mr. handyman. literally every single thing that falls apart in your life, logan’s there to fix it. kitchen cabinets coming loose? great, he’s fixing them. doors squeaky? he’s already on it. something wrong with your car? perfect—he’s taking his shirt off (for your eye candy) and getting to work. and he’s not one of those sexist assholes who thinks men have to fix things while women just stand there and yelp when things fall apart. he actually makes a habit of fixing things with you there, showing you how to do it so next time you can handle it yourself in case he’s not around.
this sweet, sweet man with those pretty doe eyes cannot stay mad at you for more than a day. if he has to go to sleep without fixing things with you, he feels like he might actually die. he just can’t do it. so when you two argue, like normal couples do, he always gives you both time to cool down before coming back to you to offer your favorite takeout, lots of kisses and cuddles, a movie night, and his heart practically in his hands just so you could forgive him. anything. he’ll do anything. just don’t stay mad at him.
as much as he’s a homebody, he actually loves going out—especially with you. restaurants, new cafés, movie theaters, hiking spots, even loud busy bars he’s not usually a fan off. and he’s always patient, giving you all the time you need to get ready without rushing you. and when you’re finally done and looking pretty, he’ll have you leave a bright lipstick kiss on his jaw, visible for everyone to see he’s taken, before you head out together. his favorite part about this whole thing is walking with your hands intertwined and sharing food.
again, he’s big on acts of service. waking up a little earlier to make you breakfast because you’re too lazy to make something yourself and usually skip it. taking the time to draw you a bath after a long day. making your drinks exactly how you like them—no ice, because you hate the watery taste when it melts, buying you things you’ve run out of, whether it’s your favorite snacks or products. taking your makeup off for you when you’re too tired. giving you massages, filling your gas tank—he’s all about it.
he’s so starved for you, so don’t expect him to leave you alone when you’re both home with nothing to do. he constantly has you laying on top of him, just lazing the day away. cooking simple meals together, which he’s surprisingly good at. he believes staying practically glued to you the entire time is good for his mental health and it’d be cruel to deny him.
this man figured out your weakness long before you even started dating that you can never keep your hands to yourself when he’s sweaty, fresh out of the gym. so when you move in together, he starts timing it, leaving the gym just a little after you get home. the second he walks through the door, your eyes snap to him, the sight of him making your knees weak, heat pooling in all the right places. and you don’t even try to fight it. you just walk up to him, grab him, and kiss him deep, fully intending to have those sweaty, ripped biceps wrapped around you in a tight headlock.
Summary: The Major Crimes team is convinced that you and Nick Wagner are in a secret relationship. When you go to Karadec because you're not feeling well, they learn that you and Karadec are married, but he's not bothered by your friendship with Nick.
Warnings/Word Count: gossipping, oblivious!Nick, banter, fluff, Karadec being the ultimate husband. 1.5k+ words, requested
Directory | High Potential Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist
“Say what you will about discretion,” Oz deadpans, watching as you and Nick stand shoulder-to-shoulder, talking about something on your phone.
“Well, when you’re the captain, you can be as non-discreet as you want in your secret relationship,” Daphne says with a smile. “Although, if I was going to keep my relationship private, I think I’d try harder.”
“Physical closeness isn’t always something people consider,” Morgan offers. “It just happens.”
“But they only do it in the bullpen,” Oz argues. “Like he thinks we’re too dumb to figure it out.”
Morgan shrugs, watching you straighten and look at Nick to ask something. He shrugs one shoulder, then points to your phone. Whenever the two of you are together around the station, it seems like you’re standing as close as possible to talk or look at something together. Yet, neither of you have acknowledge to obvious connection between you. Hence, why your secret relationship has become the primary gossip topic in the bullpen.
“It is curious,” Morgan admits. “That they don’t do this in the field, I mean.”
“No,” Oz agrees. “Out there, they just spitball theories and compare witness statements like they’re just coworkers.”
“How together do you think they are?” Daphne wonders.
“Huh?” Oz murmurs.
“I mean, do you think they’re, like, dating or more serious? What do you think the status is?”
Morgan tips her head to the side to watch you. “I can’t be sure.”
“That’s a first,” Oz jokes.
“It’s so weird,” Daphne sighs. “Why won’t they just tell us instead of acting like nothing’s happening?”
Oz and Morgan share a look, then ask, “You do remember who we’re talking about?”
“I heard her on the phone talking about how great Nick is,” Selena says, stopping at the end of Oz’s desk. “But without clear answers, maybe we should focus on our cases.”
“Right,” Daphne and Oz agree. “Sorry.”
Selena nods, then drops her voice to request, “Fill me in if you get more details?”
“Of course,” Morgan replies.
“You alright?” Oz asks, watching as you shift your weight from left to right.
You nod, squinting behind your sunglasses as you look at the crime scene tape surrounding the soccer field your team was called to. Karadec is standing at his car, using the hood as a desk to fill out a form. Rather than giving Oz a true answer, you turn and walk to Karadec’s side.
“I don’t feel good,” you murmur when you reach him.
Karadec sets his pen on his clipboard, straightens, and pulls your sunglasses down gently to look at your eyes. “Migraine?” he checks.
“No,” you answer. “Not yet at least. Just headache, nausea.”
“Have you eaten?”
You nod, and Karadec steps back, opens his car door, and passes you a cold bottle of water. He hovers, watching you take a few small drinks.
“You want me to take you home?” Karadec asks, pressing his thumb gently against the tight muscle at the side of your neck.
Leaning into his touch, you shake your head. “I think I just need a minute, baby,” you hum.
“Baby?” Morgan repeats, loud enough that the officers on the other side of the field look up.
“Quiet,” Karadec advises.
“I thought you were with Nick!” Oz adds, pointing at you.
“What is going on?” Daphne wonders.
“We’re married,” you explain, gesturing between yourself and Karadec.
Morgan remains silent for several breaths, her eyes bouncing between you and your husband, who has his hand pressed to your back as you drink more water.
“You’re not jealous?” Morgan asks Karadec.
“Of what?” he responds.
“That your wife spends all of her time at the station with Captain Wagner!”
“I trust her,” Karadec states, tipping his head toward you. “I don’t have anything to be jealous about.”
“You thought I was with Nick?” you ask incredulously. “Why?”
“Because you’re always with him, giggling about something on your phone,” Daphne answers, as if that was obvious.
“I’ve been trying to show him that my best friend likes him to set up a date,” you explain. “It’s taking forever.”
Karadec smiles as he mutters, “You could find her someone better.”
You turn toward him to argue, “Nick isn’t bad for her, he’s just oblivious.”
“Apparently he’s not the only one.”
“Oblivious?!” Morgan repeats.
“Your wife has been in Wagner’s personal space for weeks!” Daphne adds.
“He’s in my personal space,” you counter. “I’ve heard it’s very welcoming.”
“Get back to work,” Karadec tells Daphne and Oz. He looks at Morgan and directs, “Find something useful.”
She points at you and says, “I was trying to!”
Over the next week, your team begins catching the hints you give Nick. You make it fairly obvious that your (admittedly beautiful, as far as Oz is concerned) friend is in love with Nick. Every time, he nods and asks a question or merely agrees. He truly is clueless and oblivious, never understanding what you’re getting at.
“At least he’s nice to her,” Daphne muses when Nick asks if you had a nice night with your friend.
“I need help,” you say as you approach her desk. “I literally told him last night you’d make a great couple, and he commented on her hair and moved on. What am I supposed to do?”
“If he can’t get the hints or the direct statement of it, maybe he needs a demonstration,” Morgan suggests.
“I don’t like that,” Karadec mutters from his desk.
“No, no, that’s a great idea,” you realize, smiling as you tap your hands together. “We can totally do that. Should I do it here or somewhere a little more neutral?”
“Nick’s comfortable here,” Oz offers. “Would she be uncomfortable here?”
“The woman flirts with Nick Wagner,” Karadec deadpans, “she’s fearless.”
“I flirt with you,” you remind him. “What does that make me?”
“A little frightening,” Daphne offers.
“Easy,” Karadec warns.
“News in the case?” Selena asks from her doorway.
“Ooh, Lieutenant,” you reply, “can I use your office for a really good cause?”
“How good?” she checks.
Karadec speaks up to reply, “It might help with the Wagner and the stick up his—”
“Really good,” you interrupt, shaking your head at your husband. “For more than just us.”
“Fine,” Soto decides. “Only because it’s you asking.”
“Did you know they’re married?” Morgan asks her, gesturing toward Karadec’s desk, where you’re sitting on the arm of his chair to look at something on his computer.
“Of course I did,” she scoffs. “I was at their wedding.”
“You’re uninvited from dinner!” Morgan yells at you.
“Oh no,” Karadec mumbles flatly. “Devastating.”
“Just for that, you’re invited again!”
“Water,” Karadec says when you pace past his desk again.
“I’m drinking it,” you promise, slowing by your own desk to pick up your bottle.
“Hey,” Nick greets. “I got your text?”
“Yes, uh, can you wait for me in Soto’s office?” you request. “I’ll be right there.”
Nick nods, then walks into the office and sits in one of the chairs arranged around Selena’s desk. A moment later, your best friend walks into the bullpen with a visitor’s badge.
“What’s so urgent?” she asks you.
“I’ll explain,” you say, ushering her into Soto’s office.
The moment she’s over the threshold, you close the door and jostle the handle, ensuring it’s locked.
Your phone rings then, your best friend asking, “Really?”
“Oh no, I must’ve locked the door,” you muse. “I guess you’ll have to talk to Nick while I find the key.” You add, “The blinds close,” before you hang up, a triumphant smile on your face.
“You locked them in there?” Karadec asks, despite knowing that was your plan all along.
“If they have to talk, he’ll see that she likes him. Maybe then they’ll finally do something about the looks they keep giving each other.”
“Does that mean we can talk about something else tonight?” Karadec checks.
Smiling, you join him at his desk and agree, “Whatever you want, handsome.”
“I think I liked it better when she was talking to Nick all the time,” Morgan decides.
Daphne nods, then looks toward Soto’s office. “I hate to say it, but I kinda ship Nick with her friend, too.”
“Oh, no doubt,” Morgan replies. “They’d be adorable together.”
“I need a vacation,” Oz groans.
Fifteen minutes later, Nick ‘suddenly remembers’ how to unlock the door. He emerges with your friend, who flashes a call me signal to you before she leaves.
“So… how was the conversation?” you ask.
“Did you know she likes me?” Nick whispers.
You blink several times, then huff a laugh. “That’s great, Nick. Are you going out?”
“Yeah, we are. But you should’ve told me sooner that she felt the same!”
Karadec grabs your hand and shakes his head.
“Oz, can I go on that vacation with you?” you ask rather than replying to Nick.
“I’ll take you on vacation,” Karadec offers. “Somewhere far, far away from these people.”
“You’re just mad we thought she was dating Nick,” Morgan scoffs.
“Back to work!” Selena demands when she returns. “And no more matchmaking in my bullpen.” She opens her door a moment later to add, “Unless I’m involved.”
summary ⠀♱ you never imagined your junior year of college would turn you into a mother—but alas, here you are.
pairing ⠀♱ garrett graham x fem!dilaurentis!reader
warnings ⠀♱ smut, unprotected p in v, mentions of birth control, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, angst, garrett is lowk a dick, garrett is scared of being like his father, reader is dean’s twin sister, john tucker being a cutie, reader ends up living in the hawks house, overprotective dean, overprotective garrett, mentions of phil (yikes), garrett and reader have a…complicated relationship to say the least, mentions of violence (dean punches garrett, garrett punches dean, they fight), reader’s nickname is DiDi (pronounced deedee, come from the di in di laurentis), reader is a child development major, mentions of nausea and throwing up—SKIP IF EMETOPHOBIC
a/n ⠀♱ belmont cameli has genuinely taken over my life. THIS WORK WAS WRITTEN BY ME, NOT AI. DO NOT PLUG MY WORKS INTO AI. not proofread, ignore any errors.
-1 MONTHS
“Oh my God, Garrett!” Your lips part in a pornographic moan, the veins in your neck popping out as your head thumps against the bed frame. Currently, you were in the Hawks House, Garrett thrusting into you slow and deep as your head hangs over the bed—Hang Loose was always his favorite position. Your tits bounce lightly with each of his thrusts, his chain grazing over your skin as he lets out a soft grunt.
“So fucking good for me,” He murmurs, his hot mouth moving over your smooth skin until his lips wrap around your nipple. Your hips jerk up from the contact, nails digging into his back. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” He teases, flicking his tongue over the bud. You get louder, hands frantically moving from his back to his dark curls, tugging.
“Oh my God, I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum, ohhh, yes!” You whine, letting out a sob as you clench around Garrett’s dick. He chokes out a groan, his hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. “Where do you want—”
“Inside,”
“But you’re not—”
“I don’t care, just cum inside of me—oh my God, I’m cumming!” Garrett swears your moans echo across the entirety of Briar University’s campus—and he has to admit, it makes him even cockier than he was before. With a soft moan, he lets go, filling up your tight pussy with ropes of cum.
He pulls you up so you’re fully on the bed before collapsing on top of you, both of you panting, and you smile, letting out a soft laugh as you rake your manicured fingers through his hair. “That was fucking amazing,” He murmurs, pressing kisses to your sweat-soaked skin. You nod, humming, still a bit hazy from your orgasm.
You tap Garrett’s shoulder, and reluctantly, he gets up with a sigh, grabbing your silk leopard print robe from his desk chair and handing it to you. Most of the time, you were at Hawks House more than you were at your dorm with Hannah and Allie, and you had accumulated a small collection of clothes which Garrett kept in his top drawer.
You sit up and tie the robe around your naked body, going on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek as he puts on a pair of boxers. You’re about to open the door to go downstairs to the kitchen, but Garrett stops you, his large forearm wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into him. “Your legs aren’t shaking,” He murmurs into your ear, making you shiver, “do we need to go again?”
You laugh, twisting yourself out of his grip, “Maybe later. I’m plenty satisfied, baby. Mama needs some water.”
Garrett pouts, his eyes practically as soft as a puppy’s fur, “Oh yeah, mama needs some water? We can get you water,” He teases, throwing you over his shoulder. You yelp, hands flying to his lower back for stability, “Garrett, put me down!” You shriek, but Garrett shakes his head as he exits his bedroom and thunks downstairs.
“No can do, gotta get water for m’lady,” He laughs, “hey, boys,” He greets his roommates—who all look disgusted. Dean rises up from the couch as Garrett finally puts you down, grinning as he smacks your ass and jiggles the fat with his palm. Your brother gags at the sight, “Next time you guys want to fuck, can you please, for the love of all things holy, fuck a little quieter?” He pleads, pinching his fingers together.
“I’ve had to hear you having sex since we were fifteen,” You deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest, thanking Garrett when he hands you a glass of water and smoothes your hair with his palms.
“Yeah, but like—that’s different,” Dean grumbles, “I never had sex with your best friend.”
“You’re literally dating one of my best friends, Deanie.”
“That’s different!” He repeats, whining theatrically as he stomps back over to the couch, before throwing himself over the back of it and doing a backwards somersault, kicking over a bowl of popcorn in the process.
“Oh come on bro, that was perfectly buttered!” Tucker groans, putting his game controller to the side as he begins to pick up the buttered kernels. Dean does too, popping some in his mouth, which makes everyone in the room—including you and Garrett, who had been watching this scene together from the kitchen, unfold—recoil with disgust.
MONTH ONE
About three weeks later, you’re in a lecture hall for your major—Child Development. You wanted to be an elementary teacher, so you chose Child Development as a way to jumpstart your career.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea overcomes you—you quickly gather all of your things and exit the lecture hall as fast as you can, dropping to your knees in the closest toilet stall before heaving your guts out.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” A concerned voice says from behind you. You can’t turn your head, but are able to see strawberry blonde hair in your peripheral as the girl kneels next to you, pulling your hair back.
Kendall, one of Garrett’s ex-hookups.
Great.
You nod slowly, wiping your mouth with a piece of toilet paper that she hands to you. “Yeah, thanks—probably just stress from my classes,” You say softly, giving her a genuine smile.
You felt bad for the girl—she had been hooking up with Garrett before you, and as soon as you and Garrett had sex for the first time, he kicked her to the curb. He always told you the split was a mutual decision, but you could see in her eyes, now, that she was still pained by his words from that night.
“Of course,” She murmurs, “hey—you’re Dean’s sister, right? The one who’s dating Garrett?”
You nod at the first part of her sentence but quickly shake your head at the last part of her sentence, which you regret as soon as it brings on another wave of nausea as you retch into the toilet.
Kendall grimaces, handing you another piece of toilet paper, and you thank her, wiping your mouth before responding to her. “I’m Dean’s twin, yeah. Unfortunately,” You snort, “but I’m not dating Garrett—we’re just friends who like, fuck around, you know?”
You stand up from the tiled bathroom floor, dusting off your pants, and finally start to feel a bit better. “Oh, I just thought—you know, with all of the stuff posted on Fifth Line…” Kendall says shyly, scratching at her forearm.
“Jules just loves to stir shit,” You giggle softly, squeezing Kendall’s shoulder. “They’ve been like that since I met them. It was nice talking to you, Kendall, but I should probably get back to class—thanks for taking care of me!”
“Yeah, of course,” She smiles, waving goodbye as you exit the bathroom.
