him, nervously.
you stood by your door, half in, half out, big eyes peering up at him. jungkook had never seen you so beautiful.
“i would. would you like me to?” he asked you.
he wanted the ball in your court, a gentle reminder that the choice was yours to make, and yours alone. he wasn’t sure why you were so scared, but it didn’t matter - he was working on your pace.
“yeah.” you confirmed, stepping back to let him in.
one foot into your apartment had him wanting to sigh loudly. from plush cushions to the warm rug, pictures hung around everywhere, pinks, blues, yellows and greens - you were quite literally the cutest thing on earth. every inch of your living space represented you, and he was enamoured by it. the scent of your favourite perfume sat heavy in the air and he wanted to drown in it too.
the little grin he gave you made you visibly relax, shoulders slumping and warmth spreading over you. “this is where i usually procrastinate my side of the project.”
you were giggling whilst showing him the cosy corner of your living room, a desk with revision materials messily stacked in a corner. he matched you, laughing as you took him to each part of your home. “and this is where i keep those cookies you like…”, “oh! look, i have all my jumpers in this drawer, this is the one i wore yesterday that you said was nice.”
soon, you were both walking into your bedroom, whilst you chattered away. you had become animated, feeling comfortable and excited to show him little things you were sure he’d appreciate. and appreciate he did, he matched your energy with each and every thing despite not understanding it all.
“your bed is so cute.” he couldn’t help but laugh, covered in sweet plushies, and bedding that had hearts and pink sweets all over them. the throw you had on the corner tied it all together. the one thing he couldn’t help but notice was how small it was, and it made him want to scream.
you grinned excitedly, shuffling into your bed, sitting cross legged with your duvets over you. “i fit right in.”
he laughed heartily, walking over and covering the space around you with your plushies. “you look so cute, your bed is tiny.”
“it’s the perfect size, actually.” you huffed, taking the teddy he handed you.
you were both being so giggly, and though the situation was so utterly stupid, it felt freeing to have so much fun without anyone looking. your hand reached out for him too, pulling him onto the bed and closer to you, forcing him to climb in, but the bed was much too small for the both of you.
this only made your giggles louder, as he hovered over you, it being the only viable way. you laid back on your back, covered in warmth from both him and your duvets.
your laughter died down as he pressed his forehead against yours, your noses brushing against one another. breaths mingled with one another, and you were reminded that unlike in the internet cafe, it really was just the two of you here, in the comfort of your own room.
“can i kiss you?” jungkook whispered, lips slowly brushing against yours before pulling away enough to ask you gently.
you nodded, making him nudge your nose. he wanted you to do it vocally. “yes.” you confirmed, voice breathy.
that was all he needed, lips pressing against yours immediately.
first, came a slow, barely there peck, as though you were both testing the waters. the second touch was charged with more curiosity, your lips moving in unison as you explored one another. you both pulled away, eyes fluttering open to meet each other’s gaze.
the pure longing, yearning even in jungkook’s eyes made your eyebrows knit together - he looked all but pained. you couldn’t help parting your lips, before pressing your lips back onto his.
this one was different. this was needy, touchy, desperate. your hands flooded into his fluffy hair, and pulled it close to you as you both made out, his arms biceps caging your head. you felt entirely flooded, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him down.
jungkook moaned into your mouth, running his tongue on your bottom lip, before nudging your nose with his own. your tongues battled for dominance, the both of you fighting until jungkook ultimately won, exploring your mouth eagerly. he was too good at this, you thought.
once you pulled away for breath, a string of saliva separated from your mouths, the two of you panting. his bulge was visible from his bottoms and you wanted nothing more than to feel it again, so you lifted your hips to weakly grind into him.
“you want this?” he asked you, voice gruff as he kissed down your neck, hips dropping to your own so you were pressed right against him.
“mhm. want you, kookie.”
the nickname had him groaning in your neck. he lined you up so your cores were pressed against each other like you were earlier on in the night, grinding against each other.
“how do you want me?” he breathed against you, watching the way your face contorted as he held one of your hips, forcing you to meet his harsh grind. through all of the layers that separated you, you felt your pussy keen at the feel of his clothes cock, the friction delicious.
