"—and i'm aang, her husband," aang introduces himself, smiling proudly as he gestures towards a rather flustered and happy you.
the group you've introduced yourselves too appear puzzled as they look at aang, brows furrowed.
"i—i mean, aren't you also the...avatar?" one person points out and aang shrugs, waving them off.
"yeah, yeah, i'm the avatar, sure," aang says flippantly before he uses the arm around your waist to pull you into his side, ignoring the weak swat you give to his chest. "but i'm her husband! which is, honestly, far more important."
all of their jaws drop while you shake your head, hiding your warm face behind a hand. but your heart is a beating a joyful beat in your chest and you're struggling hard not to smile.
leave it to aang to make everyone in the room speechless.
warning: too much suffering, alcohol, vomit, sadness and nightmare.
Author: I wrote this while I was working, my lovelies, specially the one that made the asks, I’m sorry for not writing everything you asked for. I had something in mind and just came alive like this. As much of you know, English is not my first language so I’m sorry if it seems confuse. I love literature and that stuff so you are going to find a lot here. The Bradley im using here it’s Bradley from the vamps hahahah I don’t know why I put him here put I think it was a great choice. Enjoy it my lovilies! Give me your feedback!!
My masterlist
The rain fell outside the bookstore you were in. The smell of old books brought you comfort. You were in a small used bookstore in London. It had been exactly five years since you moved to the rainy city known for its royalty.
You had ventured into studying English literature, your heart already loving Shakespeare and, like every classic romantic, you were passionate about Emily Brontë and Austen.
Since that night at your house, where Leon left you, your heart had not had room for anyone else. Even after every possible therapy session, you were certain: Leon was the love of your life.
But he made his choice, and you accepted it. You followed your own path, even though you couldn’t open your heart to anyone else. There had been attempts.
James from the Law course was always around you, Charles brought you flowers whenever he remembered, and there was also Bradley, who followed you around like a little puppy. Bradley was the closest one, a musician with a sweet heart.
You sighed as you ran your fingers over a volume of The Divine Comedy. Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise. Where you were now?
“[name]?” Bradley calls your name.
That’s when you realize you had been deeply lost in your thoughts.
“Brad… hey.” You give him a small smile and return your attention to the books.
“Remember I said I would take you to a really good café?” He says cheerfully and approaches you. Bradley smelled nice, but not like him. No one was like him.
You simply nodded and looked at him.
“The café is really close to here, actually near MI6… those damn agents are picky about their coffee.” He says laughing, and you freeze.
The word agent still affected you, even after all these years. Damn it.
“Are you okay? We can go later.” He asks cautiously, looking at you carefully. “You went pale. The weather didn’t give you another cold, did it?”
“No. Let’s go! Maybe I’m just hungry.” You roll your eyes, trying to hide it.
You and Bradley walked together, the rain had stopped. The breeze felt calm. You sighed deeply. You liked being with Bradley; you could stay silent, and he didn’t ask too many questions.
“How’s work going?” Bradley asked, unaware.
“The publishing house doesn’t enslave me as much as I thought it would, so it’s going very well.” You say with a laugh.
“You could work with me too, you know? Writing some songs…” You feel his gaze burning on your side.
“I already told you I’ll think about it later.” You laugh.
“It doesn’t hurt for me to try to convince you.” He smiles. “Stay here.”
You both stop in front of a modern-style café hidden among the British government buildings.
Bradley places a hand on your lower back while opening the door for you. The cold quickly disappears, replaced by the warmth of a heater and the smell of expensive coffee.
“Can you find a table for us?” Bradley asks and you nod. “Great! For you, the usual, right? That sweet thing I always forget the name of but I know what it is.”
“Mokaccino, Brad…” you laugh at him and start walking through the café to find a table for the two of you. “Oh God!…”
You bump into something hard and solid. Not something, someone.
Someone who catches you firmly, preventing you from hitting the spotless floor of the café.
“Are you okay?”
Oh no. That voice.
As you stand up, you find ice-blue eyes. The same pair of eyes that made you cry for five years straight.
Your body freezes. It feels like you are seeing a ghost, and he looks like he is seeing one too.
“[name]…?” he whispers your name, and one of the hands that was holding you firmly moves to your cheek, giving you a touch far too intimate. “What are you doing here?”
“Leon…” you can’t look away from the depth of the blue. It’s as if everything around you has disappeared.
“Hey… don’t cry…” He wipes away a single tear that fell from your face. His eyes also look like glass about to shatter.
“[name], did you find the table for us?…” You turn your gaze to Bradley, who is standing in front of both of you.
Leon quickly removes his hand from your face and analyzes him with precision.
“Who is this? Do you two know each other?”
“I am—”
You cut Leon off before he can say anything.
“No. He just helped me not fall.” You say coldly with all the strength you have. “Thank you, now I have to go.”
You pull yourself away from Leon’s hands, suddenly feeling empty.
That is where you belong. You know it, and Leon knows it too.
He looks at you with sadness, with pain in his own chest. Deep down, he knows he hasn’t lost you completely yet, but you are far away. You have become a stranger.
He watches you leave with the man whose name he doesn’t know.
He seemed like a good man, a boy full of life. Something Leon didn’t have anymore: life. Leon no longer knew what living was after losing you.
You don’t even look back. He goes his own way, and you sit down with Bradley, who hands you your mokaccino.
The water was cold, freezing cold, and he didn’t care. It felt like torture, and it probably was supposed to be. Thick tears ran down his face while his forehead rested against the bathroom tiles of the hotel.
He was the one crying now, not because of the pain from the wounds of his last mission, nor because of the fractured rib that hurt in an agonizing way.
It was because of his own broken heart.
A heart full of regret and guilt. Guilt for leaving the love of his life, guilt for letting himself be carried away by the illusion of a promise that was never fulfilled.
Leon cried like a child without a mother’s embrace. He was vulnerable.
You already had someone. You had moved on.
Someone was in his place now, something that once belonged to him.
He stepped out of the shower, barely drying himself. He only wrapped the towel around his waist. His open wounds throbbed and ached, but he didn’t care.
He deserved this. He deserved all the pain he was feeling now.
He walked past the table in his large hotel room. There were several bottles of alcohol there, some whose names he didn’t even know.
He didn’t even bother pouring it into a glass.
He opened a bottle, throwing the seal away and making the sound echo somewhere in the room. His chest was still shaking from crying.
He drank. The liquid burned his throat and warmed his chest.
He drank a little more.
Why did he do that to you?
He threw himself onto the floor. The towel had been gone for a long time. The one bottle became three, four, five…
The state he was in now was humiliating.
Naked, drunk, wet, cold, and crying like a little child who had gotten lost in the middle of chaos.
His thoughts were already completely out of control. Tangled together, he was already hallucinating.
Leon didn’t even remember when he fell asleep.
Out of all the nightmares, this one was about you.
He couldn’t have you back.
“Come back! Don’t leave me here!” he screamed from the bottom of his lungs. “I regret it! Everything!”
He chased you through an endless room full of doors, and every time he seemed close enough to reach you, you walked through another one.
“Please! My love! Don’t!”
He ran toward you, but his feet seemed trapped. He was desperate.
His other half was gone.
“[name]! Please… come back!”
He was on his knees now. His entire body trembled.
A gentle hand touched his face, making him look up.
You.
“My beloved…” you whispered and kissed his lips.
Leon woke up coughing and vomited on himself. All the alcohol he had consumed was punishing him in the worst possible way.
His head hurt.
The brightness invaded the room.
He was still on the floor, and now he was disgusting.
He kept vomiting. The pure alcohol made his stomach ache.
Your voice was still echoing inside his head. “My beloved…”
Once all the sickness and pain passed, he managed to get himself up.
The room smelled terrible now.
The floor was sticky with dirt.
His head felt bigger than it really was. Everything felt heavy.
He needed another shower and a couple of aspirin pills.
In front of the bathroom mirror, he looked at himself.
A terrible sight.
Dark circles under his eyes, vomit stains even in his own hair, his body sticky with whiskey everywhere.
He laughed bitterly at his own misery.