After a day of classes, you immediately flop down onto Allie’s bed with an exasperated huff. “Oh honeybun, what’s wrong?” She asks, setting aside her gel polishes from where she was doing her toenails.
“I spent half of today in the lecture hall bathrooms,” You mumble, lifting your head from her duvet. She frowns sympathetically, rubbing your back as you continue talking, “and my boobs are sore, but my period’s late, and all I want is Garrett, but he’s at practice.”
“Oh, shit.” Allie says abruptly, and you look at her confused. “What’s wrong?”
“When was the last time you and Garrett had sex?”
“Three weeks ag—oh, fucking shit.”
Two hours later, Hannah and Allie both have their hands on your arm, squeezing you from time to time. Hannah rubs your back as you whine nervously, watching the timer count down on your phone. When it beeps, you go to reach for it, hand shaking, but Allie stops you for a second.
“Hey, DiDi,” She says softly, “whatever it says, we’ll be right here. And I know it’s bad timing—but really, whatever it says, whatever you want to do, we’ll be here. No matter what.”
You nod, sucking in a breath, and go to look at it.
Your heart drops to your ass. You blink, twice, making sure that your eyes don’t deceive you.
Pregnant, 2-3 weeks.
You stifle a sob as your hands come up to your mouth, and your legs give out like jelly, both Hannah and Allie hugging you tightly as you wail on the bathroom floor.
MONTH TWO
You still haven’t told Garrett.
You’re eight weeks pregnant, still haven’t told your—whatever he is—and are trying to hide it at a party. Where there’s drinks.
You always drink at parties.
Dean can notice something is wrong—and so can Garrett, whose brows furrow as you reject his offer to go get you a Smirnoff Ice for the third time. “Baby, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been off for a few weeks.”
You smile as you twirl a toothpick between your fingers, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. Professor Nolan’s lectures are always a bore,”
He kisses your temple, dark brows furrowed as he stares directly into your eyes, “Do you wanna leave? Because we can go, baby.” You shake your head. “No, no—go, have fun. Dean has been waiting for you to go do shots with him,” You giggle, pointing over at your twin, who’s already drunk off of his ass and about to jump onto a wooden table.
Garrett sighs and kisses your temple once more before leaving to go take care of Dean, and Hannah walks over to you, nibbling at her lip. “You still haven’t told him?” Your walls immediately crumble, and your bottom lip starts to tremble, chin quivering, “Oh, DiDi,” She tuts, pulling you in for a hug.
“I’m so scared,” You whisper, “what if he hates me? What if he tells me to get rid of it?” Hannah shakes her head, “That’s not gonna happen, DiDi. You know Garrett, he’s a big softie under all of that hockey gear. You just have to be honest, okay? Go with your heart—and he loves you, DiDi. He may deny it whenever anyone asks, or teases him about it, but I see it in his eyes. You’re it for him.”
You sniffle, and Hannah wipes your tears away, before dragging you out to the dance floor. You giggle as she twirls you around, and for a moment, all of your worries are gone.
Until a week later, when you’re sat in front of Garrett, sitting on his bed in one of his t-shirts and baby pink sleep shorts. “We need to talk,” You say abruptly, and he pokes his head out from his closet, turning around to face you in only Calvin Klein boxers and messy curls.
“What’s up?”
You nibble your bottom lip, already nervous, and fiddle with your fingers. “Can you sit down? It’s important,”
Garrett nods, moving from the closet to his bed, sitting down next to you and taking one of your hands between both of his. “Baby, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“I’m pregnant,” You blurt.
Garrett’s brows furrow, and he goes stiff beside you. You hate that you can feel the change in his body from the way that his thumb has stopped rubbing the back of your hand.
“I’m pregnant,” You repeat, quieter now, but Garrett’s ears still pick it up. “Please say something,” You sigh, voice shaking with nervousness.
“Are you sure it’s mine?”
His words hit you like a slap in the face, and you pull your hand away from his grip. “What?”
“I mean, are you sure it’s mine? I’m trying to make sure you’re not baby trapping me—”
You stand up from the bed, angry now, “Baby trap you? Are you fucking serious Garrett?”
He stands up now too, crossing his arms over his chest, “What? It’s a very reasonable question to ask! We’re just fucking around, I didn’t ask to be a father!”
“And you think I asked to be a mother?” You yell, scoffing as you wrap your arms protectively around yourself, “I can’t even believe the words that are coming out of your mouth right now! ‘Just fucking around’? You tell me that you love me, Garrett! You call me baby, you-you cuddle me, you take care of me!”
“You say that too! You do those things too!” He exclaims, eyes widening as he extends his arms towards you as to prove a point.
“We’re not ‘just fucking around’,” You mutter, “we’re practically dating, and you know it.” You go to leave his room, but he grabs your arm, “DiDi, we’re not done with this conversation—”
“Ow—let me go, Garrett, you’re hurting me!”
Those three words feel like a punch to Garrett’s heart. He swallows, letting you go, but his eyes are pained.
You’re hurting me.
As soon as you leave, Garrett flops back down onto his bed. He lifts his arm above his head, tears beginning to sting at his waterline as he stretches and bends his fingers. The fingers that had just gripped your arm, so tense with confusion and irritation and anger that he had squeezed you hard enough to hurt you.
He never wanted to hurt you.
You’re hurting me.
Your words echo in his head. “Fuck,” He chokes out, sniffling as he turns on his side, trying to sleep.
He’s going to be a father.
As he drifts to sleep, on your side of the bed, all he can think about is your words—you’re hurting me—and the fact that he’ll probably be like his father.
Sick. Quick tempered.
MONTH THREE
It’s been a week since you told Garrett.
A week since he accused you of baby trapping. Since he had accidentally squeezed you too hard—the bruise was fading on your forearm—and looked at you after you had said those words—you’re hurting me—like he was a scared little boy.
God, you missed him. Missed his laugh, the way he laughed with his whole body, his smile, the dimples on his cheeks, the scar on his abdomen from where he had donated a kidney when he was in high school.
It’s only been a week, and he had already missed so much. The first ultrasound. The day that you popped, which Allie eagerly took a picture of as she suggested baby names and nursery themes, and the day that you got your first craving: a dill pickle, hollowed out, stuffed with cream creese, Takis, and popcorn.
You had asked Tucker to make the craving on the down low—and when he got suspicious, you spilled your guts to him. You told him about the pregnancy, the argument with Garrett, but left out the part where Garrett had accidentally hurt you—it wasn’t important. You knew he hadn’t meant to do it—he would never hurt you, or anyone he loves.
You had also sworn Tucker to secrecy—no telling Logan, and especially not Dean. If Dean knew, he would flip, and he would flip even more if he knew that Garrett had practically kicked you to the curb.
The doorbell outside of your dorm room rings, and you grin, squealing excitedly—you had been waiting for Tucker to bring you your newest craving, which he had to make in secret and also secretly bring it to your dorm. Coconut popsicles wrapped in Fruit Roll-Ups, dipped in Juicy Drop Pop syrup.
You open the door, and your face falls. Instinctively, you go to cover your stomach, the small curve of it visible underneath your butter yellow tank top.
Phil Graham stands at your door, a hardened expression on his face as he looms over you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “So the rumors are true,” He says quietly, glancing down at your stomach, “my son knocked up the Di Laurentis slut.”
“Excuse me?” You scoff, hand gripping the doorknob as you stand somewhat behind it, preparing yourself to shut the door and lock it, if necessary.
Phil says nothing, just looks down at you with disgust, before pulling a hand out from his pocket and shoving a piece of paper into your chest—not hard enough to hurt, but it’s enough to make sure that you’re intimidated by him.
You’re not.
Garrett has told you about him. The things that he did, the things that he said, the bruises he’s left. But it didn’t make you scared, it made you angry. For Garrett. For his mother. For your unborn child.
“Two million dollars,” He sneers, “for you to do one of two things: drop out of college and raise this baby on your own, moving far away from my son. Or get a fucking abortion, and never talk to my son again.”
He walks away before you can speak. As you stare down at the check, you don’t feel anything for it—you only feel anger.
You arrive at Hawks House in a record time—two minutes, considering it takes seven to get there, and stomp up the porch, ripping open the front door. “Where the fuck is Garrett?” You seethe, chest heaving as you glare at Tucker and Logan, who both point upstairs.
You stomp up to Garrett’s room and rip open that door, too, throwing the piece of paper at his sock-clad feet. “You told your dad? Are you fucking kidding me, Garrett?”
A look of confusion crosses Garrett’s dark features. “What are you talking about?” He picks up the piece of paper thrown at him, and his fingers grip it so hard it almost rips a hole through the check.
“He gave this to you?”
“Just now,” You laugh dryly, “you know, I knew you were angry about me being pregnant, but I never knew you would tell your father to pay me off to abort my baby.”
“You’re fucking pregnant?” A voice says from behind you—and it’s definitely not Garrett’s. You freeze as you turn to face your twin brother. Your mouth opens as shock washes over your features. “Deanie—”
Dean charges into Garrett’s room, seething with anger, and it’s like he doesn’t even see you. He goes straight for Garrett, punching him square in the jaw. “Dean!” You yelp, but he can’t hear you as he goes for Garrett’s ribs.
“You got my sister pregnant and then paid her to get an abortion? Are you fucking serious, man?” Dean yells, letting out a grunt as Garrett lands a punch back. Soon enough, the two boys are scrambling, throwing punches at each other until they’re both on the floor.
“A little help in here!” You yell for Tucker and Logan, who quickly hurry up the stairs, both of them letting out a synchronized “oh, shit” as Tucker goes to pull Dean off of Garrett and Logan pulls Garrett out from under Dean.
There’s blood splattered across the wooden floors of Garrett’s room, seeping into the cracks between the panels, and you feel sick. You can’t tell whose it is, but there’s so much of it.
Ten minutes later, the blood has been cleaned up, Garrett and Dean have been separated, and you’re sitting on the bathroom sink, Garrett standing between your legs as you clean the dried blood from his face.
Garrett sighs softly as he continues to stare at you—your lips are parted, tongue poking out slightly as you focus, chest moving up and down as you breathe. “I’m sorry,” He says gruffly, his hands gripping the edge of the sink, “for what I said. About the baby. And for hurting you. I—I never meant to—”
Your breath hitches, and you try to ignore his words by saying, “This is gonna sting,” before you press a cotton ball to his sliced open cheekbone. He hisses, groaning as he white knuckles the counter and drops his head to your chest. You freeze, and so does he, before nuzzling himself deeper into your cleavage.
“Garrett!” You squeal, trying to pull him away, but he whines in protest. “These things are so soft…” He murmurs, “is there milk in them already?”
You flick the back of his neck. “Don’t be weird.”
He just hums, smiling against your skin, before lifting his head so you can keep attending to his wounds. His eyes are half-lidded as he continues to stare at you with a dopey smile. “I’m gonna do good by you,” He says seriously, one of his hands moving from the sink to hold yours, which was resting on top of your growing bump, “and this kid. When I turn twenty-two, I get access to a trust made by my grandparents—it’s got enough for us to live off of, baby. Us and the kid, on a giant piece of land in the outskirts of Boston.”
“Garrett…” You say softly, “you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend, you know.”
He stands up straight, puffs out his chest, and then grips your cheeks, squishing them so your mouth is in a pout. You giggle at his serious expression as he says your full name, before adding, “will you be my girlfriend?”
You nod, a grin on your face, and lean in to kiss him. “Yes,” You say simply.
Garrett pumps his fist in the air before returning the kiss, mumbling against your lips, “When’s your due date?”
“January,” You respond, letting him pick you up and take you to his bedroom.
Garrett’s birthday is January 1st.
a/n (again) ⠀♱ splitting this up into two parts because tumblr only allows for 10 pics and my dividers count as pictures…
Summary: the times where people thought you and garrett are dating and the one time where you two are official
Warnings: friends to lovers, written on my phone
You and Garrett have been friends since you two met in the tour of Briar U during your senior year of high school. The two of you kept in touch since you were going to be history majors together. You two spent so much time together, that everyone thinks you’re dating. From strangers to your closest friends are absolutely convinced that you are a couple. The first time you were confused for a couple was freshman year, the spring semester.
You were already seated for class talking to the girl next to you when Garrett placed a drink and pastry from Starbucks on your desk.
“Your favorite as always.” Garrett said as he sits down next to you.
“Thank you, Gare Bear.” You say.
“Do you always do that?” The girl next you asked Garrett.
“Every morning.” Garrett said proudly.
“Damn, I wish my boyfriend was like yours, Y/N.” The girl commented.
“Oh we’re not…” you and Garrett began to say before the professor came in and started the class.
The second time was when Garrett invited you to Malone’s to meet his teammates.
The two of you walked in together, Garrett’s arm was around your shoulder and he introduced you.
“Hey guys, this is Y/N.” Garrett said.
“Nice to finally meet the girlfriend! Garrett talks about you nonstop.” The blonde one said.
“Dean.” Garrett scolded.
“What? I can’t tell your girlfriend how much you love her?” Dean asked in a teasing tone.
“Im not his girlfriend, actually. I’m his best friend.” You corrected.
“I thought I was your best friend, G.” The brunette said, giving Garrett puppy dog eyes.
“You are, Logan. She’s my best girl friend.” Garrett said, putting the emphasis on friend.
“Either way, it’s nice to meet you, Y/N, you should come watch our games.” Tucker said.
And watch their games you did. You always wore Garrett’s jersey and even face painted the number 44 on your cheek. You weren’t a sports fan, but you were a Garrett fan so you were going to show your support.
On the bench, Garrett spotted you in the stands and smiled, shaking his head and laughing as he sees you be so extra.
“And he says they’re not dating.” Dean whispered to Tucker while pointing at where you are.
“Boys and girls can be just friends you know.” Tucker commented.
“Not in my experience, Tuck.” Dean said.
“That’s because your a manslut.” Logan chimed in.
“Who was talking to you?!?” Dean exclaimed, offended by Logan’s jab.
After the game, Briar won 6-4 and you were waiting for Garrett at the door of the building. You spotted the boys carrying their duffel bags and you walked to them.
“Congratulations boys, that was an amazing game. Gare Bear, you were FLYING out there!” You hugged him.
“Gare Bear?” Logan asked.
“Yes. Why?” You asked.
“Are you sure you two are not dating?” Dean asked.
“We’re not dating!” Garrett exclaimed.
“I don’t know bro, that nickname sounded too cute and cuddly for it to be a nickname between friends.” Tucker commented.
“Moving on, you coming to Malone’s with us?” Garrett asked.
“Of course! I was waiting for you guys, let’s go.
Sophomore year, the boys got the hockey house.
“Garrett, whats this in the pantry?” Dean asked, taking out a bag of (whatever snack you like).
“Those are for Y/N when she comes over.” Garrett said.
“That’s sweet. It’s almost like you’re dating.” Dean teased.
“We are friends, Dean.” Garrett reminded him.
“Then you won’t mind if I take one of her snacks?” Dean asked.
“You do that, and you’re paying for it.” Garrett lightly threatened. Dean held his hands up in surrender.
You and Garrett are now at the mall for Christmas shopping and Garrett was carrying your shopping bags.
“You sure that’s not too heavy, Gare?” You asked him and Garrett chuckled.
“Baby, I’m offended of the question. You always know I can carry your bags. What’s next on the list?” Garrett asked.
“Nothing actually, we got everything. I may need a Christmas outfit, but I’ll just ask Allie to help me with that.” You said.
“Babe, I can help you with that.” Garrett said.
“If you insist. You sure you don’t want to put it on the car?” You asked.
“Y/N, it’s fine. Where do you want to go for your Christmas outfit?” Garrett asked.
“There’s a Macy’s, we can go in there.” You said.
“Then let’s go.” Garrett said.
They entered Macys and you went to the Junior’s section and started picking out the clothes that were in your size and your style. Garrett waited for you in the chairs outside the fitting room and then you came out with the first outfit on.
“What do you think?” You asked.
“You look great.” Garrett said truthfully. You can wear a trash bag and he’ll still think you’re beautiful.
“Thanks Garrett, should I get it?” You asked.
“You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Garrett said, knowing how you are.
“You’re right.” You said and went back in the fitting room to change.
“Wow, can I just say you two have the healthiest relationship I have ever seen working here.” The female employee told Garrett.
“Thank you, but we’re not dating.” Garrett said.
“Oh sorry, I just assumed because of the way you two look at each other. Anyway, hope she finds everything she’s looking for.”
“Thank you.” Garrett said and you came out. “Ready to pay?”
“Yep let’s go.” You said.
Sophomore year, spring semester.
You were having lunch in the dining hall with Garrett and his housemates. You were talking about how Dean burned the lasagna.
“He forgot to put a timer on the lasagna so we had to order takeout because of how charred it was.” Tucker said.
“Okay, that was an accident and I already apologized.” Dean said. You laughed at the story but then checked your phone.
“Shit, I have class in 10 minutes, I gotta go.” You said, getting your bag and trash to throw it out.
“You want me to walk with you?” Garrett asked.
“It’s okay, Gare Bear, just put ny tray away, okay?” You asked and Garrett nodded. “Perfect, I’ll see you later, love you.” You said before pecking his lips. You were going to pull away out Garrett brought his hand to your chin to keep you there to kiss you a little while longer. “Gare, I’m gonna be late.”
“Fine, I’ll see you later.” Garrett said.
“Bye guys.” You waved goodbye and left the dining hall. But dean and the Johns didn’t say goodbye to you because their jaws were on the floor.