“want all of you. want you inside me.” you whispered, whilst still pulling his hair making his eyes roll.
your words were enough to drive him insane. he picked his pace up immediately, but it wasn’t enough - it felt insane but you wanted, no needed, more. jungkook could sense your restlessness, making a small airy grin form on his face as he began pushing your bottoms down from your hips, leaving you in your panties.
he wasn’t sure where the confidence was coming from, but tonight, it had radiated from him. it was the ego boost of you watching him win, seeing you want him just as much as he wanted you, noticing your actions were a reflection of his. it was a confirmation.
his hand pushed your panties to the side, lips attaching back into yours whilst his middle finger began sliding through your slick folds. he cursed into your mouth, eyebrows knitted together before beginning to rub your clit.
the moan you let out mid kiss was utterly sinful, one of your hands travelling to his muscular arm, gripping it tightly. you couldn’t help but notice how big he was over you, all muscle and power, his touch felt both soft and rough at the same time, an oxymoron for your brain.
“jungkook, fuck.” you squealed out loudly once he inserted a finger, making him moan into your mouth at your reaction.
he pulled away slightly, to watch your facial expressions, noticing how his dreams had paled in comparison to the real thing. he pumped in and out with vigour, cock straining at the sight of you.
“taking it so well, pretty girl, can you take another one?” he cooed at you, praising you as much as he could.
you nodded, whimpering whilst basking in the glow of his attention. you liked it too much, but you weren’t ready to address it. he pushed another one of his fingers into your pussy, watching how your hips lifted as your back arched.
a single finger felt like multiple of your own, so you were already feeling the burning stretch and yet you loved it. he, too, had exceeded all of your wet dreams so far and that was no easy feat.
“fuck, look at you.” he whispered down at you, moans matching. he pumped them whilst sucking at your neck, leaving purple bruises to mark you as his own, breathing in your scent. “always smell so good, you drive me insane.”
“jungkook..” you whimpered again, as his pace picked up, his other hand coming down to rub your clit at the same time. the sensations were enough to bring you to the edge, your entire body aflame.
it was like he could read your mind, continuing his bruising pace, watching as your brain completely exploded, your orgasm rushing through your body. your hips lifted, moans strangling in your throat as you squeaked his name. your legs shook, whilst your pussy tightened against his fingers - this didn’t stop him from fingering you through it.
once you came down from your high, he slowly pulled his fingers out, groaning at the sight of your slick coating his fingers. he watched your little pussy throb, whilst tremors took over you. you were sensitive, and he loved it.
“feel good?” he asked, instantly taking his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the taste. he went to dive in between your legs but you stopped him immediately. “want you inside.” you begged, with a shake of your head.
jungkook closed his eyes for a moment, head falling to your stomach as he willed himself not to cum then and there. he stood up from the bed, taking off his hoodie and bottoms before hovering over you again, bulge prominent and angry in his boxers.
“fuck, y/n, i don’t have condoms.” the sudden realisation had him groaning into your shoulder, preparing himself to put on his clothes once more. “i don’t want you to use one.” you murmured almost instantly, hips lifting.
his eyes shot open, wide and big. his breath stuttered as your fingers reached for his waistband. “don’t you wanna cum inside me, kookie? i wanna feel full.”
he genuinely nearly came then and there, the utterly sinful words leaving your lips a complete and utter juxtaposition to the environment you were in. he wasted no time, all but ripping your tiny little camisole off of you, leaving you naked whilst he also took off his final article of clothing.
he looked almost pained, angry even, as he ran his cock up and down your pussy. “are you trying to ruin me even more?”
the sly grin on your face was eating at his brain. you were teasing him, enjoying how riled up he was getting.
“you won tonight, remember? gotta make sure you get your reward.”
before you could even say anything else, jungkook began pushing into you. you weren’t someone who had sex often, usually preferring to do it with someone you were in a relationship with, meaning your experience was limited to your ex. that meant you had never taken anyone or anything as big as jungkook, which was made apparent with the way your legs shook as he inserted himself in entirely.
you were quivering, lip shaking and big eyes already teary as you stared up at the big man inside you. he lowered himself, biceps around your face as he peppered kisses all over you. “my brave girl, look at how good you’re being for me, hm? always work so hard, taking my cock so well.”
you loved his praise. you all but keened for it whenever you were working on your project together, yearning for his validation.
it took a few minutes to feel like you had adjusted in any sense, watching as he pulled back only to thrust back in. the wind was swept out of your lungs, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure filtering through your body whilst the pain thumped. the mixture of the two in itself felt sinful, and you secretly loved it.
jungkook began his pace, hard but slow, making you feel every single thing. you were scratching his chest, pawing at it whilst he caged you in, pounding into you as though he was claiming something that belonged to him.
“you’re so big.” you teared whimpered, salty opals slipping out of your eyes and down the sides of your face.
the sight turned him on further, making him grunt. his pretty girl, crying because she could barely take his cock? the thought was electrifying.