He still remembered your crying when he walked out of the door of your apartment five years ago.
How much he wanted to go back and fix what he had done, but he was a coward.
“Coward.”
He repeated it to his own reflection.
You didn’t take long to disappear from the map.
He always knew about your talents, and while you loved reading, he remembered every night of torment he had, when he would curl up against your chest and you would read to him until he fell asleep with that sweet and gentle voice.
He also remembered when you read to him about love.
Plato’s Symposium.
Two things that remained marked in Leon’s heart and that he never forgot.
Love is one of the greatest human forces, capable of inspiring courage and sacrifice.
A lover would accomplish great deeds to honor the person they loved.
He also remembered the great theory that human beings were once complete beings, but were separated by the gods, and since then, they search for their other half to recover that feeling of completeness.
He didn’t feel like he deserved the first place, because he had not honored you, he had not performed great deeds.
But what if he did something now?
Leon had enough power, didn’t he?
Second, he felt incomplete without you around.
He realized that when it was already too late.
He saw you in every face, everywhere.
Before, Raccoon City was his torment.
But now, your absence was.
The small romance with Ada didn’t last long.
Actually, there was never a romance.
Leon had been used, again and again and again.
Before, he thought she was the part of him he couldn’t let go of.
But that was you.
It had always been you.
A part of his soul belonged to you, and he didn’t know how to get it back.
Your laughter haunted him.
Your smile brought him grief.
He sighed, brushed his teeth, took a shower, dressed properly, and shamefully asked them to come clean the room in the state he had left it.
He left the hotel.
He had things to resolve with MI6, agents to train.
That was how the United States government used him.
They threw him from country to country, either on missions or using him as influence in training new agents in the fight against biological weapons.
Leon decided to go to the same café from the previous day.
He needed to eat something, and deep down, he was secretly hoping he would see you there.
Accompanied or not.
He just wanted to see your face.
He adjusted his leather jacket and entered the café.
He walked to the counter, ordering a black coffee, strong and without sugar. He needed it for the hangover that made his head feel like it was expanding with pain.
He was grateful London was cloudy.
Leon also ordered something to eat, something heavy like large muffins and cheese toast.
His stomach wouldn’t handle the classic British breakfast.
He waited for his order at the counter, his fingers tapping against the thin, modern wooden surface.
For once, he felt in peace.
Heyyyy!! I know what it looks like!! But I’m going to do a part 3, chillll my babies!! Chill!!
I’m so tired from work that I only could write this and I couldn’t let you all without this.
warnings: angst! You won’t feel okay reading this, I promise.
request: Heyyy girlll, Love you're writings! I have this req... I'm a huge angst fan, so... can you write something that after Spain and stuff and Ada's return he just you know? He's not sure and bla bla... with a sad sad ending. I hope you get what I want and kiss kiss 💗🌷💕
author notes: All the sadness that I have in my chest mixed with my delulu mind helps me to think the worst with Leon. And look I’m not hating Ada.
“What does that mean?” Your voice sounded shaky as you nervously fidgeted with your hands. A tightness formed in your throat all on its own.
“I can’t stay…” Leon said, looking at you with pity.
“I don’t understand.” Your eyes were filled with tears, your pulse racing.
Leon had never been an easy man to deal with; all that weight of sadness, trauma, and armor seemed to have gotten worse after he returned from Spain.
He had gone back to drinking heavily, you noticed that. You also noticed how he barely touched you since stepping back into your home. He had returned a complete stranger.
His expression conveyed pity, sadness, but also pure sincerity.
“I don’t love you.” He sighs. It seems like torture for him to say it. “I don’t think I ever did…” That was cruelty.
A sob escapes you. Sleepless nights come flooding back into your memory, the worry while waiting through missions that lasted weeks, every moment spent with him cleaning his wounds.
“Does this have something to do with her?…” you whisper, almost accusing him.
“What?” He looks at you, not understanding at first, the color draining from Leon’s face.
“Ada?…” You dare to say it. Your voice sounds bitter and sad, as though you had been bitten by a venomous snake and condemned to a slow, agonizing death.
Leon falls silent. He looks away. He can’t look at you. His lips tremble as if to say something, but he remains quiet.
“You talk in your sleep.” You explain, wrapping your arms around yourself. “And ever since you came back, you look at me differently.”
“[name]…” he tries to say your name, but it only seems to hurt you more.
“You stopped letting me play with your hair. You stopped letting me make your coffee. You don’t even let me wear your hoodies anymore…” you bite your lip, holding back another sob. “You disappear during the night and don’t come back until the next day…”
You noticed. Of course you noticed the changes. How he had become colder than usual.
“I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing…” he tries to say, and you let out a humorless laugh.
“You’re not sure?” Your body trembles with sadness. “I think you have your answer very clearly, Leon.”
Leon. You never called him Leon. He felt that. It hurt not to hear something sweet coming from your lips.
“I didn’t want to throw away what we have.” He runs a hand over his face, still unable to look you in the eyes. “I didn’t cheat on you. I’m not capable of that, but I can’t drag you into my mess, do you understand?”
“So you decided to find someone who’ll mess you up even more, right?” Your words cut him in half, straight through his chest. “I can’t fix you, I understand that now… but I would have been here. I have been here all this time, helping you through every nightmare, wound, and scar…”
Leon suddenly feels confused. Remembering who had been there for him, loving him, waiting for him.
“I hope you’re happy with her, that you feel fulfilled in a way you never were with me.” Your body still trembled as you spoke. You felt sick, like you wanted to throw up. “Maybe you like suffering.”
They weren’t words meant to hurt him, they were simply the truth. Leon takes a step toward you.
“Go away.” You stop him from getting closer, and he slowly shakes his head. “And forget I ever existed. Don’t come back.”
Since he couldn’t decide, since he was confused, you decided for him.
Silence settled between you. Leon watched you slip through his fingers, with no way back. A pain invades Leon’s chest; something deep inside him bitterly regrets it. He had hurt the one he called his salvation, his love, his long-awaited point of light in his dark and terrifying world.
“Go away, Leon!” You say louder. You don’t scream, but it still startles him.
He looks at you one last time. The regret was bitter and cut as deeply as a knife. He said nothing else and left your house in silence.
When the sound of the door closing reaches your ears, you collapse to the floor. You cry hard and your body shakes. Your throat is tight with anguish and sorrow. Your stomach hurts, you want to throw up, you want to rip all this pain out of yourself.
A broken cry escapes your lips. You love him, love him with all your soul, but you could never compete with the manipulation used against a traumatized man who might never find his own peace unless he chose it for himself.
That was you now, broken, alone, and without your love.
And that was Leon, chasing after a mistake named Ada Wong.
i loved writing this. the pleasure and agony's all mine. tysm for your request!
say it
pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader [no y/n used]
summary: leon really needs to get over himself and grow a pair. but jealousy does the trick, too.
tags: angst, misunderstandings, jealous leon, leon's a little emotionally dumb, fem!reader (wears a dress, perfume)
warnings: kinda made leon hate politicians and bureaucracy despite being a fed. might be a little ooc on that end but whatever
wc: 2k
prompts from this prompt list.
♪ — say my name by destiny's child, covered by hozier [spotify] [youtube]
Leon considers himself a mature guy. He really does.
So why is it that the first time he's seeing you in a dress, his eyes feel like they're going to bug out of his head and he has to check that he isn't drooling. This isn't some teenage romcom where you take off your glasses and are suddenly beautiful. Anyone with eyes can see that you're stunning. But he's only ever seen you in tactical gear, and at best, some jeans that hugged you in all the right places. Both of those are already exceedingly distracting, so this is a whole new level of debilitating for him.
A little black dress that fit you just right? Your collarbones deliciously exposed, your legs stretching a mile long beyond where the skirt ends just above your mid-thigh.
Jesus Christ, you may kill him.
It's no surprise when another man approaches you and begins to chat you up. He tries not to let the jealousy that twists in his stomach bother him when you smile and engage in the conversation willingly. He swallows the rest of his drink, brooding against the far wall, trying to escape conversation with anyone. He prefers to wallow without distractions, he guesses.