“When did that happen?!?” Logan exclaimed.
“I thought you wet just friends?!?” Dean asked.
“You have some explaining to do, mister.” Tucker said and Garrett laughed.
“We became a thing on Valentine’s Day.” Garrett answered.
“Two months?!?” His housemates exclaimed.
“You’ve been dating for 2 months?” Tucker asked.
“Yep.” Garrett answered.
“About time.” Logan said.
“Yeah, I can’t believe it took me so long to see it.” Garrett said.
“Yeah, you are completely blind. You took a shower before you went out with her. Every. Single. Time.” Dean emphasized.
“No to mention you kept extra blankets in the living room in case she got cold.” Tucker said.
“The point is I realized I wanted to date her before someone else did.” Garrett said.
“And we are so glad you did.” Logan said, patting Garrett on the back.
𑣲 ✉️ DIARY OF A SHORT PERSON ᰋ garrett graham x !reader 𝄞 blurb . fluffy. #shittiest thing i’ve written in a while but i need to empty out my drafts.
its not that your short, its the fact that garrett is way too damn tall.
and so it started when he began leaving the shared mugs on the highest shelves in the kitchen because obviously his tall frame is face to face with them, so to him it’s completely normal. conveniently ignoring the fact that you cannot reach them without climbing onto the counter just to grab your everyday dishes.
you’d be standing on the counter at eight in the morning, one hand braced against the cabinet, muttering curses under your breath while stretching for your own damn coffee mug.
and he’d walk in, scratching his jaw, watching you like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
“need help?” he’d ask, just to be annoying, already knowing the answer.
“no.”
or whenever he used your car for a quick trip to the store and changed the rearview mirror and seat positioning, completely ignoring the fact that you weren’t built the same way. every single time you got in afterward, you’d have to scoot the seat forward inch by inch, adjusting everything with a glare he wasn’t even there to witness.
the cherry on top was the shower head.
you let out an annoyed groan, your neck craning awkwardly under the spray, and shoved a towel around yourself before storming out of the shared bathroom. steam followed behind you, curling dramatically into the bedroom.
garrett looked up from where he was stretched out on the bed, scrolling on his phone before he looks up.
sometimes he genuinely thought he might meet god when he angered you.
because there you were with crazy damp hair, flushed skin, furious expression and somehow that only made you look more breathtaking.
“you changed it again,” you snapped.
to say he had the audacity to blink innocently. “changed what?”
“fucking everything. my car, the shower head—” your hands gestured wildly, punctuating every word. you were on a roll now, a full-blown rant about his complete and utter disregard for your spatial existence.
he, on the other hand, had let the phone fall beside him. he was hearing approximately none of it.
he was mesmerized.
watching the way your cherry lips formed each furious word. the way your cheeks flushed deeper the more worked up you got. the way you stood there, wrapped in a towel, glaring at him
he felt the primal urge to grab you and swallow you whole with kisses. to shut you up in the best way possible.
shit, there was something wrong with him. finding this attractive when he should be at least slightly concerned for his life.
“—and i swear to god, gar, if you leave one more mug that fucking high, i’m going to—”
he didn’t let you finish.
he stood, crossed the small distance between you, and framed your face with both hands before pressing a firm, deliberate kiss to your mouth, cutting you off mid sentence.
for a second, you were too stunned to react, hands still frozen mid gesture.
then you melted against him, like you do every single time, your anger dissolving into the warmth of his mouth.
he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks.
you blinked, breath still uneven, eyes still blazing. “you can’t just kiss me when i’m mad at you.”
“why not?” he murmured, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “it works.”
he leaned in again, slower this time, brushing a kiss at the corner of your mouth.
“i’ll fix everything,” he continued grinning. “starting right now.”
his hand drifted to your side, poking you lightly. you jolted with a soft squeak.
“focus,” you muttered, swatting him away, but there was no real heat left in your voice.
“i am focused,” he replied, not looking away from you once. his gaze softened. “completely focused on you.”
he kissed you again, slower, softer this time just enough to make your knees weaken, before pulling away and heading toward the bathroom.
“gonna go fixing your shower,” he called over his shoulder as he passed you, giving your ass a light pat, leaving you standing there in the lingering steam, trying to regain whatever composure you had left.
Summary: after a nasty fall on the ice, you return many months later to find out a certain hockey player’s stolen your usual slot.
Where in Garrett Graham collides with you and your whole world falls down.
Warnings: shitty mother. slut shaming, bullying, complicated family relationships, over controlling parent. Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Competitive sports environment. Reader hates hockey players. Skating inaccuracies most probably.
- Series masterlist - Previous part -
**no longer doing taglists**
The tight pull of your muscles does well to distract you from the pain tingling through your left hip. You’d fallen three times during practice this morning, your mother’s gaze burning the back of your head as she watched over you in the broadcasters booth. The closest place she’s allowed to you in the sports centre. You’re lucky she’s doesn’t know how to navigate the control panel and shout through the speakers at your pathetic attempt of jumps. She’s banned for a reason, but even your coach Alina can’t stop the ice queen showing up. They think you’re cold, they haven’t met your mother. Not like you know her. In public, in practice her words are softened and come across as strict. In private, the ice queen’s tongue is sharper than a blade and it cuts deep.
You know why she’s appeared after weeks of silence. She’s seen the gossip page, left you numerous messages and voicemails about her opinions on the source and you. There’s only so much dodging you can do, ignoring her just manifests her quicker. You might have managed to sneak through a side exit, but you can’t escape your mother who waits outside of your dorm room later on. Her head turns to you as soon as you round the corner, there’s no way out now. The corridor narrows, walls pressing in as you walk towards her. You’re convinced the temperature drops and the lights dim the closer you get. She’s good at snuffing out the light. Her gaze weighs heavy on you, dark eyes raking up and down your form, settling on your hip. You straighten up, chin lifting as you try not to seem like you’re falling apart. The visible raised patch of a bandage showing beneath your leggings. Weak.
Her silence stretches out time and space. The clink of your key rings and the lock clicking open has you holding your breath. Waiting for your mother to raise her voice as soon as she steps over the threshold of your safe space. Not so comforting right now though. She dumps her handbag on the coffee table, thud of leather falling to the hard surface. You’re waiting, back pressed against the closed door, keys clutched in your hand, metal biting into your palm. The strap of your sports duffle bag digs into your shoulder, but you’re too focussed on minimising your mother’s anger. It’s best to let her speak first, instead of digging yourself a deeper hole.
“How could you be so fucking reckless,” she snaps, flinging a stack of papers in your direction. They hit your chest and scatter on the floor around your scuffed sneakers. “I taught you better than, this.” She jabs a pointed nail to the ground in your eye-line and you flinch at the sudden movement.
Your tongue heavy, mouth dry as you stare at the photos and comments your mother’s printed out. Slut underlined with red ink. Your vision blurs, eyes stinging and you can’t stop staring at the ink bleeding below that word.
“I knew this would be a mistake. You should be training with me like I planned.” You hear her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, her shadow pacing up and down.
“No,” you shake your head, meeting your mother’s narrowed gaze. “I’m seeing this through, it’s just gossip. People trying to tear me down. I can handle it,” you say, crouching down and collecting the papers. If you could deal with the ice queen, this was nothing.
She scoffs. “What whoring around with some meathead hockey player?” She raises an arched brow, flicking the handle of her bag over the zipper. “His father’s not much better, don’t want to get involved with them Grahams.” Her lip curls at the mention of them.
You want to think her last statements a way to smooth over her brandishing you a whore, but she’s never been one to soften her judgement of you. Too weak, too lazy. Whatever she thought of you, she said it. You need thicker skin when dealing with judges and spectators.
“End it now or I will,” she says and you don’t doubt that she will follow up the warning. “That coach in Russia’s still chasing me, don’t make me answer their call.”
The same academy your mother trained, a shiver crawls up your spine at the thought of being shipped off to Russia and your mother breathing down your neck. Her eyes wander to the scar in your hairline, you don’t know how, but she manages to make your injury feel like a weakness too. A foolish mistake that could have been fixed if you were more dedicated to your craft. You’d drowned her out during your time in the hospital, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and wondering if it’d cave in on you and knock you out again. Anything to stop her picking you apart.
There’s still moments you don’t remember from the fall. You’ve seen the photos, lived through the consistent burn of pain clinging to the scar. The tightness of your flesh stapled together till a scab formed over the gash. Headaches come and go, a side effect of a traumatic head injury. Your mother cannot be erased though, least she can’t hurt you anymore than usual. You’re used to it, whether you deserve it or not.
“That hit to the head should have knocked some sense into you to make better choices,” she says, walking to the kitchenette and peering into the half empty fridge. “Maybe a check up will help.”
“I don’t need a checkup, I need to focus on practice,” you say, closing the fridge before she can reprimand you on the contents inside, which were not yours, but your roommates. Your mother would probs end up making you go through some rehabilitation centre and think that time there would lead you back to her.
“I have a double ballet class, so you need to leave,” you lie. You’ve got a couple of hours to kill before the hockey game and you’re hoping for a soak in the bath before you squeeze in some studying.
She stops in front of you, hand grasping your chin and tilting your head up to meet her gaze. “I’m only trying to do what’s best for you, you understand right?” Her thumb presses harder to your jaw.
You curl your fists by your side, key digging into your palm again. The papers falling to the ground, the photo of Garrett carrying you through the corridor is all you can see as you avoid your mother’s glare. You nod unable to summon to a simple yes.
“That’s my girl,” she says, hands slipping from your face and she pats your cheek. “Work on that form, getting sloppy with those jumps.”
The door slams in your face, your bag dropping off your shoulder and hanging from your elbow. You stumble to the side, placing your duffle in your designated spot by the entrance. You toe off your sneakers, sliding them onto your labeled shelf.
…
Two hours later and the skating rink is more akin to a wrestling ring, there’s no escaping the earsplitting speakers of the broadcasting booth. The commentator you’re only source of help in trying to understand the game and the sport. Half you can’t hear though, the buzz in your ears muffling the noise around you. You’ve never done well in crowded spaces or loud ones for that matter. It’s not the same as figure skating, no silence awaiting the music setting the scene or your routine. You love the last few seconds after the songs cut off, nothing but your heavy breaths and rise of your chest grounding you in the moment. For a moment you’re aware of your whole body, arms softening their hard edges as you let them fall down. Just you and the ice. Which is snapped away with a round of applause and the scratch of your blades cutting through the ice. The judges scores are watched from the screen in whatever waiting area you’re guided to. You might share the same rink, but it’s nothing like hockey.
Another player slams against the barrier, boos erupting through the stands. You’re balanced on the edge of the plastic chair, the person behind you hitting their hand on the back of your seat in protest. Garrett’s escorted to the benches, his helmet still on, but he looks over his shoulder and you’re convinced he’s searching the crowds for you.
You didn’t meet him before the game or wish him good luck, which he asked you to do. No, you waited till the hoards of supporters were in their seats before you even entered the sports centre. The nearest space at the back of the stands and a concrete column that restricts your view. You see Garrett, crystal clear through the scratched plexiglass. How can you not? Everyone’s looking at him pacing the small space, his hockey stick thrown to the ground as he finally takes a seat.
A losing game, the hockey match. Hopefully not your forced relationship with the captain of the team. Garrett’s gonna be pissed and you’re not sure you want to be around him whilst he’s moody. You’ve heard of the team’s losing traditions, party hard and drink to forget it for the night. Let loose, sleep with the first girl that gravitates towards them.
You smell the stale hotdog stand before it wheels around the back of the elevated stands. The greasy food you’ve caved into once or twice, the first semester you were no longer under your mother’s controlling hand. You’d done many firsts, maybe a few lasts too. Garrett would need to be a first and a last. No hanging around, clean cut from him as soon as your reputations were good.
Long after the final buzzer and the crowds dispersed, you’re still in your seat. Fingers curled over the plastic seat, your canvas bag slumped against the back of your legs and you watch the resurfacing machine go back and forth. You wave back as the rinks caretaker notices you in the stands, the flashing orange lights oddly calming after the roar of disappointed supporters shook your core. So much noice, you can hear the echoes of bodies crashing with the wall and you trace the scar in your hairline. You wonder how Garrett can even survive the high contact sport when you can barely pick yourself up after a fall. You wonder if he’s tearing apart the dressing room or drinking his frustrations away. He’s probably back at the house with the boys, doing what they do best. Partying.
You still can’t believe you’re doing this. So you reach under your seat and pull out your bag, remove the worn skates as you rise from the stands and walk towards the players bench. You linger as if Garrett’s still sitting there with you as you shove your black leg warmers on, some sort of lucky charm you wear for practice. You lace up your boots, slipping the guards off your blade and setting them with your bag on the bench.
The silence amplifies the pump of blood in your ears and the trembling breath you exhale as you step onto the. No one to watch you, no one to judge and you skate. You tap the button on the side of your earphones and let the music flow through you. No routine, no expectations.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
The tension slides away as Garrett re-enters the stands, his shoulders dropping and jaw relaxing at the sight of you landing some sort of jump. He’s never seen you this focussed, it’s not forced or rigid like you’re shared practices. Like you’re performing for yourself and no one else. He remains on the edges, leaning against the opening of the aisles of seats his hands shoved in his pocket. The duffle bag slung over his shoulder weighs heavy on him, but he doesn’t want to move let alone breath. As if his sudden movement will spook you. You’re breath taking. The fluttering fabric of your skirt merges with your fluid movements. You’re the complete opposite of him, full of grace and light. Garrett’s sure he’s full poison, a darkness he doesn’t want to latch on to others. That itching beneath his skin he can’t quite scratch away, it remains and he tries not to acknowledge it.
You’ve got that same cropped athletic black jacket, the stand up collar zipped all the way up and curling against the column of your throat. And then he realises it’s eight, your usual practice time. He waits around, half hidden in the low light entrance, you’re either moving too fast or too entranced to notice his presence. He wonders what you think of his game or if you even turned up. His phone vibrates in his pocket and peeks at the chain of texts pinging through the group chat. Mostly the guys telling him not to fuck you in their stalls in the dressing room and hurry up to party once you finish, because that’s more important. Garrett tries not to think of you like that, it’s not in the contract and he’d never force nor expect that of you. That and he’s never once heard of you being in a relationship. You seem to be more interested in skating than finding a partner.
It’s nearing nine when he approaches you on the ice. Garrett calls out your name, his steps slow and measured on the slippery surface, but you don’t react. You’re halfway across the rink, gaze flitting to your boots before you’re close to him again and bending your knees to jump. He knows that stance, he’s watched you do this one move four times this past hour.
“Hey!” Garrett yells, your blades hit the ice too soon and you fall. Hip slamming to the ground and your forearm and elbow along with it. “Shit, I’m sorry.” His voice trembles, his knees sinking to the ice beside you. He notice the earphones, the sharp intake of breath as you sit up too quickly.
Garrett puts his palm on your back, you lean into the gesture and tear the earphone from one ear. Your mouth opens and then closes, eyes roaming his face as if you’re searching for something you can’t quite place.
“Did you hit your head?” His other hand reaches for your head, but you shove him away. It happened so fast, a blink of an eye and you were down. He’s not sure if your head took a hit.
“No, did you?” You snap, smoothing the sheer skirt over your leggings. So you did watch the game. He didn’t think you would since you didn’t show up in the dressing room earlier.
He can’t help, but chuckle. Looks like it’ll take a while to thaw out that ice heart of yours. “Yeah, that’s what the helmets for,” he says, pushing the wet curls out his face. Your eyes follow the movement, a sheen of sweat on your forehead and you wipe it off with the cuff your sleeve.
“Surprised you’ve still got your teeth, Puckhead.” You flash him smile, brows raising as his lips twitch at the edges. He’s growing to like the nickname you think is an insult.
“Okay ice princess,” Garrett says, standing up and offering you a hand. “We’ve got a party to go to.”
You hesitate, glancing to his outstretched hand and his face. The walls of ice you build around you, thick and he’s trying to pick away at it a little each time he’s around you. Your palm meets his and he pulls you up, a hovering hand at you back as you find some balance. He stays half a step behind you, splinters of ices clinging to your leggings and sleeve on your left side. There’s a slight edge to your presence today, words cutting like blades on ice. Somethings bothering you and he sees it in the raised shoulders and straight spine. He’s spent a lifetime reading Phil’s body language and anticipating his mood swings. Garrett’s not sure how hard he can push, doesn’t think he has the right to interfere in your life, but he knows that long held mask is beginning to slip. There’s only so much you can withstand.
Garrett waits at the bench as you unlace your skates, sliding the guards back over your blades like a ritual. You’re gentle, particular as you stuff your black leg warmers inside the boots followed by the laces. The large canvas bag holds a boot bag, your name stitched on the soft leather like liquid mercury, it shines in the light. He picks up your bag as you slip on your heeled boots. Your gloves stay on and by the looks of the contents in your bag you’re going to this party in your practice clothes. Your purse, phone and earphones resting on top of your boots bag.
“I can carry that.” You reach for your bag, but he swerves out of the way and you huff. “Is this what dedicated boyfriends do then? Do girlfriends do this?” You link your arm with his, tugging him back to match your steps and he sways into you.
Have you never let in anyone in? Never trusted someone enough to let them do these simple acts for you?
He leans down, voice lowering. “Ohh yeah, you wanna know what else they do?” He waits a beat for you to shake your head. “They give you a ride after practice.”