“don’t cry, baby..” he cooed, whilst simultaneously picking up his pace. he knew he was evil for doing it, but the way your hips were lifting and your gasps were getting louder, he knew you liked it. “this tight pussy was made to be ruined by me, just need to take it.”
his words were driving you insane. it was like you couldn’t breathe, the close proximity, alongside the way you were leaving scratches all over him, felt addicting. one of your hands began clutching his meaty bicep, making him curl it just for you, letting his flexed muscle turn you on further.
“feels so good, wanted this for so long.” you admitted through your tears, sniffling whilst moaning, begging him for more to which he happily obliged.
your words were thumping around in his mind, the concept of you yearning for him like he did for you was something he had never even dared to imagine.
“yeah? you have no fucking idea how long i’ve needed this, y/n. watching you walk into that class, small little skirts, and your cute dresses.” he grunted. “used to pump my cock every day thinking about bending you over there and then. you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
“mhm.” you confirmed instantly, nodding. jungkook couldn’t fathom how cute you were. “only you.”
“only me.” he confirmed, eyes shutting for a second as his ego inflated beyond words. “because you’re my girl, all mine. won’t let a single person ever make you believe otherwise.”
suddenly, you were lifted from the bed, as he sat with his back to the headboard. the loss of him inside of you was jarring, making you whimper and scratch loudly making him hiss, whilst he manoeuvred you onto his lap. “be patient.” he chastised, leaving a stinging slap to your ass.
you squeaked, falling into his arms immediately making him let out an airy laugh. he pushed your legs apart again, leaning you over so you were sliding down onto his cock, feeling so much bigger in this angle.
you could feel him in your stomach, he almost felt too big, as though you seriously couldn’t handle him but this only egged him on further. he wrapped his arms around your waist whilst you laid your head on his shoulder, hands cupping his chest through sniffles.
“can’t, kookie, too big.” you begged, making him groan silently. watching you helplessly try to move on his cock, only forcing him deeper inside of you made him want to ruin you further. “i’ll take care of you, baby, that’s my job, right?” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your head.
it almost felt too intimate, or even romantic for the moment, and yet it made your heart bloom. the feeling was lost instantly, as he began thrusting again, forcing you up and down onto his too big cock whilst your poor pussy protested.
your moans were so much louder in this position, and he fucking loved them. the way your ass was bouncing whilst he fucked up into you, pushing your hips to meet every thrust was intoxicating.
this wasn’t what you had expected your night to be. from the party, to your ex, to the cafe, to him now whispering sweet praise into your ear. “you perfect girl.” he grunted, pressing gentle kisses against your teary cheeks as though he wasn’t the reason for them. “you’re so good for me, so so good.”
“doing good?” you reiterated, stuttering through your words. it made him coo at you, as though he wasn’t bullying his fat cock into your tight pussy, breaking you completely. “best fucking girl, you’re perfect.”
you only nodded, crying into his shoulder in pleasure as he began to rub your clit. you knew you couldn’t last, not with the way his thrusts began to match the way he was toying with your pussy, and before you could even warn him, your eyes rolled to the back of your head.
your orgasm rushed through you like fireworks, every single cell in your body bursting to life as you quivered and shook on his cock. you had grown impossibly tighter, milking him as he too felt himself cum inside of you, moaning out your name with a pant.
the two of you were breathing into each other’s mouths as you shared a sloppy kiss, full of spit and messy tongues whilst he pumped through your orgasms, slow but firm.
by the time you were both coming down from your high, you were a shaking mess. it had been so much for your body to handle, and yet you knew now you’d had a taste, you could never live without it.
“hey, look at me.” he gently cooed down at you.
you did exactly that, just as he began pulling out of you. he watched as your expression contorted from the overstimulation, your pussy throbbing around him, making it hard for him to pull out. he wanted to frame that expression for the rest of his days.
“you okay, baby?” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your head.
you were still teary, sniffling up at him whilst he nuzzled your nose with his own. “mhm, felt so good.”
he hummed again. “good. felt incredible.”
jungkook leaned down, noticing his cum leaking out of you, and with a small tut, instantly fingered it back into you. you guys weren’t together, and hardly even broached any romance to be prepping for a pregnancy, and yet his primal instincts wanted his cum to stick. he wanted you round and heavy, a reminder to all you were his girl, glowing with his baby.
your pussy clenched at the sight and feel of him, knowing his intentions. the sick part of your brain wanted it too, and judging from the way you parted your legs further, jungkook knew.
soon, you were snuggled back on top of him with his arms around you, pressing kisses to your cheek. you were both freshly showered, and he’d even changed the bedsheets for you, plopping all of your favourite plushies around him so you’d feel comfortable.
he couldn’t keep his lips off of you, and despite your giggles, you could feel the exhaustion seeping in as the sun began to rise. he pressed a final kiss to your lips, the two of you curling into one another, before sleep captured you simultaneously. you’d both grown so accustomed to dreaming about each other, a world where your fantasies would come to life - neither of you imagined that reality would be sweeter than anything you could conjure up.