You aren't his, despite your longing glances and lingering touches. Despite everything the two of you had been through together. Leon was too much of a coward to make a move, too scared of the what ifs and hands that always seem hungry to rip any sort of stability out of his life. He's kind of convinced the rest of his life is meant to be filled the brim with things left unsaid.
The last time he saw you, he's pretty sure you almost kissed him. Something he's thought about multiple times a day for the past few years, it seems. For him, the sun rises and sets on your terms. You may as well have hung every star in the sky.
And yet he backed away like he was a frightened puppy.
It doesn't help that without fail, the two of you are in constant communication every single day. Whether it's a phone call, or sitting at a coffee shop, or escaping from work together, in unseen corridors and alleyways outside. You're attached at the hip. Except after that incident. You had been radio silent, despite his attempts at gentle hellos.
It's been a long, agonizing two weeks without you. Maybe that's why seeing you smile and accept another man's advances is especially painful.
He knows that both of you are at this party/cocktail/gala/thing out of a formality, a way to keep the people who employ the two of you happy. But there's something so natural about you in that dress, your hair perfectly twisted back, the length of your neck deliciously exposed as you look around at the party. The laugh and dazzling smile you let free at something that fucking guy says. He thinks that in another life, where you didn't need to always be on the move, you would've been great at philanthropy. Some kind of leader, a communicator perhaps. A job that's fulfilling and stable, where you didn't have to be in danger constantly, and your kindness could be given without worrying about the consequences. He's always admired your ability to be a regular person; he's not sure he's built for anything except being a soldier at this point. Don't get him wrong; he finds purpose in what he does, which he guesses means he "likes" his job. He especially likes the parts where you are. He just hates all the bureaucracy. All the fake smiles and polite conversation. But you're good at dealing with it. He's useless without you.
He's running a hand through his hair and making his way over to you before he can think better of it. You're still talking to that man who's all smiles and charming winks. He basically stops in his tracks when he spots the guy's hand reaching to touch your arm, and he swallows hard. You don't move it, but there's a shift in your posture, something that reads as not quite comfortable, but more-so convincing yourself to be comfortable.
Grow a pair, Leon.
"Hey," he finally gathers enough courage to pretend like he hasn't been agonizing over you all night. You turn to him, a genuine smile crossing your face before you could stop it. Your eyes crinkle at the corners just a little, and it reminds him that life isn't actually miserable, for just a moment.
"Hi, Leon," your eyes flicker over him, taking in the rare sight of him in a suit and tie. He tries not to dwell in the satisfaction of you looking him up and down while your potential suitor is standing, watching. "You look nice." He doesn't get a chance to respond before you're shaking yourself out of a Leon-induced stupor to stutter over introductions. "Um, this is Robert. He was just telling me about how he used to work for President Graham." Robert nods, shifting his feet awkwardly. The two of you were locked in each other's gaze, something unspoken weighing heavily in the air.
"Yeah, I, uh," he clears his throat and waves his champagne glass. "I was a White House assistant for a while." He says it like it's the greatest honor of all time.
"Uh huh," Leon finally tears his eyes away from you, shortly after you do the same from him. "Didn't work out?"
"I'm not one for politics, I guess," he shrugs. Leon actually chuckles. At least this guy isn't totally insane. "But he invited me to this. As a sort of goodbye gift. I was almost his right-hand man, you know," Robert almost puffs up his chest, bragging. The brief, vaguely positive feeling Leon had disappeared. He has a distaste for people who worship politicians. Even the president. He knows you feel similarly, which is why it's a surprise when your hand brushes over Robert's shoulder.
"That was nice of him, you must've made a good impression." Leon can hear something slightly ingenuine in your voice. You're being polite; something on the edge of flattering.
Leon thinks he may spontaneously combust. He can't help himself from what he does next.
"Must've been awarded the medal of honor for brown-nosing," he mutters, but loud enough for Robert to hear. The man chokes on his drink and a shade of embarrassment covers his cheeks. You turn to Leon sharply, crossing your arms.
"Don't be a dick, Leon," you're frustrated with him, but he can't help reveling in your attention returning to him. "Robert, I'm so sorry-"
"It's fine," Robert laughs awkwardly, throws a thumb over his shoulder. "I actually saw someone I used to work with over there, I'm, uh, I'm gonna go catch up. Nice talking to you." He nods and turns to walk away before stopping to look at you. "Let me know about those drinks." Leon nearly has an aneurysm at the implications. You're already looking at Leon when he turns back to you. He pretends like he doesn't know why you're looking at him like that.
"What?"
"Don't 'what' me, you were being an asshole," you huff. It's hard to be mad at him, with his blue eyes sparkling at you.
"Come on, that guy? You wanna cozy up with someone who's one step away from kissing the feet of the president?"
"You mean the guy we work for?"
"Hey, just because I work for the guy doesn't mean I think he's the second coming of Jesus," he holds his hands up in surrender. "Besides, you can do better. Look at you." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Feelings? Stay locked up right in his heart. Flirting is another thing. It's easy. Easy to blow off, push away.
And maybe he secretly thinks you'll pick up his hints and force his hand.
You want to scream. You wish he would just decide if he wanted you or not. You're sick of being caught between friends and something more.
"Yeah, look at me," you laugh mockingly. "Pushing thirty, single, and agonizing over a guy who's only fear is confronting things he already knows." His face falls. Your words are a knife twist in his gut. "God forbid I pursue someone who can actually admit that they want me."
You're walking away, out the exit before he can move from his spot. He feels sick. He's such a fucking idiot. He steels himself before following your lead, eventually figuring out where you are. You've escaped to the roof, head down and breathing heavily. Nothing strikes guilt and worry in him like seeing your shoulders shake, wiping away frustrated tears from your face.
"Just leave me alone, Leon," you know it's him without turning around. He ignores you, coming to stand next to you at the edge of the building. The wind whistles around the corners of the city, the music from the party inside faintly reaching your ears. You breathe deeply, the fresh air igniting comfort to your lungs, but the man next to you has you breathing heavy in a second once he breaks the silence.
"I'm scared," he finally admits. He turns, back to the city, leaning against the wall. The wind is chilly against your bare arms, and you can't help but shiver. He notices immediately. He notices everything about you. His jacket is being tugged over your shoulders before you can even play the "I'm not cold" game with him. He knows what you need, no matter how much you may deny it to him.
He knows what he needs, too.
"Scared of what?" You sniffle, finally looking at him. He was studying the scuffs on his dress shoes. He bumps his toe into yours. You almost smile.
"That I can't keep you safe," Your eyes soften at his tone. You've only heard him talk like this a few times before, when situations were dire. When the two of you weren't sure if you were going to make it. "That I'm not good enough for you."
"Leon," his name is so soft on your lips. He can feel the pull in his chest, the yearning to touch you, to hold you. His fingers twitch at the feeling and he crosses his arms to try to make it cease. "You're a good man. Better than most."
He inhales deeply and looks at you again, this time reaching out to rub his thumb over the faded scar on your chin. He was there when you got it. He patched you up, did everything but kiss it better. He should've kissed it better.
"Please don't go on that date." Leon's never begged for anything in his life. He doesn't ask for help. He usually decides to struggle on his own. But this isn't a problem he can solve without you. Or that he can ignore forever. It's going to eat him up if he doesn't do something, and he knows that. He's known that as it's chipped away at his heart since he met you.
"Why?" You're asking him to be vulnerable. It's the scariest thing you could ever ask him to do, but somehow, right now, you make it feel easy. You're looking at him, heart open and bleeding on your sleeve.
"You know why," is all he can manage. You step closer to him. He can smell your perfume drifting in the wind. It rustles your hair slightly, blowing your carefully manicured strands in your face. He tucks them behind your ears and you tilt your head into his palm.
"Please say it," you're begging now, and he's sure his knees are going to buckle underneath the weight of all of this. He's putty in your hands. "Say it, and I'm yours, Leon."