“I’m not sleeping with you Graham.”
Garrett doesn’t laugh, he’s made it obvious that he doesn’t expect that of you, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to say no if you ask him to.
“Well it’s not part of the contract,” Garrett says, his gaze watching you in the reflection of the exit door. He holds it open so you can step out first, your arm falling from his.
The car ride to off campus is quiet, the mumble of the radio not holding either of your attentions. You’re staring out the window, your bag clutched in your lap and he can’t stop glancing to you every now and then. Your knees pointed to the passenger door as if you’re ready to escape as soon as the car stops. Garrett’s never seen you off campus or any other house parties. He knows your friend, Senna. She’s hard to miss and she frequents the parties like she’s networking. Nothing like you. No you’re a mystery.
Garrett pulls up by the house, he leans on the steering wheel and angles his body to you giving you a moment to take it in. He’s glad the guys cleared all the stuff off the lawn and the porch. It’s too early for the party to begin, an opportunity to let you settle in with all the guys and hang about during the actual crowds after. The perfect time to act like a couple and convince every one you are together.
“Ready, Puckhead?” You don’t glance back at him as you open the car door. As if he’s the one that needed a moment and not you. The mask readjusted, you’re sizing up the house and plotting.
“An hour to meet guys before the real party starts and another to play the part for everyone else,” Garret says, slipping the strap off your bag off your shoulder and carrying it for you. He leads you up the stairs and to the porch, the front door ajar and he kicks it open gently.
The guys cheer at your arrival, Dean lifting a bottle of beer in the air. Logan pausing mid bite and Tucker nearly dropping the baking tray in his hands on the floor, but he catches it and the contents on top. Your chin lifts and your shoulders push back, Garrett calls it your armour. Slightly unapproachable, but the smile pulling your lips softens your harsh features. He thinks you should smile at him more often.
“Gonna go put our bags upstairs,” Garrett says, kissing your temple and giving you a reassuring nudge to his friends. He hears Tucker’s voice first as he’s half way up the stairs, thankful that he’s the one to greet you first.
When he returns to the living room he’s surprised, you’re helping Tucker plate up some of his food for party. He keeps his distance watching you talk to his friend with an ease he’s not familiar with. You even touch his arm as you laugh at a joke, an arm curls around Garrett’s shoulder and he knows it’s Dean.
“Took you long enough, G,” Dean says, releasing him from his hold and taking a sip of his beer. He doesn’t stick around long, a girl leading him to the sofa.
Logan throws him a can of beer and he catches it, popping it open and taking a gulp. He mouths a “good catch.” And Garrett’s not sure if he means you or the beer or both.
A few more people arrive and Garrett finds himself gravitating towards the kitchen and you. You’ve stuck to the same alcohol free beer, not once putting it down. If he’s not got his arm around you, his arms brushing against yours. The gloves you wore earlier are sticking out your jacket pocket and the zipper of your jacket is lowered, offering a slither of skin of your chest. Your palm runs up and down his back unprompted whenever he’s lost in his head. The game loss still hanging over him as captain. He’s sure you realise it too, he doesn’t question you guiding him through the crowd and into the free space on the sofa. Your hands land on his shoulders and he looks up at you as you sit on his lap. This is not how expected the evening to go, your lips tracing the side of his face, hot breath fanning against the shell of his ear.
“Shall we seal this contract with a kiss Captain?” You whisper, pulling back to look at him once again. Your hands slide over his shoulders and up to his face, he almost shivers at your light feathery touch. He reminds himself it’s all an act, a role to play, but the way you spoke to him drew him in.
Maybe this deal wouldn’t be so bad.
It didn’t matter what else was going on around him, Garrett edged closer and nudged his nose to yours. His lips pressing against yours and one of his hands finds your cheek, the other slipping up the outer side of your thigh, his finger tracing the raised patch beneath your legging on your hip. You pull away, gaze darting around his face as if warning him not to ask. He pats your thigh, his hands guiding you off his lap and you stand, stumbling back as he rises from the sofa.
“Wanna go upstairs?” Garrett shouts over the thumping music, a few people turn to watch the two of you wade through the crowd. His hand in yours, the people part out of his way and he stops at the stairs, his fingers catching the raised skin on your palm as you let get of his hand. Maybe that’s why you’ve been wearing gloves and standing to one particular side of him all night. He’d felt the rough scratch of your palm against his cheek, but was too distracted with the kiss to get a look at it.
You stop at the top of the landing, moving aside as Garrett shows you his room. The door clicks shut, but you’re inspecting the band poster on his wall near his desk. Not many girls look beyond him in his room, but you’re trying to piece together who is.
“Are you hurt?” Garrett asks, eyeing the cooling bandage on your hip. He knows, he’s used them too on himself after bad games. Could feel the cold gel beneath the padded bandage.
You nod, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, I’ll be alright. Nothing I can’t handle. Just need to stop falling,” you say, a sharp intake of air furrowing your brows and wrinkling your nose as you shifted your weight on the bed. Garrett’s a master of passing off pain as not a big deal, they’re bruises to him and they will fade. Athletes try not to get hurt, but being careful gets in the way of the game, the routine. Sometimes risks are better, no matter the pain.
Garrett hums, sitting down beside you and taking your hand in his and turning your palm up. “What about this?” He traces the fresh cut on the curve of your palm, you flinch and he instantly lets go. He doesn’t push, he’s done the same each time someone added any pressure on his injuries and why they sometimes seem to never fade before a fresh one blossoms.
“Says the one that got beat up on ice, huh Puckhead. Bet you’re in more pain than I am,” you say, snatching your hand away and cradling it in your lap.
He scoffs. “Didn’t realise we were competing,” he says, wondering if you’re the type to deflect your own pain because others have it worse.
“Oh you’re definitely winning that one,” you half laugh, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face away from him. “Sorry, heads a little tender,” you add, massaging that one spot by your hairline.
Garrett moves off the bed and rifles through his chest of drawers, throwing you a pair of his shorts and baggy band tee. He opens his closet door, half hidden behind it as he gives you privacy to change and he does the same. His jeans shoved down to this ankles, he steps out of them and kicks them into the bottom of the closet. He drapes his hoody over the rail and tugs the back of his T-shirt over his head.
“Garrett,” you gasp, he likes the way you say his name, but all he can focus on is your cold touch on his back. The pads of your fingers ghosting over his grazed skin. “Is it always like this after a game? Why would you do this?”
He shrugs regretting it, the tight pull of his skin stopping the movement. His flesh feels like it’s on fire, but you’re gentle with your inspection. Hands mapping out each curve of the muscles on his back, the hard to reach injuries he usually leaves to heal themselves. Sure girls noticed after a game, but they wanted something else, not that Garrett would complain. Sex was a welcome distraction from the pain.
“Used to it,” Garrett mumbles, he’s endured much worse.
You wave your hand at his reply, digging through your boot bag and the small compartment to pull out a small pouch. The numbing cream he’d given you placed on the floor where you crouched. You popped a couple pain pills into your palm and chased it with a bottled water from your bag, something about helping with your headache, but Garrett doesn’t question it.
The caps discarded and a blob of creams already on your fingertips before Garrett can persuade you he’s fine. “Let me at least help you like you did for me. This stuff did wonders for my ankle, plus you can’t reach half of these on your back.”
Garrett doesn’t say anything and you don’t either. He leans away from your touch as you add a little pressure, a gentle apology falling from your lips like a chant as you repeat it a few times. He’s never been treated with such softness and he doesn’t think he deserves it either, not from you anyways. He’s the reason you hurt your ankle in the first place.
“Better?”
He hears the cap snap back onto the tube of cream, his breath falters as he turns round and catches a glimpse of his baggy tee skimming your mid thighs. All he can do is nod, smile mirroring yours in thanks.
“We can share the bed,” you say, rolling the duvet back and kneeling in the mattress. “Stick to your side, Puckhead.” You point to his half, the slight dip of where he usually takes up space.
“You keep your hands to yourself,” he says, settling down in bed. He sleeps on his front, the duvet rolled back leaving his bare back exposed. His skin tingling as the numbing cream finally kicks in.
“In your dreams, Puckhead.”
Thanks for reading :) and all the lovely comments/reblogs on previous part I hoped you like it. I am dyslexic so there might be mistakes I miss when editing - Rowan
Summary: the times where people thought you and garrett are dating and the one time where you two are official
Warnings: friends to lovers, written on my phone
You and Garrett have been friends since you two met in the tour of Briar U during your senior year of high school. The two of you kept in touch since you were going to be history majors together. You two spent so much time together, that everyone thinks you’re dating. From strangers to your closest friends are absolutely convinced that you are a couple. The first time you were confused for a couple was freshman year, the spring semester.
You were already seated for class talking to the girl next to you when Garrett placed a drink and pastry from Starbucks on your desk.
“Your favorite as always.” Garrett said as he sits down next to you.
“Thank you, Gare Bear.” You say.
“Do you always do that?” The girl next you asked Garrett.
“Every morning.” Garrett said proudly.
“Damn, I wish my boyfriend was like yours, Y/N.” The girl commented.
“Oh we’re not…” you and Garrett began to say before the professor came in and started the class.
The second time was when Garrett invited you to Malone’s to meet his teammates.
The two of you walked in together, Garrett’s arm was around your shoulder and he introduced you.
“Hey guys, this is Y/N.” Garrett said.
“Nice to finally meet the girlfriend! Garrett talks about you nonstop.” The blonde one said.
“Dean.” Garrett scolded.
“What? I can’t tell your girlfriend how much you love her?” Dean asked in a teasing tone.
“Im not his girlfriend, actually. I’m his best friend.” You corrected.
“I thought I was your best friend, G.” The brunette said, giving Garrett puppy dog eyes.
“You are, Logan. She’s my best girl friend.” Garrett said, putting the emphasis on friend.
“Either way, it’s nice to meet you, Y/N, you should come watch our games.” Tucker said.
And watch their games you did. You always wore Garrett’s jersey and even face painted the number 44 on your cheek. You weren’t a sports fan, but you were a Garrett fan so you were going to show your support.
On the bench, Garrett spotted you in the stands and smiled, shaking his head and laughing as he sees you be so extra.
“And he says they’re not dating.” Dean whispered to Tucker while pointing at where you are.
“Boys and girls can be just friends you know.” Tucker commented.
“Not in my experience, Tuck.” Dean said.
“That’s because your a manslut.” Logan chimed in.
“Who was talking to you?!?” Dean exclaimed, offended by Logan’s jab.
After the game, Briar won 6-4 and you were waiting for Garrett at the door of the building. You spotted the boys carrying their duffel bags and you walked to them.
“Congratulations boys, that was an amazing game. Gare Bear, you were FLYING out there!” You hugged him.
“Gare Bear?” Logan asked.
“Yes. Why?” You asked.
“Are you sure you two are not dating?” Dean asked.
“We’re not dating!” Garrett exclaimed.
“I don’t know bro, that nickname sounded too cute and cuddly for it to be a nickname between friends.” Tucker commented.
“Moving on, you coming to Malone’s with us?” Garrett asked.
“Of course! I was waiting for you guys, let’s go.
Sophomore year, the boys got the hockey house.
“Garrett, whats this in the pantry?” Dean asked, taking out a bag of (whatever snack you like).
“Those are for Y/N when she comes over.” Garrett said.
“That’s sweet. It’s almost like you’re dating.” Dean teased.
“We are friends, Dean.” Garrett reminded him.
“Then you won’t mind if I take one of her snacks?” Dean asked.
“You do that, and you’re paying for it.” Garrett lightly threatened. Dean held his hands up in surrender.
You and Garrett are now at the mall for Christmas shopping and Garrett was carrying your shopping bags.
“You sure that’s not too heavy, Gare?” You asked him and Garrett chuckled.
“Baby, I’m offended of the question. You always know I can carry your bags. What’s next on the list?” Garrett asked.
“Nothing actually, we got everything. I may need a Christmas outfit, but I’ll just ask Allie to help me with that.” You said.
“Babe, I can help you with that.” Garrett said.
“If you insist. You sure you don’t want to put it on the car?” You asked.
“Y/N, it’s fine. Where do you want to go for your Christmas outfit?” Garrett asked.
“There’s a Macy’s, we can go in there.” You said.
“Then let’s go.” Garrett said.
They entered Macys and you went to the Junior’s section and started picking out the clothes that were in your size and your style. Garrett waited for you in the chairs outside the fitting room and then you came out with the first outfit on.
“What do you think?” You asked.
“You look great.” Garrett said truthfully. You can wear a trash bag and he’ll still think you’re beautiful.
“Thanks Garrett, should I get it?” You asked.
“You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Garrett said, knowing how you are.
“You’re right.” You said and went back in the fitting room to change.
“Wow, can I just say you two have the healthiest relationship I have ever seen working here.” The female employee told Garrett.
“Thank you, but we’re not dating.” Garrett said.
“Oh sorry, I just assumed because of the way you two look at each other. Anyway, hope she finds everything she’s looking for.”
“Thank you.” Garrett said and you came out. “Ready to pay?”
“Yep let’s go.” You said.
Sophomore year, spring semester.
You were having lunch in the dining hall with Garrett and his housemates. You were talking about how Dean burned the lasagna.
“He forgot to put a timer on the lasagna so we had to order takeout because of how charred it was.” Tucker said.
“Okay, that was an accident and I already apologized.” Dean said. You laughed at the story but then checked your phone.
“Shit, I have class in 10 minutes, I gotta go.” You said, getting your bag and trash to throw it out.
“You want me to walk with you?” Garrett asked.
“It’s okay, Gare Bear, just put ny tray away, okay?” You asked and Garrett nodded. “Perfect, I’ll see you later, love you.” You said before pecking his lips. You were going to pull away out Garrett brought his hand to your chin to keep you there to kiss you a little while longer. “Gare, I’m gonna be late.”
“Fine, I’ll see you later.” Garrett said.
“Bye guys.” You waved goodbye and left the dining hall. But dean and the Johns didn’t say goodbye to you because their jaws were on the floor.
“When did that happen?!?” Logan exclaimed.
“I thought you wet just friends?!?” Dean asked.
“You have some explaining to do, mister.” Tucker said and Garrett laughed.
“We became a thing on Valentine’s Day.” Garrett answered.
“Two months?!?” His housemates exclaimed.
“You’ve been dating for 2 months?” Tucker asked.
“Yep.” Garrett answered.
“About time.” Logan said.
“Yeah, I can’t believe it took me so long to see it.” Garrett said.
“Yeah, you are completely blind. You took a shower before you went out with her. Every. Single. Time.” Dean emphasized.
“No to mention you kept extra blankets in the living room in case she got cold.” Tucker said.
“The point is I realized I wanted to date her before someone else did.” Garrett said.
“And we are so glad you did.” Logan said, patting Garrett on the back.
read your harry potter book and im begging for a harry potter but the reader is a weasley - lots of love 💌
Not sure if this is what you wanted but I thought it was cute!
Summary: Your siblings read a letter sent from your boyfriend, Harry, and now they can't look at him the same way again.
Harry looked at you, confused, when no one came forward to give him a hug. Not even a smile was sent his way. You, out of your siblings' ray of vision, gave Harry wide eyes with a shake of your head, and slowly, his face turned into one of realisation.
Fred stepped forward, towering over Harry, his arms crossed over his chest. "Hi?" Shyly whispered Harry, looking up to make eye contact with your most protecting brother. "No. Not hi." They held eye contact for a moment longer before the sound of a stifled laughed was heard. Everyone turned to look at Ginny, who was now leaning on an armchair, pointing a finger at Fred and dying in silent fits of laughter.
"No Ginny! This isn't what we said would happen! You just ruined our entire plan!" He whined, turning away from Harry, then back towards him again. George approached the pair, and shook his head at your quite intimidated boyfriend. "I cannot believe you are dating our sibling." He plainly stated, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Sit."
He sat Harry down on the armchair Ginny had previously occupied. Ron ran from downstairs, yelling "Harry! Why didn't you tell me he was here?" He went over to give him a hug, but Fred, ever the one for dramatics, put an arm out to stop him. "Wh-" " Y/N and Harry have been together for half a year." George's simple words silenced him.
"Wha-Wait! You-I'm sorry?" Ron turned to look at the twins before averting his attention back to Harry. 'They didn't know?' he mouthed towards him. Harry shrugged, looking up at the three brothers. "Oh my Godric. How dare you date my twin and not make me aware of doing such thing?" Ron spoke with a monotone voice, his tone not convincing anyone in the room.
"You knew?" Fred and George screamed. "You didn't?" And what followed was a mush of words that made zero sense to you whatsoever. As the three were arguing, Harry looked over to you, grinning. He got out of the armchair and walked over to you. You ran over to him, to meet him half-way in a much-needed hug. "Hey." "Hi." You looked at him for a moment, arms still wrapped over his shoulders and smiled, before pressing your lips to his in a short kiss. "Happy birthday, by the way." He chuckled, shaking his head as Ron started yelling about a spider and the clatter that followed.
This came to me fresh out of the shower and it was so cute in my head I couldn't not write it.
Summary: You keep on telling Ron to just 'ask her out' so he challenges you to ask your crush since it's oh so easy. Somehow, you both end up with dates.