——
the next morning, you found yourself groaning into your pillow, nuzzling your cheek into the warmth that you were promised each morning, duvet curling around you. the soreness between your legs was a kind reminder of the mind blowing intimacy you’d shared with jungkook, whilst the gentle thump of your heart reminded you how sweetly he had treated you all night.
your eyes flickered open, noticing his absence. your eyebrows furrowed immediately at the sight of his clothes gone too, indicating he’d gotten dressed. you looked over at your side table and there was no note, making you lean over to grab your phone. 0 notifications from jungkook.
you sat up, pulling the duvet over your naked body in confusion. had he left you? this felt unlike him, jungkook of all people would have stayed the morning after, and this didn’t feel like it was in his character.
regardless, facts were facts - it was midday, and your apartment was eerily quiet without even so much of an indication jungkook was ever even there.
your heart clenched. had he used you? you knew it was ridiculous to think like that, but it wouldn’t have been the first time a man had done something like that to you - your ex would do this all the time, sweet talk you as much as possible to get into your pants and then discard you like it was nothing. your eyebrows furrowed further as tears began to spring.
reluctantly, you got up, placing a new set of lounge wear on as you walked to your living room, where he was absent too. truly, you couldn’t help but cry. it was a horrible feeling, to feel like you had been used for your body; but what other conclusion could you come to?
you took a seat on your couch as you opted to watch a sitcom, trying to rid yourself of the shameful ache that replaced the ones between your thighs, quietly crying to yourself with a box of tissues.
you were two episodes in when the door swung open, a grumbling jungkook walking in, two bags in his hands. he kicked the door closed gently, clearly unaware you were sat on your couch as he towed his shoes off and shuffled over to the open plan kitchen, that sat connected to the same room you were in.
you watched him, with wide eyes, sniffling away. “jungkook?” you called out, shakily.
he yelped a little, a deep blush forming on his cheeks as he noticed you on the couch in a bundle of blankets, cheeks wet and eyes sore. his own eyes widened like saucers, dropping the two bags of food and immediately coming to your aid.
“what’s wrong? did something happen?” he asked immediately, dropping to his knees in between your legs so you were face to face.
his questioning immediately had you bursting out into tears again, your hands coming up to hide your face. you felt fucking humiliated, having jumped to conclusions so quickly but you couldn’t blame yourself - this was your norm, your horrible ex boyfriend had made sure of that.
“y/n? you’re scaring me, baby, what happened? talk to me, it’s just me.” he cooed, taking a hold of your hands whilst forcing you to look at him.
you opened your mouth to speak, watching him nod encouragingly which only allowed for more tears to leave. “i-i..i thought you left.”
he tilted his head, confused. “yeah, went to get us breakfast, got held up in all these different lines though so took so much longer than it needed to.”
you couldn’t stop crying, and it felt even more humiliating knowing it was over nothing, your stupid insecurities getting in the way. “i thought you had just left.”
his eyebrows furrowed. “you thought i wasn’t coming back?”
you nodded, head downwards whilst he rubbed his thumb over your fingers reassuringly. he all but cooed at you again, taking your hands and kissing them gently, as though you were made of glass.
“oh, sweet girl. i’d never leave you, you hear me? never, ever.” he promised, standing up to sit beside you. within seconds, he had you on his lap whilst you curled into his neck, sniffling as sobs wracked through your body. “i know you like those sandwiches from that shop in town so i thought i’d get you some before we had a talk, but i should’ve left a note, a text, or something. i didn’t realise it would take so long.”
“i’m sorry.” you whimpered, slowly calming down.
“why are you sorry? this was my mistake, and i’m the one who should be apologising to you.” he shook his head, kissing your cheeks and leaving little pecks to your lips. “look at me, y/n.”
you did exactly that, desperately trying to stomach how embarrassed you felt from jumping to conclusions but it all melted away upon one look at him. he looked so earnest, warm eyes fuelling into yours whilst he held you - you’d never had a man worship you the way he was, and not because he thought he’d gain anything from it, but because he wanted to.
“we’re gonna talk right now, okay? then we’re gonna eat, and we’ll plan our day but we need to talk this out properly so you don’t feel like this ever again.”
you nodded nervously, sniffling.