"I want you so bad," he sighs. You're moving so close to him he can feel your breath against his lips, hitching as he continues. "I love you. I'm sorry." You don't say anything more; you've heard everything you'd ever wanted to from him. You press your mouth to his, hard and full of years of wanting. He sighs into your mouth easily, cupping your face and deepening the kiss further. You're falling into him before you know it, his arms slipping around your waist like you were made for each other. Leon's convinced you're made for him.
riding rookie leon and turning him into an absolute mess. fuck, he’s so innocent and sweet, and not traumatized yet. that’s for another drabble.
he’s so fucking pussy drunk, has no clue where to put his hands, trying his best not to be too loud but still he’s such a whimpering, moaning mess as your cunt clamps around his flushed dick.
“almost-almost, leon! i wanna-!”
he grips your hips harder, lurching forwards against your chest with a deep moan, hips bucking erratically to fuck up deeper into your guts. he was close too.
“please! yes, cum-“
he kissed your neck and you leaned down against his sweaty head, tangling your fingers in his hair.
you felt his cock throb inside you, long enough to kiss your cervix at this angle with every drag against your flushed walls.
“feel so good leon…”
he moaned hot against your neck, and his arms squeezed you closer to him.
his whimpers broke, became higher, and you knew he was about to cum.
☁︎⋅ (18+) rookie!leon eating you out and creaming his pants
“l-leon, I don’t know if I can go again,” you cried out, your voice catching in your throat as your hips twitched helplessly above him.
you weren’t sure many times you’d come. it was hard to keep track after the third orgasm. but leon wasn’t ready to let go, he kept going, his broad hands gripping your thighs tight to keep you anchored in place. he thrusted into the air, desperate for some sort of friction.
“you just taste so good,” leon groaned against your skin. his face buried itself back between your lips, his tongue dragging in thick, heavy strokes through your folds. he sucked down on your clit, letting your arousal drench his lips and coat his chin. “one more, please, just one more…”
you looked down, your hands trembling as you braced yourself against the headboard. your gaze met his soft blue eyes. they were wide, glassy, and so sweet they looked like they might spill over with tears at any second. his cheeks were flushed a crimson red and his damp hair stuck messily to his forehead. he was completely at your mercy.
“you’re so pretty like this,” you breathed out, your heart hammering against your ribs. you reached down to brush the damp hair out of his face.
leon let out a soft whine at the gentle touch, the vibration of it causing you to jolt. “my pretty boy,” you whispered.
“oh fuck-”
leon sucked down hard on your clit, his tongue swirling in a frantic, demanding rhythm. you gripped the headboard for dear life as the sudden sensation sent you crashing into another violent orgasm. your sweet release coated his lips and his tongue moved eagerly to catch every single drop.
as your body settled, you noticed that leon was panting incredibly hard. you shifted, looking behind you, only to see a very prominent dark wet spot across his gray sweats.
a soft gasp left your lips. “did you just…?” you giggled.
leon groaned, a pitiful sound escaping his lips as his ears turned bright pink. he pulled away from your lips to nudge his nose against your inner thigh.
“you taste really good,” he mumbled defensively, his voice muffled as he tried to hide his blushing face from view.
Yandere stepbrothers best friend! Your stepbro has his own place yet has somehow claimed a room at your house and it’s like… okay
Yandere brothers bestfriend! who doesn’t think he’s going to care for you, coming over to your house with your brother to hang out when he asks about you and your brother just says, “she’s cool.”
Who walks into the house and as he looking around he spots you… and it’s the end and the beginning.
“Hi….” He says while staring at you like you’re a nymph he just found in the forest.
You look up, “hey there, you’re (H/ n)?”
He nods, “yeah, uh your (y/N)?”
You nod “mhm”
Yandere brothers bsf! He comes over all the time under the pretense of hanging out but you start to catch on. He’s very obvious. To you at least.
His eyes always trail you to the point of discomfort. He’s attractive and tall and it’s uncanny.
If you are grabbing something from the kitchen he happens to be grabbing some pretzels or something.
He has like an instinct for you. He can feel you in the floorboards.
You could be doing anything and he’s there.
When your mom questions him or he talks about him self he always looks to you to see if you care, especially when the convo is about girls. “No- no, I’m waiting for the right woman.” He says like an upstanding young man but he side eyes you.
As time goes on he starts asking you more questions. You likes, wants-
“So do you like anyone? Celebrity crushes or anything.” He says while smiling
You look up at him from your bowl of captain crunch.
“No.” And go back to eating
He fists himself to the thought of you in his dorm.
He feels like you were made for each other and honestly… he’s going to make sure you are.
Someone Safe - Garrett Graham x Reader (ft. Dean Di Laurentis) Part 2
click here for Part 1
summary: After a confession that changes everything, Garrett starts seeing Y/n in a whole new light. As feelings he never expected begin to surface, keeping his distance becomes harder than ever, especially when someone else seems interested in her too. Suddenly, the biggest challenge isn’t breaking the rules… it’s pretending he doesn’t care.
warnings: mentions of alcohol, drinking, s*xual references
Garrett barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you sitting in that circle, forcing a smile that hadn't looked real. He knew it wasn't his problem. He knew he didn't need to step in.
But the thought of you feeling pressured to act like someone else, to become whatever version of yourself people expected, sat wrong with him.
Because the truth was, he liked that you weren't like everyone else. Hell, that was the whole problem.
At some point, exhaustion finally won. The last thing he remembered was the steady sound of your breathing from the bed behind him.
The next morning wasn't much better. You'd both been awkward as hell. A few mumbled good mornings. Too much avoiding eye contact. Then you'd disappeared before he could figure out what he wanted to say.
—
Now he sat on the boards beside the rink with Logan, Dean, and Tucker, nursing a coffee and a headache.
"So let me get this straight," Dean said slowly. "She slept with you?"
John smacked the back of his head.
Dean winced. "What?"
"No, dumbass. Try listening."
Garrett rolled his eyes. "She slept in my bed. I slept on the floor."
Dean stared at him. Then he burst out laughing.
"You voluntarily slept on the floor?"
"It was her first college party," Garrett said. "She was drunk and exhausted."
"Still." Dean shook his head. "I don't know whether to call you a gentleman or an idiot."
"Both," Tucker offered.
Garrett ignored them. His thoughts drifted back to you anyway. The way you'd looked at breakfast. Like neither of you knew what to do with what had happened.
Which was ridiculous. Nothing had happened. Right?
At least that's what he kept telling himself.
Dean studied him for a moment, a knowing grin creeping across his face.
"Oh my God."
Garrett immediately hated that tone. "What?"
"You're into her."
Tucker nearly choked on his coffee. Logan groaned. Dean looked delighted.
Garrett felt his jaw tighten. "Shut up."
Dean's grin widened. "You are."
"She's Coach Jensen's daughter."
"So?" Dean asked.
"So that's the entire reason this conversation shouldn't exist." Garrett shot back.
Dean shrugged. "Didn't say you had to date her. Just admit you're into her."
Garrett looked away, staring out across the empty ice. The worst part was that Dean wasn't wrong. Somewhere between late-night conversations, study sessions, and watching you try way too hard to carry the weight of your father's reputation, he'd gotten completely screwed.
Because he liked you. Way more than he should.
Dean leaned back against the boards.
"Well, if you're not doing anything about it..."
Garrett immediately turned toward him. "Don't."
Dean blinked innocently. "Don't what?"
"You know exactly what."
Logan muttered a curse under his breath. "Dean, leave her alone."
"Why?" Dean asked. "She's smart. She's pretty. She's single."
"She's not interested." The lie came out faster than Garrett expected.
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Oh?"
Garrett forced himself to sound casual. "She told me she's interested in somebody else."
For a second, Dean actually seemed to consider it.
Then he stood, stretching his arms over his head.
"We'll see."
Garrett watched him walk away and felt a familiar knot settle in his stomach. Because Dean Di Laurentis treated limits like suggestions.
And Garrett wasn't entirely sure which bothered him more, that Dean was interested in you.
Or that Garrett cared.
—
The student center was crowded enough that you should have been able to focus on literally anything else. Instead, your attention kept drifting toward the table by the windows. Toward Garrett.
Not that you were staring. At least, that was the lie you'd been telling yourself for the last ten minutes.
"You know he's going to notice eventually."
You looked up.