0.8k+ wc
"It's not that hard Ron, just ask her out!" You complained, sighing in annoyance. Your legs were swung over the side of an armchair in the living room of Sirius's parents' old house, holding your book in one hand, you index finger dipping into the middle of it so that you didn't lose the page you were on. You'd been reading, or rather, trying to read for the past hour, and for half of that time, Ron Weasley, one your best friends, sat right in front of you on the carpet, making shapes on it with his finger while whining about his silly crush on your other best friend.
"You'll never know if you don't ask her!" You added, opening your book once more, hoping he'd get the hint. Sirius and Remus sat on the couch amusedly, matching grins on their faces at your constant bickering. You reminded them of a young Sirius and Lily, with Lily trying to frustratedly get back to her book, telling Sirius to finally ask Remus out from pure annoyance. "Right well if it's so easy to just ask your best friend out, who you've had a crush on for years, why haven't you done it?" Your eyes widened at the comment, eyes pausing on the words on your page and you slowly looked up from the book at Ron's retort, mouth open in shock with your eyebrows raised as if to call him out for his audacity.
"Go ahead, if you're so brave. Ask him out and then I'll take your words seriously." You were painfully aware of the pairs of eyes glued to you as you clamped your mouth shut, eyes quickly glancing towards Remus and Sirius to confirm your suspicions. Their jaws were slack, their silence speaking volumes. You scoffed, putting your book aside and rolling your shoulders back. If there was one thing that would gain your old Professor and his epic boyfriend's approval, it would be this. You shot one last glare at Ron before clearing your throat, watching as his eyes widened in realisation.
"Hey Harry!" You called out cheerfully to the other side of the room where Harry was playing - and losing - a game of chess against George. Hermione and Fred watched their game, adding comments where necessary, but at the sound of your voice, all four of their heads snapped towards you. You had to will yourself not to look at any of their faces other than the boy you were talking to, instead continuing "What do you say we go to Hogsmeade together the weekend we get back at Hogwarts." You swallowed nervously, adding "Me and you." for good measure.
Your eyes trained on Harry, who nodded, smiling shyly as a blush painted his cheeks rosy. "Yeah, yeah of course." He looked back at the board before turning to you once more. "Wait as friends or-" You shook your head, abruptly cutting him off "No. Not-not as friends" You adjusted yourself on the armchair, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as Harry's face darkened even more, and he nodded again, stating "Yeah, I'd like that. Okay." You inhaled deeply, nodding your head with him as you felt your face heat up. "Okay." You grinned timidly, sinking into the chair before looking at your best friend, feeling giddy.
Without taking any time to recover, you raise your eyebrows at Ron, nodding your head in Hermione's direction. Cursing, Ron stood up from the floor, mumbling under his breath before mimicking your movements and calling out "Hermione?" When the girl looked up, her locks falling perfectly around her face with an expectant look on her face, he asked "Do you want to go out? With me?" He gulped loudly, observing as the girl's cheeks flushed darkly, a grin engulfing her features. "Sure, Ron." She replied, giggling at the end of her sentence. "Oh thank god!" He exclaimed, turning away from her immediately to collapse on the empty space on the couch behind him, clamping a hand over his heart.
A loud silence overtook the big room, with the exception of a "It's your turn, Harry." From George. You and Ron stared at each other, wide-eyed, before you finally said arrogantly. "I did it better." The reply from him came instantly "No the fuck you didn't. Me and You?" He mocked, his voice going exaggeratedly high pitched. "Uh, with me?" You imitated gruffly, ducking to avoid the pillow Ron threw at you. "Hey! You started it!" You shrieked, picking your book back up, promptly hiding your face in it to cover your flushing cheeks and excited smile.
"Holy shit." Sirius commented. "Look at them go." Remus hummed from beside him, ignorant to the fact you could hear them perfectly. "It only took you and James months of convincing each other to ask us out. Took them two minutes." On the other side of the room, Harry and Hermione shot each other excited looks, grinning at the loud conversation you had with Ron. "I think she did it better." Harry whispered, hitting his shoe against Hermione's. "Oh yeah, she definitely did."
Can I request anything Harry x reader?? There’s not a lot of fics for him and it’s such a struggle to find anything good, I love your writing so much so I will literally take anything lol
Long kisses, risky places - Harry Potter
You giggle, accepting the tickling kisses Harry leaves in a trail on your jawline and down to your neck. He shushes you quietly, yet there's a familiar smile on his face. Glancing upwards, you confirm that the dark corner of the library you're in is completely empty before strewing a hand in Harry's already messy hair, running your fingers through his soft locks. The booth you're squeezed in thankfully covers your bodies, so no one could see the way your legs are thrown over Harry's lap, or the way his hand is edging dangerously high up your skirt.
Harry's fingers lace through the colourful tie adorning your chest, and he tugs at it gently, bringing your face closer to his so he can press a gentle kiss on your lips. Your hands fall flat on the couch underneath you, pushing your body up to chase Harry's kiss when he begins to pull away. He grins, arms wrapping around your waist, and your hands link together behind his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. A happy laugh bubbles in your chest and you and Harry both freeze. Harry raises his head to glance above the edge of the booth, waiting to see if Madame Pince will appear, ready to scold you. Harry turns his gaze back down to you, and he shoots you a smile before reconnecting his lips with yours.
One of his hands drags away from your waist, wandering up your thigh, and you gasp, breaking the kiss, and laying a hand flat over the top of his. "Harry, don't." You warn, raising your eyebrows at him, though he seems unconvinced. "We'll definitely get kicked out of here." Harry leans closer to you, pressing a couple of kisses in the crook of your neck. "Why? Can't be quiet?" He teases, inching his hand upwards. You shake your head frantically, feeling the heat creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks, an embarrassed smile making its way onto your face. You grasp Harry's tie, pulling him down so you can hide your face in his chest.
"Okay, then my dorm or yours?" Harry finally asks, pulling away from you to start shoving his books in his bag. Swinging your legs over his lap, you mimic Harry's movements, racing him out of the booth without answering his question. Your boyfriend chases after you, only slowing down when you reach the library's entrance, where Madame Pince shoots you both a dirty look. Harry intertwines his fingers with yours when you make it down the hallway, keeping his eyes peeled for broom cupboards. He grins, spotting one down the corridor, and drags you there by the hand, ignoring your confused questions.
Harry's free hand grips the doorknob, turning the handle until a familiar voice calls out "Mr. Potter, don't even think about it!" You freeze, back straightening in caution, watching as Harry's head snaps towards the voice and a nervous smile makes its way onto his features. He slowly lets go of the door handle, maintaining eye contact with Professor McGonagall, who stands tall with her arms crossed at the other end of the hallway. "Sorry Professor." Harry apologises nervously "I was just looking for," He clears his throat, voice lowering into a mumble "You know."
You can feel Harry's grip on your hand tighten slightly, tugging you closer to him and he begins to slowly walk away from the cupboard. You duck your head down, speeding up your pace until you finally turn the corner to another hallway, but can still hear McGonagall's sigh of "Just like his parents."
tags: best friends, friends to lovers, childhood friends, POV third person, no use of y/n for reader-insert but garrett calls her by a nickname, making out, interrupted sex
word count: 7.9k
summary: Garrett’s best friend ends her nearly 4-year relationship with her boyfriend. Her sudden availability maybe causes him to spiral just a little.
notes: cross-posted on ao3 ; title from del water gap's "an ode to a conversation stuck in your throat" ; banner by @suupersonic
Everyone at Briar knew Garrett Graham. And everyone who knew Garrett Graham knew her–the best friend; the intimidatingly smart Art History major dating an even more intimidatingly smart Political Science guy. Jason was the only reason Garrett and her never got any dating rumours; they’ve been together since high school, have been living together off campus for a year now, and add to the fact that Garrett’s never been one to keep his exploits hidden, everybody knows their relationship is platonic with a capital P.
He was never close with Jason–Garrett thinks he’s a pretentious douchebag who his best friend just so happens to enjoy kissing–but he never really has a problem with him, either. As long as he gets to keep the daily Saturday brunch hang outs and bi-monthly movie nights with his best friend, and as long as she doesn’t miss too many games, he’s pretty okay sharing her. Sure, the first few months their senior year of high school was a huge adjustment; he couldn’t just hold her hand in the hallways anymore, or show up to her house unannounced (he did that one time and got scarred for life) but, like all things in Garrett Graham’s life, he learned to deal with it. In a few years, he knows he’ll be standing by her side at the altar, holding her bouquet as her best man, and it’s a future he’s completely been okay with in her three-going-on-four years of dating Jason. Well, that’s what he thought, at least.
It has been a tough week. The game that weekend had been too close, so Coach Jensen was being extra hard on them during practices. And then his philosophy paper (which he admittedly barely studied for) came back with a glaring D, and combined with the previous F’s he’s gotten, he needs at least a B in all his course work for the semester if he wants to pass the class. Garrett’s sore, his head hurts, he can’t focus enough to understand what the fuck Kierkegaard is talking about, so really it’s a respite that one of the girls Dean invited over for air hockey and beers made eyes at him when he passed by the living room on his way to the kitchen. It takes three more unsubtle glances, a raised eyebrow, and a tilt of his head, and suddenly Garrett’s week is becoming marginally better with his arms caging the girl (what’s her name again?) against his bedroom door and his mouth attached to her tits. Somewhere downstairs, his friends’ muffled voices playing video games and air hockey can still be heard, but his ears are more focused on the helpless noises coming out of his company’s mouth.
He moves with efficient experience, tugging her jeans down her waist and unclasping her bra with a snap of his fingers. She giggles when he guides her to his bed and drops between her thighs, but the laughter quickly turns into choked moans the second he presses his tongue into her. It’s there, his head between her legs and her hands gripping his hair, that his bedroom door slams open, causing the girl to yelp and Garrett to snap his head up in shock.
“Angel, what the fuck?” Garrett sputters at the sight of his best friend, immediately throwing his blanket to cover the naked girl on his bed and scrambling up to his feet.
Angel–not because that’s her name, but because their first Halloween as friends when they were twelve, she had come as an angel complete with a wide-span, white feathered custom wing that sliced a jagged wound on Garrett’s bicep when she turned around and accidentally hit him with it. It turned out that she hadn’t assembled the wings correctly, and a loose wire had been the culprit. They spent two hours in the emergency room with their year coordinator because Garrett’s dad didn’t bother to drive up to their boarding school and check on him, her in her angel costume sans the wings (which she threw away violently in solidarity with him) and him in his Wolverine get up, hair gel, claws, and all. Garrett thought it was the funniest thing ever, telling her that their costumes matched after all, and had proceeded to call her Angel (from X-men, that is) for the foreseeable future.
She seemed unbothered at having caught him with his head between a random girl’s legs, but that’s not really the most compromising position they’ve seen each other in in their over ten years of friendship. If anything, she seemed annoyed, but Garrett knows her like the back of his hand, so he immediately clocks the mask and the underlying problem in the twitch of her eyebrows and her raw-bitten lower lip. Something’s wrong.
“What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, tugging his sweats back in place.
The girl in his bed scoffs. “Are you kidding me?”
Garrett doesn’t wave her off, but it’s a close thing. He stands straighter, jaw clenched. “Angel?”
She finally meets his gaze. “I need you.”
Just three words, but they get his heart beating against his chest in mixed anxiety and concern. “You got me.”
“Okay.” She nods, finally allowing her eyes to flick towards the increasingly annoyed girl (whose name Garrett still can’t remember) in his bed. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Brush your teeth, please.”
And then she turns around and leaves.
For a moment, his room is silent, the kind that sits awkwardly in the atmosphere, and then Garrett clears his throat and faces–Zoe? Zara?--with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”
She stares up at him expectantly, her bare torso still covered by his thin sheets.
Garrett scratches at the nape of his neck. “You should probably go.”
Her jaw drops immediately. “Unbelievable.”
But she really shouldn’t have been surprised. If everyone on campus knew who Garrett Graham was, then everyone also knew that his best friend comes first. Always.
By the time he manages to get downstairs, mouth minty cool because he knows better than to face his best friend with pussy breath, Zoe (that’s her name!) had already shoved his chest and left the house, which is a relief. He spots his favorite cockblocker right away in the kitchen, idly chatting with Logan and Tucker, but Garrett can tell her heart isn’t in it. The second she sees him, she lifts her hand and twirls his car keys in her finger, giving him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Garrett feels another tug in his chest at the sight, but he knows she hates talking about her problems with an audience, so he decides to put a pin in it. At least until they’re alone together.
“I’m driving,” she says, getting up from the stool.
He rolls his eyes, reaching over to snatch the cap on Tucker’s head and put it on his own, backwards and all. He ignores the consequent “hey!” that comes from his friend’s mouth and instead makes a face at her. “Do I have a choice?”
“No,” she grins sarcastically, patting his chest and walking out the door, him close on her trail.
They’re only driving for about seven minutes when Garrett bites the bullet. “So–”
“Zip it, Professor X,” she interrupts, which in turns makes him glare at her. She knows how much he resents that nickname–he’d had a buzzcut one time in 9th grade, he wasn’t bald at all, and she still won’t freaking drop it. “At least let me get my fries first.”
It’s only then that Garrett notices the nearby Wendy’s she seems to be driving towards. “I swear to god, Angel, if you interrupted me just because you wanted fast food–”
“Oh, poor Garrett and his sad little blue balls,” she mocks, pouting her lips. “However will he recover?”
“I hate you,” he deadpans, but there’s a traitorous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I actually, bone-deeply hate you.”
“You love me,” she corrects him, pushing at the turn signal.
“I can love you and hate you at the same time,” Garrett tells her, face mock-serious. “I contain multitudes. Right now, it’s veering towards ‘I hate you,’ though.”
She flashes him a smile, but it’s all wrong. “Well, you’re not the only one.”
Immediately, the teasing air evaporates, and Garrett feels his eyebrows come together in confusion. “What does that mean? Angel?”
But his best friend remains frustratingly silent. She goes on to order for the two of them, only acknowledging him when it’s time to pay, which makes him scoff but hand over his card anyway. The grin she gives him then is a little more real, a little more Angel, so at least the tight ball of anxiety in Garrett’s chest loosens a little. She finds a parking spot easily, and for ten, torturous minutes, she does nothing but eat her heart out and ask him insignificant questions about the game last weekend and how practice was. Garrett tries to indulge her a little, but when she opens up another insignificant topic, this time about her Art Criticism professor, Garrett can’t take it anymore.
“You’re killing me here, Angel,” he sighs, stealing a fry from her. “I’ve kinda been panicking about what’s wrong for the last half hour, so if you could please with a cherry on top get to it, it would be much appreciated.”
She glares at him for his bluntness for a few seconds, before her shoulders visibly deflate and her lower lip begins to tremble.
“Hey,” he sits up immediately, one hand reaching out to grip her chin. “Talk to me. It’s me. What’s wrong?”
She takes a few steadying breaths before saying, “I’m a horrible person.”
“No, you’re not,” Garrett counters immediately, eyebrows furrowing even further. “You’re the best person I know. Who told you that?”
“Garrett,” she says helplessly, and the break in her voice makes his head pound.
He wants names of the people who hurt her and he wants to hunt them down one by one. But getting angry in that moment isn’t exactly appropriate, so he swallows down his rage at seeing the most important person in his life hurt and crowds further into her space instead, guiding her face so she can look at him. “Angel.”
She shuts her eyes tight, and every tear that drops to her face feels like a gunshot to his chest. “I did it.”
“What did you do?” Garrett asks, forcing himself to keep his voice soft and stable. “Angel, you’re really scaring me here.”
She looks at him, then, and then utters the words Garrett never thought he’d ever hear. “I broke up with Jason.”
“What?” He backs away a few inches in shock.
“I broke up with Jason,” she says again, clearer this time, and Garrett feels something loosen in his chest. Disbelief, yes, but also something more hidden. Something that feels a lot like relief.
“She did what?” Dean exclaims, pulling his helmet off his head in shock.
Garrett sighs at his dramatics but repeats his words, anyway, his tone of voice still a little disbelieving, himself. “She broke up with him. For real. Like, permanently. I’m helping her find a new place after practice.”
“Well, shit,” Dean says, face still looking puzzled. “What did the asshole do?”
Garrett pushes his sweat-slicked hair back away from his face. “That’s just it. Mayor Jason did nothing. Like, absolutely nothing.”
“What does that mean?” Logan chimes in, unflinching at the mocking nickname and obviously just as invested in the story of his best friend’s love life.
“She told me that she just woke up one day and realized that it wasn’t working out anymore. That she…doesn’t love him anymore, I guess.”
Tucker falls down on the bench next to Dean, having heard the words himself. “Shit.”
“I know,” Garrett sighs, fiddling with his gloves. “I kind of feel bad for him.”
Dean laughs at that. “Dude, you hated the guy.”
“I don’t hate him.”
Logan shoves his shoulder. “You literally call him Mayor Jason.”
Garrett scoffs. “He wants to be a politician!”
This makes his friends laugh even harder, and Garrett finds himself chuckling along. “I just think he’s a pretentious asshole. But Angel loved him, and he was good to her, I think, so no, I don’t hate him.”
“Damn,” Tucker says, shaking his head. “I always thought those two would, like, get married and have kids and stuff.”
Garrett feels his stomach drop at the words, but there’s no denying the truth behind them, especially when even he agreed. “Me too.”
“Is she okay, though? Does she regret it?” Dean asks, beginning to put his helmet back on.
Garrett thinks about their text messages that morning; all playfulness and banter, nothing out of the ordinary. But then he remembers her words in his car the other day, the way she cried into his chest. He clears his throat. “She feels terrible about it. But she’ll be fine.”