“is there a reason you were so scared?” jungkook dreaded the answer, knowing it partially, but he needed to address it with you.
you sniffled again, fiddling with the zipper of his zip up. “just used to happen all the time with my ex so i figured you got what you wanted and..and didn’t actually want me.”
your voice cracked by the end of your sentence, vulnerability showing as tears flooded your vision once more. jungkook wanted to cry himself at the mere sight of you, curled into him all nervous and shaky, as though your worst fears had come to life for a few seconds.
“y/n, look at me.” he begged, eyes shaky. you obliged, making eye contact again. “you have no idea what you are to me, you’re literally every single one of my dreams, my wants, my needs in one tiny body. i’d never, ever leave you. i’d be a fucking fool to ever do that to you, and i’m so sorry i made you think that for one second.”
you sniffled with wide eyes, nodding a little at his words as they soothed you.
“wanted to have this conversation later but i need you to know that you’re it for me, i want you to be mine so badly, been wanting that since the day i saw you walk into that class three years ago.” you all but whimpered at his words, heart beating out of your chest. “i want that too, wanna be yours, want you to be mine.”
“yeah? then i’m yours. all of me.” he promised immediately, kissing your hands again.
your lip began to quiver once more whilst he held you, assuring you sweet promises for the future, ones you knew in your heart he would not only vow to do, but he’d actually complete.
——
two months had passed since his declaration in your apartment and life had truly never been better. jungkook had maintained his vow, and he had shown up in every single aspect of your life. you introduced him to your friends, and he had settled in with ease, whilst you too were introduced to his friends who you often played games with. you had passed your project, getting an A which was beyond your wildest imagination, jungkook celebrating by buying you another plushie. your libido had yet to cool down though, with the two of you indulging in one another every chance you got.
even now, you had your legs up on his shoulders whilst he pounded into you, roughly, his glasses sliding down his nose every few seconds. you had asked him to keep them on, despite the fact they were a nuisance, fragile and fogging up - he just looked so fucking hot with them on.
“feels so good, kook.” you moaned out with an arched back, making him grunt down at you.
“yeah? still so tight. fuck you every day and yet you still can’t take me.”
“too big.” you whimpered with a nod, grabbing his locks with your hands, pulling him in for a hard kiss.
the kiss was sloppy, all tongue and saliva as you made love to one another through your mouths, his cock breaking you with each and every thrust. you needed him in a way that didn’t feel normal - only two months had gone by and yet you were closer than the average couple. your brain was flooded with everything jungkook, jungkook, jungkook. you knew he was it for you.
he wasn’t fairing any better, his crazed obsession for you coming to the surface. the amount of times he’d eaten you out in the library, or fucked your throat before a gaming tournament was beyond anything he could count - constantly wanting to mark you, his possessiveness coming to the forefront. you fucking loved it, you loved letting the world know you were both obsessed with each other.
he had come home to you agitated one night a week ago, knuckles bloody despite being washed and cleaned. you were worried out of your mind before he told you he had fucked your ex up, having come across him on his way to you and taking the opportunity happily. anyone normal would have recoiled, been disgusted even. you? you had ridden him all night, rocking his cock deep inside of you until you couldn’t say anything other than his name.
you’d gone on birth control soon after making things official with him, the feel of condoms annoying you as you craved the feeling of his cum leaking out of you. now, you wouldn’t let him cum anywhere else - even blowjobs being finished over your clit, before he would finger it in. neither of you could get enough of each other.
“feel that baby?” he teased, condescendingly putting your own hand on your stomach. the slight bulge that was forming made your eyes roll to the back of your head, as you drooled slightly, body shaking. “gonna fuck a baby into you. gonna get a good grad job, marry you, move you into a nice home with our family, gonna make sure you’re nice and round for me.”
his words were enough to drive you over the edge, eyes fluttering closed as you both came hard, a norm. soon enough you were both curling into each other, his cock still inside as you panted, rubbing your hands through his hair.
“my girl, were so good for me.”
“hm, always so nice to me, kookie.”
“gotta be nice to my baby.” he grinned down at you. “i love you so fucking much.”
your eyes twinkled. “i love you too.”
after years of secret emptiness, you finally felt whole again, that gaping black space in your chest now filled with the reciprocated love for jungkook. the man who reminded you of your beauty, your worth and joy - the same man that made you believe in love again. at last, you felt happy.
summary. Nicknames catch on really quick in your group of friends. And for you, you have been dubbed the Mama to Tucker’s Papa.
pairing. John Tucker x Reader
tags. Fluff, Friends being friends, I have no idea if this is ooc or not, but I tried</3
ice time. 2.7k
Usually, you wouldn’t have minded.