Hannah was watching you with the kind of expression that suggested she'd been watching for a while.
"I wasn't looking at him."
A laugh escaped Allie.
"Sure."
Heat crept into your face. You immediately focused on your coffee. Ever since the party, things had been strange. Not awkward exactly. Just... different.
You kept replaying pieces of that night you wished you couldn't remember. The truth-or-dare game. The walk back to Garrett's apartment. The embarrassing conversation you'd apparently had before passing out.
Most of all, you remembered waking up in his bed and finding out he'd slept on the floor. The memory still made your stomach twist.
"He seems distracted too."
You glanced up before you could stop yourself.
Across the room, Garrett was listening to something Logan was saying, but not very well. His attention kept wandering.
The realization sent a confusing rush of warmth through your chest. Before you could examine it too closely, someone pulled out the empty chair beside you.
Dean.
Hannah sighed immediately. Dean ignored her and settled into the seat like he belonged there. For a moment, the conversation remained easy. Mostly harmless. You relaxed despite yourself.
Until Dean casually asked if you were coming to the next hockey game. Across the room, Garrett's head lifted. The movement was small enough that nobody else would have noticed.
You did.
For some reason, that made answering harder than it should have been.
"Probably," you said.
Dean nodded. The conversation moved on. But something had shifted. Maybe it was your imagination. Maybe it wasn't.
Because when you glanced toward Garrett again, you found him already looking in your direction. This time neither of you looked away immediately. Only when John said something did Garrett finally break eye contact.
You stared down at your coffee. Your heart was beating entirely too fast. Beside you, Allie watched the exchange with growing amusement. Across the table, Hannah looked like she was trying very hard not to smile.
Neither of them said anything.
Which somehow felt worse.
—
Practice ran long, which meant everyone was exhausted by the time they made it back to the locker room.
The room buzzed with the usual post-practice energy. Guys changing out of gear, arguing about weekend plans, half the team already mentally checked out.
Garrett was stuffing equipment into his bag when Dean and Beau started talking about a bonfire they were planning at the lake. The conversation spread quickly.
People were already discussing rides, who was bringing food, who would inevitably end up in the water before the night was over.
Garrett paid little attention to it. At least until Dean mentioned that everyone was invited. Even then, his thoughts drifted somewhere else. Lately they always seemed to.
He was zipping up his bag when Coach Jensen appeared in the doorway. The room quieted automatically.
Coach ran through a few final notes about practice before dismissing everyone. As Garrett headed for the door, he heard his name.
"Got a minute?"
Garrett nodded and followed him into his office.
The conversation started normally enough. Strategy. The upcoming game. A few things Coach wanted him to keep an eye on during practice.
Nothing unusual. By the time it ended, Garrett had already reached for the door.
Then Coach spoke again.
"I appreciate what you did for my daughter the other night."
Garrett paused. Coach's attention remained on the papers scattered across his desk.
"She told me you got her home safely."
For some reason, Garrett found himself looking away.
"It wasn't a big deal."
"Maybe not to you."
Coach finally looked up.
"But I appreciate it anyway."
The sincerity in his voice made something uncomfortable settle in Garrett's chest. Because Coach trusted him. It was obvious in the way he said it. Obvious in the fact that he hadn't questioned Garrett's intentions for a second.
—
Garrett left the office feeling strangely unsettled.
The conversation followed him down the hallway. So did the image of you. The two had become annoyingly connected lately.
"You okay?"
Garrett looked up.
Hannah was leaning against the wall near the exit, waiting for him.
He shrugged.
"I'm fine."
She didn't look convinced.
For a moment they walked in silence toward the parking lot.
Then Hannah spoke again.
"She had fun, you know."
Garrett knew immediately who she meant.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.
"Yeah?"
Hannah nodded.
"She was nervous about college. About meeting people. About all of it."
He wasn't surprised.
You hid it well, but not well enough.
"What are you getting at?"
Hannah glanced at him.
"Nothing."
Garrett didn't believe that for a second.
A few steps passed before she continued.
"I just think she feels comfortable around you."
The words shouldn't have affected him. They did. He thought about that night again. The version of you that existed when you stopped trying so hard. The sleepy honesty. The vulnerability. The trust.
It made his chest feel unexpectedly tight. Hannah seemed to notice the shift in his expression.
"Just be careful."
Garrett frowned.
"With what?"
She hesitated.
"As much as she pretends otherwise, she takes things to heart."
There was no accusation in her voice. No warning. Just concern. And somehow that made it worse.
Because Garrett wasn't worried about hurting you. He was worried about wanting things he shouldn't.
By the time Hannah headed toward her car, Garrett was already regretting the entire conversation. His phone buzzed in his pocket. A message from Dean.
The bonfire was Friday night. Most of the team was coming.
A second message followed a few moments later. Dean was asking if Coach Jensen's daughter would be there too.
Garrett stared at the screen for a long moment before shoving his phone back into his pocket. The irritation came immediately. So did something else. Because despite everything, despite Coach's trust and Hannah's words and all the reasons this was a bad idea, one thought surfaced before any other.
Would you be there?
—
The bonfire was loud in the way all college bonfires were, music bleeding into laughter, people drifting between firelight and darkness like they couldn’t decide where they belonged.
You stayed with Hannah and Allie for as long as it was easy to pretend you weren’t looking for someone. You didn’t even drink. You weren’t risking a repeat of last weekend.
“Look at you,” Allie said at one point, nudging your shoulder. “Responsible.”
“I’m traumatized,” you muttered.
Hannah laughed softly against John‘s side. “Growth.”
You rolled your eyes, but your attention still kept slipping away from them. To Garrett. He was across the fire, half in conversation with Tucker and Beau, shoulders relaxed in that way that always looked effortless even when you were pretty sure it wasn’t.
Every time you looked at him, you told yourself it was the last time. It never was.
And then Dean sat down next to you. Of course he did.
He didn’t ask. Just dropped into the empty space like he’d always been part of it, leaning back on his hands, watching the fire like it had personally entertained him.
“You’re not drinking,” he observed.
You shrugged. “Not risking it.”
“Smart,” he said, like it was mildly impressive.
The conversation should’ve been annoying. It usually was with Dean. But tonight it wasn’t. He was just… there. Talking occasionally, not pushing, not performing. You found yourself laughing once or twice without meaning to.
It made everything feel almost normal. Until you noticed Garrett wasn’t talking anymore. He was watching. Not obvious. Not intense. Just enough that you felt it.
Every time Dean said something and you reacted, Garrett’s attention shifted slightly. Every time you laughed, he looked away a second too late.
It did something strange to your chest. Something that made it harder to breathe than it should’ve been.
Dean followed your gaze once. Just once. And something in his expression changed, not teasing, not amused. Just aware.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
You frowned. “What?”
But he was already standing.
He patted Tucker’s shoulder as he passed and disappeared into another group like the conversation had never mattered to him in the first place.
Which left you confused. And Garrett suddenly very still across the fire.
You didn’t understand it, not fully, but the air between things felt different now. Less crowded. More exposed.
—
People started drifting toward the water or back toward cars as the night got later and the music softened. Hannah and Allie wandered off with John and Beau, leaving you on the edge of the firelight without really meaning to.
And then it was just you and Garrett.
He was standing near the shore when you finally walked over. The lake reflected broken pieces of firelight, the kind of view that usually felt peaceful.
Tonight it just made your nerves worse.
Garrett glanced at you as you stopped beside him.
“You okay?”
You almost laughed at how normal he made it sound.
“No,” you said honestly, then immediately regretted it. “I mean, yes. I just…needed to talk to you.”
That got his attention. Fully now. His posture shifted slightly, like he was bracing for something he couldn’t name. “Yeah?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. This was harder than it should’ve been. Harder than anything involving hockey players or truth-or-dare games or lies you didn’t mean to make.
“I told you there was someone,” you said finally, voice quieter than you intended.
Garrett didn’t respond. But something in his jaw tightened. You noticed. And that alone made your stomach flip.
“The hockey player,” you added, forcing the words out before you lost them.
Still nothing.
Just him watching you like he was trying to solve something he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.