“Of course, she will,” Logan reassures him with a pat on his chest. “She’s got you, G. She’ll be just fine.”
He’s at the student union center getting a gatorade in one of the vending machines when she purposefully bumps her shoulder to his, pressing their sides together.
“Ouch,” Garrett deadpans, reaching a hand out to press the necessary button and waits for his drink to fall.
She nudges him further, until his senses are assaulted by the smell of the strawberry shampoo that she’s been using since high school. “What are you doing tonight?”
That makes Garrett pause for a second. It wasn’t Saturday so he definitely didn’t miss brunch, and they haven’t scheduled their movie nights for that month, either. No games until next week, too. Slowly, he turns to her, eyes full of suspicion. “Why do you ask?”
“Don’t be weird, Garrett,” she rolls her eyes, her shoulder still pressed to his. “What? Do you have plans?”
He crouches down to get his Gatorade. “I was actually planning to study for my Philosophy class. I have an oral exam coming up.”
She snorts; an ugly, raw, Angel sound that automatically makes Garrett feel ten thousand times lighter. “Oral exam? Oh, is that what you were doing when I walked in on you–”
“Shut the fuck up,” Garrett interrupts her with a hand to her mouth, the tips of his ears burning. That only serves to make her laugh more, the heat of her breath scorching his palm.
“Come by my place later, come on,” she tells him, one hand reaching out to grip at his hoodie.
Garrett throws his head back in exasperation. “Angel, I really need to do well on this exam. I might not be allowed to play if I fuck it up.”
“I’ll help you!” She raises her voice, lips stretching into a smile at his disbelieving look. “I swear! I took that class freshman year.”
He immediately frowns at that. “Wait, you did?”
“Yes?” She gives him a weird look, tugging at his hoodie to get him to start walking with her. His feet follow immediately. Traitors. “It’s a pre-requisite to this class I really wanted to take.”
“How the fuck did you pass that class? It’s hell!” Garrett says, lips turning into a slight pout. “And you passed it your freshman year?”
She laughs again, a high, twinkling sound, looking back at him. “Oh, babe. Don’t you worry. I got you.”
“What’s the catch?” He continues to ask, taking her hand from his hoodie so he could grip it with his own. It feels natural, just like the hundred thousand times they’ve held hands before she got herself a boyfriend. Garrett tries to ignore his heart pounding in his chest.
“You’re my best friend,” she widens her amused eyes at him, squeezing his fingers. “There’s no catch.”
“I don’t believe you for a second, Angel.”
Over the next few weeks, Garrett tries to convince himself he’s being totally normal about the fact that his best friend is taking over his life.
She texts him after practice to go have dinner. After he bullshits his way to a B+ for his Philosophy oral exam, she drags him to IKEA and makes him help her pick out new furniture for her place. He’s over at her apartment nearly every single day, helping assemble said furniture and unpack her moving boxes (it takes too long because she forgot to label them). She bullies him into studying with her, and it’s the most time Garrett has spent in the library since his first year (except he doesn’t actually study; he tries to do his course work for about twenty minutes before giving up and going on his phone while she’s nose-deep in her readings beside him). She shows up at the hockey house unannounced like she usually does, but this time more frequently, sometimes even getting the other guys to join in on their movie nights. One time she even helped Tuck with dinner. They go on random drives so much that his car feels practically hers as much as his. Their Saturday brunches become a daily thing.
And Garrett knows nothing is wrong about any of this. It’s nice to not have to schedule their hang-outs anymore. It’s refreshing that all he has to do to see her now is to send her a text and vice versa. He doesn’t even care that the last time he hooked up with someone was that interrupted time with Zoe more than a month ago. Nothing is wrong about his best friend suddenly just being there. All the time. Except when they’re walking together around campus and she’s hooking their arms together or, God forbid, intertwining their fingers, Garrett’s breath catches in his throat and he finds it a little harder to breathe. Or when she shows up at practice unannounced wearing his old high school jersey with a tray of coffee for him and the other guys in the team and his heart stutters in his chest.
So no. He’s not being completely normal about it. He just can’t figure out the reason why.
He slams his locker shut before leaning against it. “It’s weird.”
Dean looks up at him from where he’s unlacing his skates. “What’s weird?”
Garrett frowns down at him for a second before averting his eyes. “Angel.”
“Oh, boy,” Logan says, and he sees the rest of his friends exchange knowing looks.
“What?” Garrett asks, looking between them. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
They’re still smiling at each other like they know something he doesn’t, which fucking sucks.
Dean’s shoulders begin to shake in laughter. “I have never been wrong a day in my life. Goddamn.”
“What?” Garrett presses, growing more annoyed by the minute.
Dean continues to laugh, even tutting at him appeasingly. “Don’t you worry your pretty curly head about it, G. You’ll know soon enough.”
“Fuck you,” he says automatically, but the heat isn’t there.
Dean takes the curse in stride. “So what about your ‘Angel’ is weird?”
The words distract Garrett enough that he forgets about their weirdness entirely. “I don’t know. Everything? I know we’re best friends. She’s the most important person in my life. But I feel like we’ve been…I don’t know, spending so much time together recently. Like, we haven’t spent this much time together since high school, probably, and we were stuck in the same boarding school and taking all our classes together then, so that’s saying something.”
Logan chuckles and shakes his head at him. “G, your best friend just got out of a serious, 3-year relationship. They were living together at one point. Of course you’re going to spend more time with her now. More than half of her day just freed up by being single alone.”
“And I bet she’s bored,” Tucker adds, nodding. “Imagine all the free time all of a sudden. Even her own apartment is probably too quiet now. I remember that Jason guy can talk.”
“Yeah, about apolitical bullshit that no one but him cares about,” Garrett mutters under his breath.
Dean makes a face. “I’m not getting the problem here. Are you boys getting the problem?” Logan and Tucker dutifully shake their heads, making Dean point at him. “See? That’s such a non-issue, dude. So you’re spending more time with your best friend. Your steak is too buttery. Your bread is too soft. Nyada nyada.”
Garrett throws a glove at his face that he manages to dodge at the last minute. “It’s not that. It’s just…Okay. If one of you makes fun of me for what I’m about to say, I will crush you like a bug. Get it?”
The three look at him expectantly.
Garrett sighs, training his eyes up the ceiling. “When we were in our senior year in high school and Angel started dating Jason…I kind of had a hard time adjusting.”
Dean looks way too delighted at his words, making Garrett throw another glove at him. This time it hits him right in the center of his chest.
“Don’t make it a thing,” Garrett warns, giving them a look before sighing again. “Back then we were–I don’t know how to explain it. Attached at the hip? Two halves of the same person? Just. Inseparable, I guess. No one could tell where she ended and I began. And I loved that about us. She was the only family I have. The one I chose. And then Jason happened, and I lost that. The casual intimacy and closeness. It suddenly wasn’t appropriate anymore. I never heard a peep from her, but I was a guy. I could tell our closeness bothered him. So eventually I dealt with it. I adjusted. But it was hard. And to say I didn’t mourn our relationship then would be a lie.”
Tucker leans forward. “How did you adjust?”
Dean smirks. “Let me guess: by fucking half of the senior year population?”
“Fuck you,” Garret tells him again. “But yeah. Kind of. But that’s not even the point! The point is I get the sudden free time, okay? That’s what I felt when she got a boyfriend. All these things I used to do with her suddenly aren’t feasible anymore, so instead I spend hours of my day with nothing to do. Eventually, yeah, I found something to fill the time, but it was hard. I thought I was losing my best friend, and I couldn’t do anything about it because then I might lose her for real. I was a dramatic 18-year-old. Whatever. But what happens when she glues us together again, forms us a routine of being constantly together, and then she gets another boyfriend? That’s bullshit.”
Logan, Tucker, and Dean slowly exchange another look.
“What?” Garrett asks.
Logan shakes his head. “Are you hearing yourself, man?”
“What?” He repeats, getting even more confused than before.
“Oh my god,” Dean laughs, slapping his thighs. “He’s fucking hopeless, man. I give up.”
She’s already drunk when Garrett gets to the party, and he knows this because she lights up instantly at the sight of him, her entire body practically vibrating from where she’s standing. “Garrett!!!”
“Hey, Angel,” he says, receiving her tackle with a short grunt. “How much have you had to drink?”
She ignores his question completely, burrowing her face in his chest. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been waiting for you for ages.”
Garrett allows himself to chuckle at how obnoxious his best friend is being. He shuffles both of their bodies so that he’s leaning against the fridge, his feet planted firmly on the ground in case she intends to tackle him again. His hands rub her back in slow circles, and Garrett immediately takes note of the goosebumps lining her skin. She’s wearing a tight brown tank top and low-rise jeans, and he puts his hands on the slit of skin of her back showing underneath her top and pulls away just enough to see her face to face. “You cold?”
“No,” she answers instantly, then steps forward even closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “I need to tell you something, Charles.”
It takes him a moment to place the name, and when he does, he rolls his eyes. He’s never living down that fucking buzzcut. “What is it, Angel?”
“I ran into Jason’s friends at lunch,” she continues saying, voice low enough that Garrett has to strain his ears. He nods at her to continue, which she does, voice shaking. “He hates me.”
For a second Garrett isn’t sure whether she’s going to cry, but then her shoulders start shaking, giggles leaving her lips uncontrollably. “He fucking hates me, Prof.”
Garrett tightens his arms around her, unsure how to approach the situation. “I’m sure he doesn't, Angel.”
“No, he does,” she nods her head in resignation. “And I don’t think I care. I’m a horrible person.”
He pinches the exposed skin of her back, making her yelp. “Enough of that. I won’t let you talk shit about my best friend anymore. Stop it.”
She shuffles closer again, getting on her tiptoes and burying her face against his neck. Every word out of her mouth sends a hot breath against his skin that Garrett tries hard to ignore. “I wish he cheated. Or neglected me. I just wish he did something bad so I wouldn’t be feeling all this guilt.”
“You don’t mean that,” Garrett says against her hair, squeezing her tightly against him.
“I wish I could say that I’m in love with him,” she continues. “What if I never was? Isn’t that crazy, G? We’ve been together for almost four years. We’ve exchanged I love you’s countless times. But in hindsight, what the fuck do I know about love? If I had truly loved him, how can I wake up one morning and just…stop?”
“That’s just it, though,” Garrett says, which makes her pull away to look at him. “It’s scary.”
“What?”
“Love,” he shrugs. “How fickle it is. What happened to you scares me. What if it doesn’t stop at just romantic love?”
She almost smiles at that. “What, you think I’m going to wake up tomorrow and just decide you’re a repulsive best friend and I want you out of my life?”
“Don’t even joke about that, Angel,” he chides with a fake shudder, and something in her expression melts and softens.
She steps closer, enough that their noses are touching. “Wanna know something?”
Garrett swallows the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “What?”
“Jason would hate to see us like this,” she says, and Garrett tenses up instantly, intending to pull away, but she tightens her grip around him.
He takes a few seconds to reply. “I know.”
Garrett sees the way her eyes dilate at his words. “Is that why you pushed me away?”
“I didn’t push you away,” he denies immediately, but even as he says the words his breath stutters in his chest.
She smiles a little sadly. “Of course you did, G. One minute we’re inseparable and the next we had to pre-sched our hang outs because you’re fucking every girl in school.”
The blunt way she puts it makes Garrett squeeze her hips, and he doesn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the action. He feels like he’s underwater, like everything suddenly became muffled around them. The only clear view is her. His best friend. The most important person in his life.
Best friend, he repeats the words in his head. Come on, Graham. That’s your best friend.
“Want to know the funny thing?” She asks again, nudging their noses together.
Garrett almost chickens out and doesn’t ask. But her gaze is a challenge in itself, and he’s nothing if not competitive, so he forces the words out of his mouth. “What, Angel?”
“The night before I broke up with him, I closed my eyes and imagined my future. Ten, fifteen, twenty years from now. What I wanted it to be. What I think it would be. And,” she cuts herself off with a chuckle, alcohol breath fanning against Garrett’s face. “Jason wasn’t there. He was nowhere to be found.”
Garrett clenches his jaw. “Really?”
“Uh huh,” she confirms, extending one hand up to push back his hair. “Wanna know who was?”
But Garrett already knows the answer. It’s clear as day. Still, when she pushes up on her tiptoes to whisper it to his ear, he feels his world begin to crumble, the words devastating in their honesty.
“You,” she says, and then she smiles a little cruelly. “My best friend.”
That night wouldn’t be the first time Garrett Graham jerks off to the thought of his best friend. But it’s the first time he doesn’t feel guilty about it.
He swings his stick harshly. The puck misses the goal.
Another swing. Miss again.
Swing. Miss.
“Fuck!” Garrett throws his stick to the ice, skating away.
From the stands, his three friends watch him, faces in varying states of winces.
“That,” Dean says, voice low. “Is a cry for help.”
Logan scrunches his nose up. “Amen, brother.”
Tuck nods along. “Amen.”
“What can we do about it, boys? Our cap needs an intervention.” Dean says, still eyeing Garrett’s form critically.
Logan chuckles. “Unless we get him to admit he’s in love with his fucking best friend? Nothing.”
“Not nothing,” Dean says with a smirk, lifting up his phone.
Twenty minutes later, she’s there in the tunnels, head whipping around in search of Garrett.
“Angel!” Dean calls out, making her turn towards him. “Over here!”
She speedwalks towards where he’s standing, wearing a Briar U hoodie Dean’s pretty sure is Garrett’s and loose sweats that may or may not also be Garrett’s. “What happened? Where is he? And don’t call me that.”
“Oh right, sacred nicknames, I forgot. Sorry.” Dean says all of this with a knowing smile on his face, which she decides to ignore. “G’s in the shower. We’re gonna head out. You go do your best friend magic on him and take care of our cap.”
She rolls her eyes but dutifully drops down to one of the benches in the hallway to wait for him. When Garrett steps out of the locker room, he’s wearing a navy zip-up hoodie and his hair is still dripping wet from his shower. He almost jumps at the sight of her.
“Angel,” he says in surprise, his grip on his bag tightening. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know, Prof X. You tell me,” she says, getting up and dusting off her sweats. “Dean says you need an intervention.”
Garrett closes his eyes at that. “I fucking hate him.”
“Come on,” she inclines her head before hooking her arm to his. “You can hate him in the comfort of my new apartment. Movie night?”
The last thing Garrett wants is to spend an entire night pressed up against the best friend he’s trying and completely failing to convince himself he feels nothing for, pretending to watch a movie he could care less about. But clearly the universe had other plans, so now they’re cuddled on her couch, a half-empty box of pizza on the coffee table in front of them and High School Musical 3 playing on the tv.
“Troy Bolton is so hot,” she comments after one of the song numbers, licking her fingers to clean off the pizza sauce.
Garrett clears his throat and tells himself the view doesn’t affect him. “He’s so short, though. How does he expect to be a collegiate point guard with that height?”
“Good thing it’s a movie,” she emphasizes the last word, nudging his stomach with her elbow. “It’s escapism. Besides, with a pretty face like that, size won’t even matter.”
That makes Garrett’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, his head twisting to shoot her a knowing smirk. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” she juts her chin out and insists, glaring at him. “Sorry you can’t relate.”
Garrett knows she’s making a dig at his looks, but he can’t help but twist her words, his smirk practically a permanent fixture on his face at the moment. “Yep. Never had a problem with size, I’m afraid.”
He watches her jaw drop at his words, laughs out loud when she suddenly slaps his shoulder multiple times. “You are infuriating.”
“You love me, Angel,” Garrett teases her, hoping she doesn’t hear the way his heart jumps at the bold words.
“I wish I didn’t.”
He’s still chuckling when he finally catches her hands, stopping her continued assault. “You don’t mean that.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You love me,” Garrett says again. And maybe this time she hears the catch in his voice, the underlying seriousness beneath the teasing, because she freezes in her spot, both her hands still held tightly in his.
She looks at him for a few seconds. “I do, yeah.”
Garrett feels like he stops breathing. When he speaks again, the word sounds like a warning even to his own ears. “Angel.”
He feels her shift against him until she’s practically on his lap. “What? Don’t you love me too?”
Garrett is suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact; her thighs almost bracketing his hips, the heat of her skin seeping through their clothes, her hands still dwarfed by his. In the background, Zac Efron is singing something about screaming, but the sound is dull and muffled. He can’t focus on anything except her.
“You’re dangerous,” he manages to rasp out.
He thinks of all the times they found themselves in this position; all the times Garrett found himself wanting to cross the boundary they’ve drawn when they were twelve and decided they needed to be in each other’s lives forever as best friends. The summer before high school when they became each other’s first kiss because it’d be embarrassing to be in 9th grade without any experience. His sixteenth birthday when a game of spin the bottle had them doing it again, deeper that time, with tongue. Junior prom when they went together as friends and right there on the dancefloor, Garrett had to grapple with the fact that he wanted to kiss his best friend badly.
It had always been there in the crevices of their friendship; the unspoken need for more, for intimacy and connection. It had been easier to handle when Jason happened, because finally the boundaries were physical and concrete in the form of another person. But now, in the couch he helped her assemble in the new apartment he helped her find and move into, with her body pressed against his so closely and tightly he can feel every breath she takes, the boundaries might as well be nonexistent.
“This is a bad idea. You just got out of a relationship.”
She almost smiles. “I know.”