Nicknamed are big in your group. Hannah first became Han-Han to you and Allie, and then later on, Wellsy, when Garrett joined the picture. Allie was Als, then Allie-Cat from Dean, and you were called multiple variations of your name by your two best friends before another one clicked.
And this one was Mama.
Sometimes Mom. Most of the time Mother.
And really, it made sense. You more often than not took on the caretaker role. Designated Driver during parties, the friend who prepares tea and hangover soup the next morning. The one that would be at home in the kitchen than anywhere else.
You really wouldn’t have minded.
If it didn’t mean that being Mama was having a Papa to be paired with.
And that Papa, was none other than Tucker, hockey player, anchor to the boys’ group, and resident cook of the house. One of your closest friends after Hannah and Allie, and most of that stemmed from both of you bonding over your very nurturing characteristics.
Dean started the whole thing.
It happened on a normal Friday night. Everyone had chosen to hang out that night, with the idea of movies, dinner and a few drinks. Soft music came from the living room while Hannah and Garrett argued over the movie considering it was their turn to pick that night. The rest were out on a beer run, and dinner fell on you and Tucker, as it usually did.
Tucker stood beside you at the stove while you chopped vegetables.
Neither of you had actually planned on cooking together.
It just sort of... happened. It was Tucker’s turn that night, and when you got tired of waiting in the living room, you got up and headed to the kitchen.
“Hey.” You sat on one of the stools, leaning forward as you watches him prep. Tucker looked up, and smiled. “Hey. You got bored?”
“Yeah. Doomscrolling while Han and Garrett argued over whether to pick a romcom or a horror movie was amusing only for the first ten minutes.”
Tucker snorted. You watched him grab a pan. “Not surprised. So, you decided to head here?”
“I think I’d much rather be here than there at the moment.” You chuckle. Then you eye the vegetables on the table. “What are you preparing?”
“Mac and Cheese. Probably a lot of it. And—” He gestures over to the vegetables. “Something with those. I haven’t decided yet.”
You hum, tilting your head. “Need help?”
His head snaps up to you, brow raising. “You don’t have to. It’s my turn tonight.”
“Yeah, but I want to.” You shrug, sliding off the stool to take the knife from his hand. “Now scoot over, you work on the Mac and cheese and whatever thing you’ll do, I’ll handle the prep.”
Tucker grins, letting out a laugh before moving to the stove. “Yes ma’am.”
Sometime in the middle of it, you settled in a familiar, but also not familiar routine.
You handed him ingredients before he asked for them. He moved aside before you needed the space. You knew exactly where he kept everything, and he knew exactly how much seasoning you liked adding.
At one point, Tucker held out his hand behind him without looking.
You immediately placed the spatula into it.
And Dean happened to walk in at that exact moment, arms full with six packs.
Both your heads snap up, at the sound of someone entering, Tucker’s hand still holding the spatula, and your arm still outstretched in the middle of handing it over.
The silence lasted three seconds, before a shit-eating grin spread on Dean’s face. “Oh my god.”
You and Tucker blinked at him
"What?" Tucker asked.
Dean stared.
Then he puts the six packs down on the counter, and pointed between the two of you again, the grin on his face not at all wavering.
“You guys are literally like— Mom and Dad.”
You make a face. “Dean, what the hell are you—”
“No, like. I mean, I did comment on it to Allie-Cat about how you two seem to have this flow in the kitchen but seeing it happen just solidified the whole thing.”
“You’re being weird, Di Laurentis.” Tuckers laughs, turning his attention back to the sauce, stirring it with the spatula while you work on what you decided to be coleslaw. You nod along, but Dean shakes his head.
“I’m serious. Wait Allie-Cat,” He calls for Allie who pops her head up from the couch she flopped onto the moment they returned from the beer run. “Agree with me here.” Dean gestures to you and Tucker. “Mama y Papa.”
Allie blinks, then grins. “Yeah, I see it.”
Dean looks back at the two of you. “See!” He points at you. “Mama.” Then to Tucker. “Papa.”
“Dean.” You groaned.
“No, no, it works.” Hannah piped in from her place next to Garrett. “I mean, we already call you Mom as a joke. And Tucker is Dad here. It just works.”
“Oh my god.” You sigh, and turn to Tucker, who doesn’t seem like he has a problem with the whole thing, grinning in amusement when he met your gaze.
“So, we’re calling them Mama and Papa now?” Logan interrupts as he heads down from, looking between the kitchen and living room. He eyes you and Tucker, before nodding. “I can roll with it.”
The nickname stuck, and spread in the friend group like a highly contagious disease. And with the nickname came the teasing.