Your heart sank a little at that.
“God,” you muttered under your breath, mostly to yourself. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to-”
“Y/N.”
Your name cut through it. Not sharp. Just steady.
You looked at him again.And for the first time all night, he didn’t look amused or guarded or distracted. He looked like he already knew where this was going. Or maybe like he’d been hoping it would.
“I’m not good at guessing games,” he said.
A pause.
Then, quieter, “Just tell me.”
Your hands felt cold. You hated how simple he made it sound. Like it wasn’t going to change everything.
“It’s you,” you said.
The words landed between you both and stayed there. No reaction at first. Just silence.
Then Garrett exhaled slowly, like something in him had finally given up fighting.
“Jesus,” he said under his breath, almost like he couldn’t believe it.
A short, humorless laugh left him as he looked away toward the water.
“You’ve been walking around thinking I didn’t know.”
You frowned. “What?”
He looked back at you then, and there was something in his expression that made your chest tighten all over again.
“Y/N,” he said, softer now, “I’ve known for- well, a while.”
That shut you up completely. Because suddenly all the moments made sense in a way you weren’t ready for. The watching. The tension. The way he always stayed close without making it obvious. The way he looked at Dean. The way he didn’t.
“You’re unbelievable,” you whispered.
That made something shift in his expression, something almost like relief.
“Yeah,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
For a second, neither of you moved. The fire crackled behind you. The lake stayed still in front of you. And everything that had been circling between you for weeks finally stopped pretending it wasn’t there.
The silence after you said it stretched longer than it should’ve. Garrett didn’t move right away. Just looked at you like he was recalibrating something in his head. Then he exhaled through his nose, almost like he was annoyed.
“You’ve been driving me insane,” he said finally.
Your stomach tightened. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It isn’t supposed to be.”
That made you falter.
He dragged a hand through his hair, gaze flicking briefly toward the lake before coming back to you.
“You walk into a room and act like you’ve got everything under control,” he said. “Then you sit there and look like you’re waiting for someone to tell you how to breathe.”
Your jaw tightened slightly. “I don’t….”
“You do,” he cut in, not harsh, just certain. “And you don’t even notice it.”
That shut you up. Not because you agreed. Because he wasn’t wrong.
A beat passed.
“You don’t know me that well,” you said, quieter this time.
That got a short, humorless laugh out of him.
“No,” he said. “But I know enough to know you were lying at that party.”
Your pulse skipped. His eyes stayed on yours.
“And I know you were embarrassed about it after,” he added. “And I know you’ve been acting like nothing happened since.”
Your throat felt dry. “That wasn’t your business.”
“It wasn’t,” he agreed immediately. No argument. No defense. “But it’s still true.”
The honesty sat heavy between you. A few people passed behind you near the fire, laughter carrying faintly across the lake, but it all felt distant now.
Garrett shifted slightly closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough that the space between you stopped feeling accidental.
“This is a bad idea,” he said, more to himself than you.
“Then don’t do it,” you replied.
That finally made him look at you properly again. Longer this time. Like he was deciding whether he was actually going to listen to himself.
“I’ve been trying not to,” he said.
“Why?”
A pause. Because of your dad, you expected. Because of Dean. Because of everything. But he didn’t say any of that first.
“I don’t do complicated,” he said instead.
Your breath caught slightly. “This feels pretty complicated already.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It does.”
Another pause. Then, more quietly:
“But I keep thinking about you anyway.”
That did something to the air between you. Not dramatic. Not obvious. Just real enough that you stopped pretending this was something you could step away from.
Garrett looked frustrated by that fact more than anything else. Like he didn’t like how little control he had over it.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t unsure in a fragile way. It was direct.
You nodded once.
That seemed to settle something in him. Not resolve. Acceptance.
He stepped closer, finally closing the space properly this time. His hand came up, paused briefly like he was giving you a last second to change your mind. You didn’t.
The kiss wasn’t slow in a cinematic way. It was controlled at first, restrained like he was still holding something back. Then that restraint gave out.
Not dramatically. Just enough that he stopped overthinking it. His lips were soft tough the kiss was just harsh enough to make you feel the desperation in it. Like it was something you both had wanted for a long time.
When he pulled back, it was only slightly. Still close enough that you had to look at him.
Neither of you spoke right away. Garrett exhaled, gaze dropping for a second before coming back to you.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” he whispererd.
“I know,” you said.
A beat.
Then his mouth twitched faintly, like he was mildly annoyed at himself.
“Good,” he added. “Because I’m not doing this fast.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
His eyes held yours for a second longer. Then, quieter:
“Yeah,” he said like he was trying to convice himself. “We’ve got time.”
—
Morning light slipped in through the curtains in thin strips.
You woke slowly, still warm, still half stuck between sleep and awareness, before everything caught up at once. Garrett’s bed. Garrett beside you. Already awake. Watching you.
“You’re up,” he said quietly.
“Unfortunately,” you muttered, voice rough.
That earned a faint smirk.
“Rough morning?”
“I’m evaluating my decisions.”
“Mm.” His eyes lingered on you. “Let me know how I rank.”
You turned your head slightly toward him. “Too early for feedback.”
“Disappointing.” The corner of his mouth lifted, but he still didn’t look away.
The silence between you didn’t feel awkward. Just charged. Different from before. Like neither of you were pretending it hadn’t changed.
You shifted slightly to sit up, and his hand moved first, catching the edge of the blanket before it slipped too far. Not stopping you. Just fixing it.
Then his fingers brushed your shoulder lightly as he let go. Like it wasn’t intentional. Like it definitely was.
“You okay?” he asked.
You glanced at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His eyes flicked over your face for a second longer than necessary.
“No reason,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.
You huffed a small laugh and pushed yourself upright. The second you moved, he reached over and tugged the hoodie from the chair beside the bed.
He didn’t toss it to you. Just held it out. Waiting. When you took it, his fingers brushed yours. He didn’t pull away right away. Neither did you.
“Put it on,” he said.
“I can dress myself, Graham.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t.”
His tone was easy. But his gaze stayed on you while you pulled it on anyway. Satisfied look. Subtle. Like he’d just fixed something. You noticed. You absolutely noticed.
“You always this bossy?” you asked.
“Only when people ignore obvious solutions.”
“Obvious to you.”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “That’s usually the problem.”
That made you smile despite yourself.
You shifted off the bed, and this time his hand caught your wrist for half a second, not stopping you, just grounding you as you stood. Light. Natural. Like he wasn’t thinking about it too much.
But his thumb brushed once over your skin before he let go. Your breath caught slightly, and you hated that he probably noticed. He did. Of course he did.
“You’re quiet,” you said, grabbing your shoes.
“So are you.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
You paused. Looked at him. His expression was calm, but his attention wasn’t. It was fully on you.
“Whether I regret last night,” you said carefully.
A beat. Then he stood too, slower than you, stepping closer without making a show of it.
“You don’t,” he said.
Not a question. Just certainty. That alone made your stomach flip.
“And you?” you asked.
His eyes held yours for a second longer. Then, quieter:
“No.”
A pause. Then, like it was nothing, he reached past you to pick up your hoodie sleeve and tug it straight where it had twisted. Casual. Close.
Too close to be accidental, not close enough to be overwhelming.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“No.”
“You are,” he repeated.
You rolled your eyes. But you didn’t move away when he walked with you out of the room. And when you reached the hallway, he stayed slightly behind you at first, then beside you,then just close enough that his shoulder brushed yours when the space narrowed.
Like it had already stopped being something either of you needed to think about.
—
The kitchen was already loud when you walked in. Too loud for that time in the morning.
Hockey guys everywhere, Tucker leaning against the counter, Beau rummaging through cabinets like he lived there, John sitting at the island with Hannah too close beside him to pretend it meant nothing.
Allie spotted you first. Her eyes flicked down immediately. Then to Garrett behind you. Then back to you.
“Oh,” she said.
You frowned. “What?”
Hannah looked up next, expression shifting into something way too amused for your comfort.
You suddenly became aware of the hoodie. Garrett’s hoodie. Still on you. Great.