“You’re my best friend,” Garrett says again, but he’s not sure whether it’s her he’s convincing or himself.
She shifts again. Garrett closes his eyes at the feeling. “Garrett. You’re my best friend, too.”
A pause.
They’re not really sure who moves first, but in the next breath their lips are pressing together, a moan punching out of his throat from the sensation. She plants her hands on his shoulders to anchor herself, straddling him properly now. Almost immediately, she begins grinding down on him, and his body’s reaction is instant.
“Fuck, Angel,” Garrett exhales a heavy breath, torn between wanting to close his eyes or savoring the sight of his best friend on top of him. “Come here.”
He guides her by her jaw so he can kiss her again, deeper, his tongue tracing her lower lip before slipping inside her mouth. She tastes like the soda she had been drinking. It takes Garrett back to that birthday party when they were sixteen, their classmates all around them cheering while he got to properly taste her for the first time. He thinks about sitting there finishing the spin the bottle game with a raging hard on inside his pants, hoping the light is too dim for anyone to notice.
He bites at her lips again, causing a soft noise to come from her mouth that absolutely destroys him, enough that his hips juts up without control.
She pulls away and begins tugging at his zip-up hoodie, chest heaving harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Take this off.”
He helps her along dutifully, watching with dark eyes as she tosses the piece of clothing behind her. “Fuck, Garrett, I love your shoulders.”
“Yeah?” He breathes out, letting his hands bunch her top upwards and over her head until she’s left in a lacy lilac bra, sheer enough to leave nothing to the imagination.
She gives a trembling nod, taking his tank top off too. Her nails trace down his torso, watching his abs contract in fascination. “Got myself off for the first time thinking about them.”
“Jesus Christ, Angel.” Garrett huffs, his breath leaving him. It only gets worse when she reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra, revealing her full breasts, nipples dark and tight just like he imagined. As if he can’t help himself, his face drags forward until he’s close enough to close his mouth around one bud, his hand taking care of the other.
A choked cry leaves her mouth, head throwing back in pleasure. One of her hands skirts the waistband of his sweats, and then she palms his cock through the fabric like it wouldn’t absolutely ruin him. His hips jerk up again. “You want me?”
The question almost comes off as cruel. Does he want her? As if there’s a world in which Garrett doesn’t. As if he doesn’t feel as if he had been born to worship her like this.
“You don’t even know how much,” he murmurs against her skin. He kisses over the moles in her chest and shoulders that he used to make fun of when they were kids.
She shimmies out of her shorts and underwear, and the sight of her thin damp curls short-circuits Garrett’s brain. He isn’t even aware of her hands sliding his sweats down, just enough to free his cock with an angry bob. His blood thuds in his ears loudly.
She shuffles closer again, until they’re almost chest to chest, hovering above him and teasing the head of his cock at her entrance. “Since when?”
Maybe it’s the intimacy he’s been craving since he first learned what it’s like to want his best friend, or maybe it’s his dick talking, but the honest words are out of his mouth before he could stop them: “Since forever.”
He feels more than sees her body tense up, and in mere seconds she has shuffled away, still within reach but the inch of increased space makes his heart drop to his stomach nonetheless. Shit.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asks, face going pale. Her eyes scan his face steadily, and he knows guilt is written all over him in capital letters.
Garrett tugs his sweats up with a sigh. “Angel–”
“Garrett,” she says, voice hard. The lack of a nickname sends a pang through his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He pushes his hair back and leans his head against the couch, eyes trained to the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”
He hears her shuffle around, knows that it’s her getting dressed, the final nail in the coffin that was their night together. The panic is slowbuilding in his stomach; half of his wits are still stuck to two minutes ago when they were flushed together making out with wild abandon.
How the fuck did he let this happen? More than that, what the fuck is going to happen to them? She’s his best friend. She’s been in his life for over ten years. She’s held him during losses, nursed him when his dad beat him to shit. She’s the only one who truly knows him inside out, and now he’s on the verge of losing her because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Garrett attempts to look at her. She’s wearing her top again, arms crossed over her chest and still staring at him in horrified expectancy. He pries his eyes away immediately, instead focusing on the loose thread in the throw pillowcase next to his lap. When he speaks, his voice comes out defensive. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth, Garrett,” she says, the hard edge to her voice still there.
Garrett throws his head back again. Anything just to avoid her eyes. “I know it’s wrong, alright? You’re my best friend. We shouldn’t–I shouldn’t have ever—but I couldn’t help it. I’ve wanted you probably since before I even knew what wanting someone meant.”
She inhales a sharp breath. “High school?’
“Yeah, mostly,” he admits, clenching his jaw. “Maybe even before then.”
“Fuck, Garrett,” she breathes out, making him shut his eyes tight.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
They’re silent for a few seconds before she speaks again. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
That finally gets him to look at her, if a little incredulously. “Are you kidding? I didn’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you.”
Her face twists, like she’s in pain. “But you blew me off.”
He sits up at that, his confusion clear as day. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Garrett,” she laughs his name out tiredly, shaking her head. “Don’t you remember? The summer before our senior year. We spent almost every day together. We held hands and cuddled and you kissed me everywhere except my lips constantly. Everyone else thought we were dating. And I thought…I thought we were getting there.”
He swallows harshly. He doesn’t know what to say. The memory of that summer hit him like a brick. The train rides spent flushed against each other, his hands on the back pocket of her jeans. The amount of times he stopped himself from just crossing the line and kissing her for real.
“I fell for you. Hard.” She tells him, causing his mouth to gape open. “I thought we were on the same page. But then we got to Stacy’s party at the end of summer and everyone asked where we stood and you completely blew me off. She’s just my best friend–that’s what you said. And then you let all these girls hang all over you the entire night. It doesn’t get any clearer than that.”
Garrett opens his mouth. “But–”
“Jason asked me out a few days later and I figured why not. Might as well.” She shoots him a sad smile. Her eyes are wet, and Garrett hates himself for making it happen. “I grew to like him eventually. And you started pulling away. Maybe part of it was on me for getting a boyfriend and not having enough time for you anymore. But every time I saw you with a different girl, it just proved to me what I realized at that party. You didn’t want me. I was just your best friend. And if I wanted to keep you in my life, I had to be okay with that.”
Garrett shakes his head. His heart is thrumming so loudly in his chest he’s sure she can hear it from where she’s sitting. “I wanted you. So bad. I was so scared that it would ruin everything that I never said anything. And then you got together with Jason. It killed me to see you with him. To know that I could never hold your hand or kiss you or put my arms around you anymore because he might get mad. Those girls were just–”
“I know what they were,” she interrupts, a resigned smile on her face. “Still sucked, though.”
“Yeah.”
A cheer comes from the TV. Garrett almost forgot it was still playing. The characters launch into the finale song, the one at graduation. At least it does the job of filling the silence.
Finally, she lets out a long sigh. “This was a mistake.”
He can’t even explain the hurt that shoots up his chest at the words that just left her mouth. He wants to build a time machine and go back to three hours ago, debating pizza flavors and movie options without a hint that their night will get derailed. He wants to go back to that summer before their senior year and kiss her right there on the train. But Garrett is no scientist and time travel doesn’t exist, so instead he chooses to say nothing, waits for more hurtful words to come.
“You’re right,” she continues, beginning to play with her fingers. “I just got out of a relationship. This isn’t–” she shakes her head. “It’s not good. For me or for you.”
Garrett shakes his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t–” His mouth struggles with the words. “You can regret this. Me. But don’t ever think that there’s a reality where you’re not good for me. That’s impossible.”
She looks at him like it hurts her to do it. Garrett reaches down to get his shirt off the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and somehow that makes it worse.
Garrett puts his shirt back on with as much dignity as he can muster. He bites his lip in contemplation. “Why’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Kiss me.” He can tell by the look on her face that she wants to argue about who did the kissing, but thankfully she drops it.
“The truth?” She asks quietly, making him nod his head. She pauses again, like she’s thinking about lying anyways, and then thinks the better of it. “I’ve wanted to do it for so long, and for the first time in my life I felt like you actually wanted to do it too.”
“I did,” he tells her, voice just as quiet. “I do.”
“I’m sorry, prof,” she smiles at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Did I ruin everything?”
Garrett wants to cross the space between them and hold her. It kills him that he hesitates. “No. Never. I love you, Angel.”
“I love you too,” the words get caught in her throat the way they tend to do when she’s about to cry. “And it’s because I love you that we can’t do this. Not now, anyway. Four years is a long time, G. Even if I’m not in love with Jason anymore, jumping into something with you so quickly after him would feel…I don’t want to use you in that way. Not if…”
“What?” He asks. “Not if what?”
She blows a deep breath. “Not if I want this to be for real. Us.”
Garrett feels his own throat constrict at that. “You do?”
“Of course, I do,” she almost laughs, but instead she settles for a shy smile. “What do you say, Xavier? You down to wait a few more months?”
When Garrett laughs back, it’s breathy and wet and all embarrassing. “Angel, I’ve been waiting for years. A few more months is nothing.”
She finally shuffles over and sits next to him, nudging his shoulder with hers. “You don’t have to leave.”
He feels himself grinning. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says, voice more casual now, one hand reaching for the remote to pick their next movie. “Zac Efron looked super hot in Hairspray too.”
Garrett lets out a groan in complaint, but inside his blood is singing, a kind of happiness settling in his bones that he’s never felt before.
dean only found out you were a tutor because he was skipping class.
if anyone asked, he’d deny it immediately. he had every intention of attending the lecture that afternoon. he really did. unfortunately, beau had convinced him to leave halfway through with the promise of coffee and food, and dean had decided that sounded significantly better than sitting through another hour of listening to a professor talk about material he’d never remember anyway. he was cutting through one of the academic buildings when he happened to glance through an open doorway, and suddenly the rest of his afternoon ceased to matter.
you were sitting at a table near one of the windows, completely surrounded by textbooks. there were highlighters scattered everywhere, color-coded notes spread across the tabletop, and a half-finished coffee sitting beside your elbow. dean had seen you in plenty of situations by now. he’d seen you nervous, embarrassed, flustered, and desperately trying to avoid him. he’d never seen you like this. you were talking confidently, explaining something while pointing at a page in a textbook, and for the first time since meeting you, there wasn’t a trace of uncertainty in your expression. you looked comfortable. completely comfortable. honestly, it caught him off guard enough that he stopped walking altogether.
then he noticed the guy sitting across from you.
at first dean didn’t think much of it. obviously there was another student there. tutoring generally required at least two people. but the longer he watched, the more annoyed he became. the guy wasn’t paying attention to a damn thing you were saying. every time you pointed toward the textbook, he’d look for maybe half a second before his eyes drifted back to your face. every time you smiled politely, he smiled like you’d personally handed him the greatest gift of his life. after a few minutes it became painfully obvious that he wasn’t there because he needed help studying. he was there because he liked you.
the worst part was that you clearly had no idea.
you just kept talking.
dean watched you spend nearly ten minutes explaining some concept while the guy stared at you like you hung the moon. every now and then you’d push your glasses back up your nose or laugh softly at something awkward he’d said, and each time the guy looked even more interested. meanwhile, you remained completely oblivious. dean honestly couldn’t decide whether it was adorable or infuriating. probably both.
he should’ve left.
a normal person would’ve left.
instead, he stayed.
the tutoring session eventually ended, and dean found himself lingering in the hallway outside the room. he wasn’t entirely sure why. maybe curiosity. maybe annoyance. maybe something significantly more embarrassing that he wasn’t interested in examining. whatever the reason, he remained exactly where he was as you started gathering your notes and shoving books into your bag.
the guy, unfortunately, made no move to leave.
instead, he leaned against the table and smiled.
dean immediately hated him.
even from across the room, he could tell what was happening. the guy wasn’t subtle. he was leaning closer than necessary, smiling too much, finding excuses to keep the conversation going even though the tutoring session had clearly ended. you looked slightly confused but polite enough to keep answering him. dean watched the entire thing unfold with growing irritation.
then the guy asked you out.
dean couldn’t hear the exact words, but he didn’t need to.
your expression gave everything away.
you blinked at him.
laughed awkwardly.
then answered in a way that clearly suggested you hadn’t realized he’d been flirting.
the guy tried again.
somehow you still didn’t get it
dean actually rubbed a hand over his face.
it was unbelievable.
you could analyze books, ace exams, tutor half the campus, and somehow remain completely incapable of recognizing when somebody was interested in you.
the guy tried a third time.
that was apparently dean’s limit.
before he could think better of it, he pushed open the door and walked inside.
you looked up immediately.
your entire face changed the second you saw him.
surprise.
confusion.
then suspicion.
dean ignored all three.
he walked straight over to your table and stopped beside your chair. the guy looked annoyed by the interruption. good. dean hoped he was annoyed.
“there you are,” dean said casually
you stared.
“dean?”
he smiled down at you before looking at the guy.
the guy looked back.
something immediately shifted.
it wasn’t loud or dramatic. it was just one of those silent male conversations that happened entirely through eye contact. dean knew exactly what the other guy was thinking because he’d been in his position before. who the hell is this? why does he know her? why is he standing so close?
dean enjoyed every second of it.
“you ready?” he asked.
your eyebrows furrowed.
“ready for what?”
for a second, dean thought he’d have to explain himself.
then understanding flashed across your face.
slowly.
very slowly.
you finally realized what he was doing.
the guy noticed it too.
“wait,” he interrupted. “you two know each other?”
dean almost laughed.
know each other.
right.
he looked down at you.
then back at the guy.
“yeah,” he said. “she’s my girlfriend.”
the lie came out far too easily.
the second it left his mouth, the room went completely silent.
you froze.
the guy froze.
dean remained annoyingly calm.
the student’s expression visibly fell apart. disappointment hit him so hard it was practically painful to watch. dean would’ve felt bad if he wasn’t too busy enjoying himself.
“oh.”
that was all the guy managed.
just oh.
dean nearly smiled.
you were still staring at him.
he could feel it.
could practically hear the questions bouncing around inside your head.
what are you doing?
why are you doing this?
have you completely lost your mind?
all reasonable questions.
dean planned on ignoring every single one of them.
the guy awkwardly gathered his things, muttered something about seeing you later, and practically fled the room. dean waited until he disappeared completely before finally looking back down at you.
the second your eyes met his, you narrowed them.
“your girlfriend?”
dean shrugged.
“seemed effective.”
“effective?”
“he left, didn’t he?”
your mouth actually fell open.
for a second you seemed genuinely speechless.
then realization hit.
dean watched it happen in real time.
the way your eyes widened.
the way your expression changed.
the way you suddenly looked entirely too pleased with yourself.
oh no.
you’d figured it out.
“dean.”
“what?”
“were you jealous?”
he laughed immediately.
mostly because the alternative was admitting the truth.
“don’t start.”
“you were.”
“i wasn’t.”
“you absolutely were.”
you sounded delighted.
which was unfortunate.
because you were right.
dean leaned against the table and looked away for a moment, already regretting every decision that had led him here. the worst part was that he’d walked into the room fully intending to play it cool. somehow he’d ended up pretending to be your boyfriend in front of another guy and exposing himself in the process.
meanwhile, you looked happier than he’d seen you all week.
your smile was impossible to miss.
and suddenly dean couldn’t remember why he’d been annoyed in the first place.
he just knew he was staring at you again.
staring long enough that your smile slowly faded.
long enough that the teasing disappeared from your expression.
long enough for the air between you to become something else entirely.
neither of you spoke.
you simply looked at each other across the table, surrounded by forgotten textbooks and scattered notes.
for the first time since walking into the room, dean realized he didn’t regret what he’d done.
not even a little.
because pretending to be your boyfriend had been surprisingly easy.
a little too easy, actually.
and judging by the way you were looking at him now, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.
summary: it's exam season. you and peter take turns on night patrol to maximise rest and productivity for your exams, but some mornings can't help but be slow.
wc: 0.7k
Peter is awoken by the way the mattress shifts next to him. He sighs, a hand instinctively finding your waist as he blinks slowly, trying to ease himself back into sleep. “Y’okay baby?” Peter asks, his words slurred with sleepiness. You only respond with a hum, and Peter predicts that you’re not fully awake either.
He truly feels for you.
The two of you have been spending your full days studying for finals, and last night you had taken the patrol shift. Despite the fact that you’ve been alternating nights, Peter had been fast asleep when you returned from your rounds last night, so he guesses that it was a long haul. He wonders if you’re hurt, but the thought is out of his head as soon as it arrives.
Peter’s hand slips off your back when you push yourself off your stomach, kneeling next to him on the mattress. Peter groans quietly, listening as you rub at your eyes tiredly. Neither of your alarms have gone off, so Peter knows it’s still early, but he still can’t help but worry that you’ve woken up so early. Did something go wrong last night? If everything had gone to plan, you’d probably still be asleep because of how tired you were, and Peter would have instantly turned the alarm off when he woke up, letting you sleep for an extra hour before waking you up with soft kisses pressed to your forehead.
When Peter finally opens his eyes, he needs to blink a few times to orient himself. His face morphs into a confused expression when he doesn’t find you next to him, and he flips over onto his back, tangling his legs in the sheets as he pushes himself up into a seated position. Peter groans, kicking the sheets off his legs and immediately getting up to find you. Though his movements are slow, he still makes his way to the bathroom, knocking on the door and calling out “Everything okay baby?” Your boyfriend’s gravelly morning voice sounds through the door as you observe yourself in the mirror.