-
“Oh good, Mama brought snacks.” You looked up from unloading grocery bags onto the counter to find Hannah already reaching for the chips.
"Hannah."
"What?" she asked innocently.
"You are twenty-one years old."
"Yeah."
"You can buy your own snacks."
"Why would I do that when Mama always remembers?"
"Han-Han."
"Love you too, Mother."
Across the kitchen while unloading the other grocery bag, Tucker tried not to laugh as loud at the incredulous look on your face.
You kicked his shin.
He ended up laughing anyways.
-
Then there was the movie night incident.
Everyone had crammed themselves onto the couch, fighting over blankets and snacks.
You'd gotten up to grab more popcorn, and when you returned, your spot had disappeared, because Dean just moved slightly to your spot, and you stared at him.
Dean only grinned, patting the spot where he once sat, which is conveniently, next to Tucker.
You glowered. “Dean.”
He grinned wider. “Sit beside Dad, Mom.”
You froze, and you catch Tucker visibly stiffen, his eyes flickering to you, then to Dean.
Dean looked between the two of you.
"What?"
"Dean," you warned.
"What? Married couples sit together."
"We are not married."
"Yet."
Your friends just exchange grins and teases, your face immediately going hot. You glance at Tucker, and ignored the way your stomach flipped slightly when he met your gaze, before burying his face in his hands at another tease.
He groaned into his hands. "You people are unbelievable."
This time, it was your turn to smile in amusement at his reaction.
Things only escalated by the end of the month with the road trip, which was a six-hour drive to a neighboring city for a random weekend getaway.
You had volunteered to drive the car, and Tucker offered to sit at the front and switch with you when you were halfway.
It was reasonable, so you agreed, and when the day came, it was Dean (again) who made a huge deal about it.
"Oh look."
"Dean." Tucker was the first to give Dean a pointed look while you sigh in the driver’s seat.
"The family car."
You eye him. "Dean."
"Mama and Papa taking the kids—"
"DEAN."
Needless to say, by the time you reached the hotel, your patience was hanging by a thread.
Tucker, unfortunately, thought your annoyed face was hilarious.
"You know," he said as the group unloaded bags, "you get this wrinkle right here when you're mad."
You stared.
He poked between your eyebrows, his grin widening when you nearly slapped his hand away.
"You’re testing my patience.” You glowered.
His grin widened, and he nudged you. "I’m just pointing things out.”
“I hate you.”
He shut the trunk door, and grinned. “Nah. You love me.”
Something in your chest tightens. You choose to instead huff and ignore the feeling, turning on your heel just as Logan comes by to grab the other bags.
-
Months passed, and you thought the joke would have died down along with it.
It kind of did. Because the joke stopped being a joke.
People stopped questioning it. Everyone stopped laughing every time, instead treating it like it was normal.
And it did, because at some point, becoming the Mom and Dad of the group became normal.
It became a fact. An accepted thing.
Which somehow made it ten times worse, because somewhere along the way, the joke stopped feeling entirely like a joke.
At least to you.
And judging by the way Tucker sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention—
Maybe not to him either.
You didn’t know when you started liking him. When it stopped being just a nickname to you. But you could pinpoint when things really started to change between you and Tucker.
It was another Friday night gathering.
Another Friday night where you find yourself in the kitchen with Tucker. Usually, you’d have the others clean up while you lounge in the living room after making dinner, but after another round of jests that Logan started this time:
“You both are disgustingly domestic. Just get together already.” He points out.
Grace, new to the group but had already caught on and was definitely in on the whole thing, nodded along. “It’s cute. Like you’re married and all.” You didn’t shoot them your usual pointed glares, instead opting to look away, but Logan caught the flush in your cheeks and, like Dean, made a huge scene about it enough to get the attention of the others.
“Oh my god you’re blushing.”
Allie looked at Tucker, and grins. “Tucker’s blushing too!”
“Oh my god this is new.” Dean cackles.
You sent them all out for snack and beer runs so that the house would be quiet from all their jests, but you didn’t think ahead far enough because now you’re alone with Tucker.
The silence between you in the kitchen is usually comfortable. Familiar. Easy.
But tonight, its different. Heavy and awkward, like the all of the teasing finally settled into something more real between you two.
You curse yourself for not thinking ahead, busying your hands with drying a plate. Tucker was putting the dishes away, and it was silent for a long time (a minute), until he finally broke it with by clearing his throat.
“So.”
At the same time, you also decided to break the silence, and looked up to face him. Both of your faces were flushed, embarrassment obvious on either of your faces.
“So.”