Behind you, he walked in like nothing was unusual. Hands in his pockets, calm as ever. Except he didn’t put space between you. Not like before. Not like he used to.
“Morning,” John said, eyes moving between the two of you.
“Hey,” you replied carefully.
Allie leaned toward Hannah. “That’s his hoodie.”
“I can see that,” Hannah murmured, smiling now.
You tugged the sleeves down a little. Garrett noticed. Of course he did.
He moved past you to the fridge, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours on the way by. Like it was accidental. It didn’t feel accidental.
“You sleep okay?” Logan asked.
“Yeah,” you said too fast.
Dean picked that exact moment to walk in. Already talking.
“I need someone to tell me I missed something interesting because-“
He stopped. Mid-sentence. His eyes landed on you. Then the hoodie. Then Garrett. A slow grin spread across his face.
“Oh,” he said. “This is way better than interesting.”
You closed your eyes briefly. Garrett didn’t even look at him.
“She was cold,” he said, opening the fridge.
Dean leaned against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “So this is a hoodie type situation now.”
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out fast enough. Garrett did not hesitate.
“Yes.”
Simple. Flat. Like that ended the conversation. It didn’t.
Dean looked delighted.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, “Coach Jensen’s daughter, his star player, one hoodie, suspicious timing-”
“Dean,” Logan warned.
“I’m observing.”
“You’re narrating my life,” Garrett said without looking up.
Allie was already laughing. Hannah looked like she was trying very hard not to.
Tucker muttered, “This is going to end badly.”
“It’s not,” Garrett said.
That made the room go slightly quieter. Not serious. Just… sure. Like he wasn’t debating it. Just stating it. You shifted slightly, suddenly very aware of everyone watching without openly watching.
Garrett reached past you for a mug. Didn’t step away. Didn’t create space. And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, his hand found yours.
Fingers curling lightly around your wrist. Not firm. Not showy. Just there. Like it had already decided.
Your breath caught slightly. He didn’t look at you.
Just kept pouring coffee.
“Eat something,” he said.
“I am not-”
“You are.” he interrupted, calm.
Dean made a sound of pure disbelief.
“Oh my God.”
Allie lost it first. Then Tucker. Then even Hannah gave in, laughing into Logan’s shoulder. You shook your head, trying not to smile, but failing.
Garrett finally glanced at Dean.
“You’re still here.”
Dean grinned. “I live here.”
“Unfortunate,” Garrett said.
That did it. The kitchen broke into laughter again.
Even you gave up at that point, leaning slightly into the counter as Garrett’s hand stayed around your wrist like he had no intention of letting go just because people were watching.
Dean pointed between you both like he’d just confirmed something important.
“I’m telling you right now,” he said, “Coach Jensen is going to lose his mind.”
Someone Safe - Garrett Graham x Reader (ft. Dean Di Laurentis)
click here for Part 2
summary: Garrett Graham knows Coach Jensen’s daughter is strictly off limits, everyone does. At a party, a game of Truth or Dare gets messy when Dean pushes her into an embarrassing situation, and she lies her way through it just to get out of the spotlight. But later, alone with Garrett, the truth slips out anyway, she admits what she couldn’t say in front of everyone. And that changes everything. Because Garrett stops seeing her as just “the coach’s daughter,” and starts seeing her as someone real… someone he shouldn’t be getting this close to, but already is.
(author’s note:Dean is kind of a dick in this everyone’s a little mean, and Garrett is a funny king.)
Everyone knew you were protected. Maybe a little too protected.
Growing up around hockey players meant you’d basically collected a handful of older brothers you never asked for. Everything—every rumor, every late-night ride home, every questionable decision you almost made—somehow circled back to Coach Jensen.
It was endearing to some people. Reassuring, even.
To you, it felt like a cage.
You were in college now. You were supposed to be figuring things out, making mistakes, having stories that didn’t end with your father being notified. Instead, you were still showing up to hockey practices like it was part of your degree.
Technically, it was. According to your dad, anyway.
“Assistant duties,” he called it. Which mostly meant water bottles, equipment runs, and standing around freezing in the rink while a group of overly confident guys pretended they weren’t trying to show off.
You didn’t even like hockey. It was loud, aggressive, and far too comfortable with chaos. But you still showed up. Every time.
Because you didn’t really get a choice.
“Hey, Coach Jr.”
The nickname pulled you out of your thoughts. You were sitting along the side boards, legs tucked in close as practice wrapped up on the ice below. Dean leant over the railing like he owned the place, already smirking before he even finished speaking.
“Could you be a good girl and grab me some electrolytes?”
The words weren’t even finished before an elbow hit his side.
Hard.
“Jesus,” Dean hissed, straightening up.
Garrett Graham stood beside him.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Dean like he was one second away from being benched for life. His curls were damp with sweat, sticking slightly to his forehead, and his jersey hung loose in a way that made him look unfairly calm for someone who had just been skating like a maniac.
Then his gaze shifted to you.
Something in your chest tightened immediately.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Garrett said flatly.
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Dean rolled his eyes, leaning back on the railing like he wasn’t about to behave any better. “Relax, Graham. I was just asking Coach Jr. for a favour.”
“I don’t mind,” you blurted out before you could think better of it.
Both of them looked at you.
Dean grinned like he’d just won something.
“See? She’s fine with it.”
Your face went warm instantly. “I—no, I didn’t mean—” You shook your head, scrambling for words that refused to form properly. “I just… I can get them, it’s not a big deal.”
You pushed yourself up from the bench before the embarrassment could settle in fully, avoiding Garrett’s eyes even though you could feel them on you.
“I’ll get the electrolytes, Dean,” you muttered, already walking away.
Behind you, Dean let out a quiet laugh, satisfied, amused, entirely too pleased with himself.
But you didn’t miss what came after.
Garrett’s voice again, lower this time, sharper with annoyance.
“Stop doing that to her.”
And for some reason you couldn’t quite explain, that made your heart beat a little faster too.
—
You’d had a crush on Garrett Graham for forever. Of course you had. Who wouldn’t?
He was a star player, one of those guys people looked at twice without meaning to. Charismatic in a way that didn’t feel like effort. The kind of charming that made everything look easy, like the world had just decided to go his way and never stopped.
And annoyingly, he was good with women. Everyone knew it. Everyone joked about it.
It should’ve made him less appealing. Somehow, it didn’t.
If anything, it made him worse.
Because when Garrett talked to you, it was never in a way that felt like a game. Never like he was trying to be impressive or funny or flirty. It was always careful. Measured. Like he was making sure he didn’t accidentally cross a line that only existed in your head.
Respectful. That was the word for it.
He was always nice to you in a way that felt like distance disguised as kindness.
And maybe that was the worst part.
Because to you, he wasn’t just Garrett Graham, the star forward, the reputation, the noise everyone attached to his name.
To you, he was just… perfect. Which made it painfully obvious how impossible it was.
He’d been with girls who were prettier, louder, easier. Girls who fit into his world without hesitation. And even if that hadn’t been true, there was still the obvious problem, you were Coach Jensen’s daughter.
There were rules without anyone ever having to say them out loud. And Garrett Graham, for all his confidence on the ice, had never once looked like someone who broke rules he respected.
So you stayed exactly where you were.
Close enough to see him. Far enough to not matter.
—
That night, the invitation came almost too casually. A teammate had mentioned it first, some party, some drinking game, something stupid and loud that always ended the same way. Truth or Dare. Of course it was.
You almost said no. You should’ve said no.
But somehow you didn’t.
And now you were standing in front of your mirror, completely unsure what you were even supposed to wear to something like that.
It wasn’t like you fit in. Not really. Not there. Not with them.
You hesitated before grabbing your phone, already typing before you could overthink it.
Allie answered almost immediately.
—
“Okay, no,” Allie said the moment she saw you standing there. “That top is way too safe.”
You looked down at yourself. “It’s just a party.”
“That’s exactly why it’s not safe,” Allie replied, already pushing past you into your room like she lived there.
Hannah followed behind her, laughing softly as she dropped her bag onto your bed. “She’s right. It’s a hockey party. Safe is illegal.“
You blinked. “There are no rules about clothing.”