You open the door, smiling at the sight of Peter. His eyes themselves are enough to tell you just how tired he is, so you tilt your head to the side when he brings you into a hug, murmuring “Go back to bed, honey, it’s still early.”
Peter doesn’t budge for a long moment, softening in the hug when you run a hand through his hair. “Come on, go back to sleep otherwise I’ll go back to mine next time I patrol.” Peter grunts, pulling back from the hug to look at you. His face is loud in telling you he disagrees with those words, and despite your light threat, he asks “How come you’re awake?”
You shrug, mumbling “I’m just sore. Think I’ve got some bruising but it’s fine.”
Peter frowns, fingers grasping the hem of your oversized sleep shirt that you’ve stolen from him, but you place your hands over his, repeating “Go back to bed.” Your boyfriend shakes his head. “Whole point of you staying with me during exam season is for convenience. How is it convenient for me to go sleep when you’ve been injured?”
“I just want you to start the day feeling energised.” You explain, but Peter easily begins tugging your shirt up again. You raise your arms up to help him, swallowing thickly when he says “And I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
He scans your skin from head to toe for any discolouration, lightly pressing his fingers on areas he thinks are bruised, watching your reaction. “Nothing hurts badly.” You tell him, and he nods slowly, offering you his t-shirt again. “Come back to bed, then.”
Peter leads you out of the bathroom, and you settle down next to him on the mattress, sighing in satisfaction when he brings you close to him, pressing his chest to your back. To your luck, just as your eyes begin blinking shut, a loud alarm fills the room. You groan in annoyance, but Peter quickly reaches a hand out to turn off the alarm, mumbling “Just today. We deserve it.”
Or Dean’s girlfriend makes a drunk decision without thinking how he’ll react…
Some suggestive content but nothing crazy <3
The best ideas always happen at 1am. Said no one. Like, ever.
You blamed the combination of cheap tequila, loud music, and your three best friends encouraging you with the enthusiasm of people who wouldn’t have to explain the consequences to their boyfriend afterward.
“Do it!” Allie shouted over the music.
Hannah was flushed and giggling “c’mon babydoll”
Jules raised their glass. “To questionable decisions!”
You should’ve known better, hell, even the tattoo artist asked three times if you were sure
You were absolutely not sure. So why instead of a resounding no, did the words, “yep, right here” leave your mouth.
You tapped your ribs. The artist let out a laugh. Or a sigh. Who can remember.
It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t artistic but 5 minutes later there it was.
66.
Dean Di Laurentis’s hockey number.
The number that now, thanks to several shots of tequila and a complete lack of judgment, was permanently inked onto your skin.
At the time, it felt romantic. The next morning, it felt catastrophic.
⸻
“Oh my god.”
You stared at your reflection.
The tattoo stared back.
“Oh my god.”
The throbbing head wasn’t helping and neither was the fact that Dean was due back from an away game that afternoon.
You pressed a hand over the fresh ink hoping somehow when it lifted the numbers would be gone. Didn’t work.
The gentle knock on your bedroom door came moments later.
“Still alive?” Hannah called.
“No.”
The door opened anyway. She took one look at your face and bit her lip trying to hide her smile.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Oh no of course not”
“Hannah.”
“You tattooed your boyfriend’s jersey number on your body.”
“Okay, well, it sounds bad when you say it like that”
“There’s literally no way to say it that sounds normal.” She replied, causing you to let out a groan, head in hands.
Because she wasn’t wrong. But the thing was Dean had changed. Before you, commitment had been a foreign concept to him. He’d spent years charming his way through campus, never staying with one girl for very long. He was six flags for crying out loud.
Then he met you, and he fell fast. He fell hard.
Regardless of your year long relationship, a tiny part of you still worried. Shit. What if seeing his number permanently etched onto your skin scared him? What if he thought you were insane?
What if-
“So when are you gonna tell him?”
“Never if I can help it”
Hannah sighed, “this is going to blow up in your face.”
You stared down at the tattoo. You hated when Hannah was right.
⸻
So naturally, you did the mature thing and avoided Dean. Not completely, but enough for him to notice
The first day, you claimed you had a migraine.
The second day, you said you had to study.
The third day, you suddenly remembered three months worth of errands that apparently couldn’t wait.
Dean noticed immediately. Because it was you.
By Friday, he’d had enough. You were sitting in the library when your phone buzzed.
Dean: Are you mad at me?
You blinked. Shit.
You: What? No.
Dean: Then why have I barely seen you all week?
You: Busy. Like, super busy.
Dean: Liar.
You: Rude.
Dean: Come over tonight.
You stared at the message, practically feeling the burn of the tattoo.
Dean: Please?
Dean: I’ll behave
Dean: scouts honour
Your heart squeezed as a chuckle escaped.
You: you were never a scout…
The response came instantly.
Dean: Me and Beau tried - never let us in for some reason
Dean: Tried though and that’s gotta count for something
You: I’ll be there soon
Dean: Knew you’d cave.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile on your face.
⸻
Before you could even knock the door swung open and there he was. Grinning, eyes soft and looking at you like you were his favourite person in the world.
“Hey, babydoll.”
Before you could answer, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him pressing his lips to your head, breathing you in.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He mumbled against the strands
“Have not” you muffled into his chest. His shirtless chest.
You could practically see his eyebrows lift in your head.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“A little?” He let out a breathy chuckle, “baby, you practically vanished.”
Guilt twisted in your stomach, feeling you tense he pulled you inside and shut the door.
“Seriously. What’s going on?”
Nothing. Everything. A very stupid tattoo. You forced a smile.
“Just stressed.”
He studied you for a moment. Early on, Dean had developed an annoying ability to see through your lies.
He sighed, “okay”
Your shoulders dropped in relief. Until he added, “you’re staying tonight.”
“Dean-”
“Nope.”He grabbed your hand, “you owe me. We’re making up for lost time.”
⸻
The way you missed Dean became painfully obvious in the next few hours. You missed the way he constantly touched you, the way he stole bites of your food, the way he made you laugh until your stomach hurt and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
Like you were something precious.
Like loving you was the easiest thing he’d ever done.
By the time midnight rolled around, you almost forgot about the tattoo entirely. Almost.
It wasn’t till you were lying together on his bed with his fingers tracing lazy circles along your side. Your heart nearly stopped.
Thankfully the number lay hidden under your bra strap.
He broke the silence, “I missed you,” he admitted quietly.
Your chest tightened and guilt lined your stomach.
“Yeah?”
He pulled you impossibly closer.
“Yeah.”
The softness his voice made your heart melt, because this wasn’t the Dean everyone else knew. This wasn’t the cocky flirt who’d once been terrified of commitment. This was your Dean.
You tilted your face up, he met you half way. The kiss started slow, soft, comfortable. Your fingers slid into his hair and gave it a tug. The groan rumbled in his chest and the kiss deepened, him moving over you. When you finally broke apart, his lips moved to your neck. Down and down till his hands reached the end of your shirt pulling it off.
You could faintly hear it. The alarm bell ringing in your head. That was until his teeth grazed your hip and hands reached for your bra clasp. And suddenly all you could think was Dean Dean Dean.
You tensed and he pulled back.
“Babydoll?”
You gazed up at him and he tried again.
“Sweetheart?”
Your resolve crumbled.
Maybe if you told him now-
But before you could speak, he kissed you again and every coherent thought vanished.
You felt his smirk against your mouth and before you knew it your bra was flung across the room.
He carried on pressing kisses towards the line of your underwear teasingly slow.
And then he stopped. Because there it was in black ink, impossible to miss to the one person who knows your body.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
“Is that…”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Oh my god.”
There it was.
The horror.
The disgust.
The inevitable breakup.
You prepared for impact.
Instead, his hands gripped your thighs tighter.
“Dean?”
Then he looked at you, the expression on his face wasn’t horrified, angry or even shocked anymore.
It was something far more dangerous.
Because Dean looked ridiculously pleased.
“Babydoll…”
You covered your face.
“I was drunk.”
His grin widened and his eyes darkened.
“You got my number tattooed on you.”
“Please stop saying it.”
“You literally have sixty-six on your body.”
“Dean.”
“You’re obsessed with me”
“Di Laurentis I swear-“
He pressed his body against you, you squeezed your eyes shut feeling the warmth. He placed a kiss on your neck before his eyes dropped back to the tattoo.
“I’m getting it removed.”
“No.”
“Dean.”
“Baby…” he groaned.
Your stomach flipped.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“You hate it.”
The words came out before you could stop them.
Dean immediately looked up, “hate it?”
You shrugged, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
“It was stupid.”
“Yeah.”
You frowned opening your mouth to reply.
“It was definitely stupid.” He continued
“Dean.”
“But I don’t hate it” his grin returned.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m absolutely not lying.”
“You should hate it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s weird.”
“Oh absolutely.”
“Dean.”
His eyes sparkled.
“But it’s also kind of hot.”
You nearly choke, “what?!”
“Babydoll I’m fucking obsessed with you. Knowing you’re obsessed with me too? Fuck” he dropped his head, “does it feel like I hate it?” He flexed his hips against yours as blush coated your cheeks and mumbled into your neck about never avoiding him ever again.
this tiktok got me thinking about the mess clark would be if you avoided him after he confessed to you.
tags: explicit content, confessions, fwb!reader, text fic themes (700+ wc)
—
that man would be so genuinely pathetic about it all.
he draws a hard line — refusing to push you for an answer to his spur-of-the-moment confession. he thinks giving you time to consider him as a potential partner was the respectful way around it. but what he doesn't account for is how painful the waiting game would be.
you stopped responding to his texts. going out of your way to avoid him both in and out of work, with a level of evasion that would give him a run for his money. if it wasn't so frustrating, he might even be impressed at the segues you successfully orchestrated.
now, clark knew that you hadn't been doing any of those things because you truly hated him.
he knew that wasn't the truth. you two were good friends first.
good friends who often did everything together — like greeting you in your apartment's lobby at 8 am every day, to buy you coffee before you both clocked in for your shift. good friends who stayed at work late to help each other out, no strings attached.
and like the true good friend clark was, he even made sure you came on his fingers the very first time you let him fuck you. and every single time afterwards since then.
so yeah, you were good friends.
it was an easy cop out to avoid clark. for starters, you'd rather not have to commit to the colossal fall out that would surely follow if things had an official label.
and really, you should've known better that a sweetheart like clark would so innocently devote himself to you if you crossed that particular boundary. he fucked you like he loved you. that was the truth in the matter. breaking his heart wasn't an option, so when you left your girls at the bar early that evening, you had your mind set.
you shakily open your text thread with clark as you set foot out of the elevators leading toward your apartment.
26th May 2026
Clark K.: Take all the time you need!! READ
27th May 2026
Clark K.: Morning.
Clark K.: I got you your oat-milk vanilla latte. Are you coming down soon?
You: Sorry. I left earlier. See you at work?
Clark K.: Ok! No worries. 🥸 See you. READ
28th May 2026
Clark K.: I know you said you wanted a little space from our morning walks. I put a gift card from the coffee shop on your desk. In case you fancy a cup on your way to work. READ
3rd June 2026
↳ CLARK K. FORWARDED AN ARTICLE.
HOW TO GIVE SOMEONE SPACE: IT'S TIME TO LET GO.
Clark K.: I'm so sorry. Ignore that. I didn't mean to send it to you. READ
5th June 2026
Clark K.: Are you free this weekend? Let's talk about it. Please.
Today
Clark K.: I miss you so so much. Please let me talk to you. READ
You: I thought about it. Let's give this a shot.
the message sends off with an ominous woosh with the added liquid courage you had in your system. you hadn't expected a response so soon, considering the emotional whiplash you were giving him.
"t-this, am I hallucinating? do you mean it? do you really mean it?"
you certainly hadn't expected clark to spring right up from his slouched position beside your front door. looking like an absolute and utter mess. his glasses were nearly tucked in his breast pocket, hair combed upward in one spot he must've been running his hand through all night while waiting for you.
clark's shadow towers over you, like an anxious spirit, bouncing on his heels, too wary to touch you.
your heels hang loosely by the way you hold them by the straps.
"i—you're here. i didn't—…"
"i know," he cuts in, shaking his head, barely being able to contain the relief coursing through his veins. "too soon, zero buffer time. i was…just here to apologise for that…'i miss you' text. it was awfully pushy. and i felt really silly, especially when i promised you time and space —"
you quickly close the distance, cupping his jaw with both palms. tip-toeing to kiss once. completely sure of yourself. his surprised hum melts the second your lips slot between his. and he sighs, content and deep to curl his arm by your hips, lifting you up in the process.
"had my fill —" a soft, separation, and then you press another kiss, "all the time an'space." you continue, words broken by the urgent need to have him as close as you could.
clark turns you around, with your legs locked around his hips. he presses you flush against your front door, hiking you securely around him. he lets you have the room to speak, dragging the gentle curves of his nose down your jaw. his own bated breath warms your sensitive skin.
you tilt your head, panting in the aftermath of your confession. "i'm sure." you whisper, breathily, his mouth leaving urgent pecks to the column of your throat.
"i want you, clark."
it's all the assurance he needs to christen your furniture with the newly established label, like the good friend boyfriend he could now be.
The boys are just sick of the PDA between you and Dean. They’re happy to see their friend in love, but sometimes it’s just too much
I didn't give this one a second read, but I hope it's okay
Summary: Dean wakes up to you making pancakes for the house. Breakfast turns into making out in the kitchen…and Logan and Tucker are not having it
Warnings: making out, soft!Dean,
—
Sunday mornings were for sleeping in…and pancakes.
After celebrating last night’s win with a bit too much alcohol, you decided to whip up some pancakes for the hockey boys still sleeping.
The house was unusually quiet, except for the sizzle of butter hitting the pan and the soft clink of bowls and measuring cups. Sunlight spilled through the windows, warming the countertops while pouring the first round of batter into a pan.
The remnants from the party were all over the kitchen and living room. Empty bottles of beer on every surface. Red cups on the pool table from playing beer pong. And even a pair of panties. People really had no shame…
You cleaned just enough of the kitchen to have some space to cook and chose to ignore the rest. That was not your mess to clean.
The stack of golden pancakes was slowly growing beside the stove. Some of them had blueberries, which you found in the mostly empty fridge, for variety…and because they were Dean’s favorites.
Speaking of Dean, a pair of strong arms slid around your waist from behind. His bare chest was warm against your back and his voice rough from sleep. ‘’You escaped.’’
‘’I'm making breakfast,’’ you said, flipping a pancake.
He buried his face in your neck and kissed under your jaw as his hands travelled under your — his — shirt, rubbing circles on your hips. ‘’With blueberries?’’
You hummed.
‘’I love you.’’
You laughed softly. ‘’Because of the pancakes?’’
Dean pressed another slow kiss to your neck, this one softer and lingering, and then turned his head just enough to peek over your shoulder at the pancake flipping like a pro chef. ‘’Among other things.’’ He gave your thigh a light smack.
The smell of something cooking had been the thing that finally pulled him out of bed. That, and the absence of his beautiful girl beside him. It was as if he had felt the cold sheets on your side of the bed, the absence of a warm body curled against his chest.
His arms tightened around you as he watched that perfect flip, the pancake landing smooth back into the pan like magic. ‘’You’re too good at everything,’’ he murmured, voice still thick with sleep but full of affection anyway. ‘’Cooking…riding my dick…being hot while cooking.’’
You laughed at his antics, shifting your head to give him a kiss.
‘’Can you make coffee, baby?’’ you asked, adding the pancake to the pile. ‘’I couldn’t find the bag of coffee grounds.’’
Reluctantly, Dean moved and got the coffee started. Someone must have moved it when they were snuffing through the cupboards last night.
You focused on the next pancake. The plate you had put them on made it look like you were feeding a whole army. You had never seen this many pancakes. They’ll be gone in ten minutes once Logan, Tucker and Garrett wake up.
‘’Dean…’’ you chastised as his arms slid around your waist again and he pulled you against him.
‘’What?’’ he asked innocently, resting his chin on your shoulder.
You tried — and failed — not to smile.
‘’I need to finish the pancakes.’’
He pressed a kiss to your cheek, his blond hair tickling your face, then your jaw.
‘’Dean.’’
A third one, this time right below your ear.
You laughed and nudged him with your elbow. ‘’Sorry. I’m just so hungry.’’
‘’Sit and eat, then. I don’t need your help finishing up.’’
Without warning, he pulled you against him, pressing the front of his boxers to your ass. ‘’Not just for pancakes.’’
Deciding to play his game, you leaned back into him and moved, slow and deliberate. The heat between you flared instantly, blood rushing to his cock. It was so easy to get him worked up.
Dean let out a low groan and turned off the stove before spinning you in his arms and backing you against the counter. He stepped between your legs, effectively trapping you there without putting any real weight against you, and you rose onto your toes to kiss him.
Kissing escalated into making out. His hands slid up your thighs beneath his shirt, then lifted you with ease to set you down on the counter beside a few empty cups and a stale beer. You locked your legs around his waist, fingernails digging into the thick skin of his back as his hands wandered further up until they reached your breasts.
As if on cue, Logan shuffled into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, took one look at you and Dean, and groaned. ‘’Jesus Christ. It's ten in the morning.’’
Close behind, Tucker came down, his curly hair stuck up in every direction and he looked like he regretted every drink he'd had the night before. ‘’Not on my kitchen counter! Dean! Come on, bro…’’