You both stare at each other for a brief moment, before you both burst into laughter.
The tension cracked immediately.
When the laughter dies down, Tucker nervously shrugs at you, shifting his weight. “So, like, you don’t mind?”
“Mind what?” You blink at him.
Tucker rubs the back of his neck, and gestures vaguely. “Well. The whole… Mama, Papa thing.”
You stare at him, before letting out a shy laugh. “No. Not really. I don’t mind…”
“You sure?” He eyes you for a moment, and the seriousness in his gaze makes your stomach flip. “I mean, I could always tell them to back off.”
You shake your head. “No.”
“No?” A brow raises.
“No.”
He meets your gaze, and you swallow. “I mean, I don’t mind.” You look down at the dishtowel in your hands, and mumbled quietly, “I think it’s cute.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
When you dared glance up again, Tucker was staring.
Not a hint of amusement or anything close to teasing in his gaze. Then he smiled.
It was soft, and dangerous, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest.
“Yeah?” He hums, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity makes you want to hide, but instead, you try to cover up the way your heart is pounding by looking away and grumbling, “Don’t make me repeat it.”
His grin widened. "I wasn't gonna."
"Liar."
"Maybe I was."
You rolled your eyes.
He laughed, and you lightly swing the dishtowel at him, earning an offended gasp and a “Hey!” from him. Your grins don’t exactly fade as you went back into the routine of wiping and putting away the dishes again, but something new has settled between you.
Something warm. Something hopeful. A quiet understanding about something that has been brewing there for months.
Dean noticed first. Of course he did. But it was mostly because neither of you were very good at hiding things. Or that neither of you was exactly hiding anything.
Tucker started sitting beside you more often, and you always saved the seat next to you.
He'd bring you coffee, meeting your outside your classes to walk you to your next one.
Sometimes, you'd drop by to bring him food.
You'd steal his hoodies. He'd let you.
Dean pointed it out to Allie. Allie told him to let it happen.
That wouldn’t stop him from commenting on it when he recognized the hoodie you were wearing after Hockey practice and you tagged along with Hannah and Allie.
"You guys are disgusting."
"Don’t be such a hypocrite, Dean." You poke at him. He scoffs, but doesn’t deny it. I mean why would he deny it, when Allie herself is wearing his hoodie?
You grin, "Exactly."
The funny thing is that neither of you were explicitly going out. No confession, no formal talk. It was just an understanding that settled after that one night, though you did think about actually doing the whole confession thing.
But it seemed like Tucker thought the same thing.
Because just a few days later, sometime around the early afternoon. It was just you and Tucker. A simple invitation to hang out, making lunch and all that.
You were helping Tucker clean up. Again.
Because apparently that was your thing. He was drying dishes. You were washing them.
Routine. Something normal. Comfortable.
"You know," Tucker suddenly said.
"Hm?"
"I think Dean might actually pass out if we started dating."
You nearly dropped a plate, glancing at him with squinted eyes.
"Tucker."
"What?"
"Tucker."
His laugh was warm.
You shook your head, but despite yourself, you smiled. “He would. Definitely.”
The room went quiet.
You glanced over.
Tucker was already looking at you.
The smile slowly faded from his face. Not like in a bad way, just in a manner that was softer. Serious.
Your breath hitches. “Tucker…”
He steps closer, “I’m not saying this because of the whole nickname thing.” He murmurs. “I’m saying this because I like you, and I'd really like to date you. If you'd let me.”
The plate nearly slipped from your hands, but he catches it, setting it down in the sink. His gaze doesn't stray from yours, and you can feel your face heat up. "Tuck."
"Yeah?"
Your heart felt like it was trying to escape your chest.
"You have really terrible timing."
His grin returned.
"You saying no?"
You stared, then tilted your head back and laughed. A beat, and you shake your head with a chuckle, "No."
His expression softened immediately.
"No?"
"No."
The smile that spread across his face was blinding.
“This confirmation that I get to call you my girlfriend now?” You grin.
“Yeah.” And when he leans in, you tilt your head up in response. It's gentle. Careful, and you’re both smiling into it, and just as you pull away, you couldn't help thinking that maybe Dean had been onto something all along.
The next day, you walked into the hockey house holding Tucker's hand.
The silence lasted long enough for everyone's gaze to flicker from your joined hands, then back to you.
“Are you guys actually…” Hannah tentatively asks, pointing from you to Tucker.
You nod. He just smiles, simply squeezing your hand tighter, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Mama and Papa finally got together," Dean announced dramatically.
You just laugh, finding a seat on the couch. Tucker instead pulls you onto his lap, smiling widely, and for the first time since the nickname started—