“There are unspoken ones,” Allie said, rifling through your closet like she had authority there.
“And you’re breaking them by not trying at all.”
You frowned. “I’m not trying to impress anyone.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow immediately. “That’s a lie.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Because it was.
Allie turned back around, holding up a different top now. “Okay. Question. Is this about blending in, or is this about someone specific?”
Your silence answered for you.
Hannah’s expression softened just a little. She knew you better than she pretended to sometimes, John had that effect on her, made her more observant than she probably realized.
“Garrett?” she asked gently.
You didn’t deny it.That was answer enough.
Allie made a small sound like she’d been expecting it the whole time. “Yeah. That tracks.”
You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “It’s not like that. It’s just, he’s there. And I’m going. That’s it.”
“Mm-hm,” Allie said, unconvinced, already swapping out your clothes like she was on a mission. “Then you’re definitely not wearing that.”
Hannah stepped closer, quieter now. “You don’t have to change who you are for a party, you know.”
You glanced up at her.
She smiled a little. “But if you want to feel like you belong there for once… we can help with that.”
And for the first time that night, the idea didn’t feel completely impossible.
—
The house was already loud before you even stepped inside.
Music thumped through the walls like it had nowhere else to go, laughter spilling out onto the porch where people stood half-in, half-out of the night air. Someone shouted your name as you followed Allie and Hannah inside, but it got swallowed almost immediately by the chaos.
It always felt like stepping into a different world.
A louder one. A looser one. One where nobody was watching you through the lens of your last name. Or at least, they weren’t supposed to be.
“Allie,” Hannah said over her shoulder, “if I lose her in here, I’m blaming you.”
“You won’t lose her,” Allie replied confidently, already scanning the room like she owned it.
“She’s with us.”
You weren’t sure that made it better.
The living room was packed, hockey guys, people from campus, strangers you definitely wouldn’t remember tomorrow. Red cups, loud voices, someone laughing too hard in the kitchen.
You hovered slightly behind Allie and Hannah.
Until you saw him.
Garrett was leaning against the counter, a drink in one hand, looking far more relaxed than he ever did at practice. He was talking to Dean, smiling at something he said.
Of course he looked like that. Of course he did.
You didn’t realize you’d stopped walking until Allie bumped your shoulder.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just crowded.”
Hannah followed your gaze and immediately understood.
“Oh.”
There was no teasing in it. Just recognition.
As if he felt it, Garrett glanced up.
For a second, the room kept moving around him. Dean was still talking, people were still laughing, but Garrett’s attention landed on you.
His expression shifted slightly. Not dramatic. Just softer somehow, more focused.
You lifted a small, awkward wave before you could stop yourself.
He nodded back. Simple. Familiar.
Your chest tightened anyway.
Dean noticed immediately.
His grin widened. “Oh, look who showed up.”
Garrett didn’t answer. His eyes lingered on you for another second before he finally looked away.
Dean leaned closer and muttered something you couldn’t hear.
Garrett’s response came instantly.
“Don’t start.”
Dean laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all night.
—
It started the way it always did, someone yelled, "Truth or Dare?" from across the room, and suddenly half the party was dragging chairs into a circle.
You ended up perched on the arm of a couch between Allie and Hannah, trying not to think about how many people were there. Garrett sat across the circle, talking to Dean and a few of the guys, though every so often you caught him glancing your way.
The game started harmlessly. A couple embarrassing truths, some ridiculous dares, enough laughter to keep everyone entertained.
Then Dean spun the bottle. It landed on you.
His grin appeared immediately.
"Coach Jr. Truth or dare?"
You rolled your eyes as a few people laughed.
"Truth."
"Of course."
Dean thought for a second before pointing at you.
"What's the most embarrassing thing you've done since starting college?"
The question shouldn't have been difficult, but the second everyone looked at you, your mind went blank.
You laughed nervously.
"I don't know."
"Come on."
You searched for an answer, any answer, and grabbed the first thing that came to mind.
"I hooked up with a guy during orientation week."
The room erupted immediately.
Someone whistled.
Dean nearly dropped his drink.
"Okay, that is not what I expected."
Heat rushed into your face.
"It wasn't a big deal."
"It sounds like a big deal."
"It wasn't."
The game moved on, but Dean clearly wasn't over it.
A few rounds later, he was still grinning whenever he looked at you.
"I still don't believe that answer."
You groaned.
"Can we please let it die?"
"I'm serious." He pointed his cup in your direction. "Coach Jensen's daughter gets to college and immediately starts causing problems?"
The group laughed.
You forced a smile.
"It was one guy."
"Sure it was."
More laughter followed, but it felt different this time. Less about the joke and more about you.
"Who was he?" someone asked.
You immediately shook your head.
"Absolutely not."
Dean sat up straighter.
"See? That's suspicious."
"Or maybe she just doesn't want to tell a room full of people," Hannah said, jumping to your defense.
Dean looked at her.
"We're literally playing Truth or Dare."
"We were twenty minutes ago." Hannah hissed.
A few people laughed into their drinks.
You hoped that would end it. Instead, Dean looked back at you.
"Come on. Was he at least worth all this secrecy?"
The attention settled on you again. Your stomach tightened.
It wasn't even the question anymore. It was knowing everyone was waiting for your answer.
Before you could think of one, John leaned forward.
"Dude, let it go."
Dean frowned. "What? I'm joking."
"I know." John shrugged. "But she's clearly done talking about it."
For a moment, Dean looked like he might actually listen. Then he glanced at you again.
"One hint. That's all I'm asking."
The room had gone noticeably quieter now.
Hannah looked annoyed.
John looked exhausted.
And before Dean could say anything else, another voice cut through the conversation.
"You're making her uncomfortable."
Silence settled over the circle.
Garrett hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't even moved much. He was still sitting where he'd been all night, one hand wrapped loosely around his cup.
Dean blinked.
"What?"
Garrett met his gaze.
"You heard me; you're making her uncomfortable."
The words landed harder the second time.
Because once he said them, everyone noticed it.
The way you'd gone quiet. The way you'd been trying to laugh off every question. The way the conversation kept finding its way back to you.
Dean looked around the circle and seemed to realize, a little too late, that nobody was really on his side anymore.
"I was joking."
"I know," Garrett said calmly. "I don't think you meant anything by it. But she's uncomfortable, so drop it."
No one spoke. John nodded first. "Yeah."
A couple other people murmured their agreement.
Dean exhaled and leaned back into the couch.
"Alright. Fine."
Someone immediately grabbed the bottle and spun again, grateful for the excuse to move on. Within minutes the conversation had shifted, laughter returning as the game continued.
But your pulse still hadn't settled.
Because Garrett hadn't made a scene.
He hadn't embarrassed Dean.
He'd just noticed.
And for some reason, that felt far more dangerous.
—
The party didn’t stop all at once. It just loosened.
Laughter drifted through the house in softer waves now, music turning into something distant and unfocused, like it had stopped demanding attention. People spilled in and out of rooms, voices overlapping but no longer sharp. The energy that had filled every corner earlier was thinning out, bleeding into the night outside.
You found yourself on the porch without really deciding to go there.
One moment you were still inside with Allie and Hannah, half-listening to them laugh at something someone had said, and the next you were stepping through the front door, letting the sound fall away behind you. The air outside was colder. Clearer. It settled into your lungs differently.
A few people sat on the steps talking quietly. Someone crossed the yard laughing before disappearing into the dark. No one paid you much attention.
You leaned against the railing and exhaled slowly.
For the first time all night, there wasn’t anything demanding your attention from every direction at once. The noise hadn’t disappeared, but it was no longer inside your head.
You reached into the bag at your side and pulled out a cigarette, technically Allie’s, technically not something you were supposed to be touching. You still lit it anyway. The flame flickered briefly against the dark before you took a drag, letting the quiet feel like it belonged to you for once.
That was when you heard footsteps behind you.
Not rushed. Not uncertain. Just steady.
You didn’t need to turn to know.
Garrett Graham stopped a few steps behind you.
There was a pause before he said anything. Not awkward, just deliberate, like he was deciding where he fit in this version of the night where there was no crowd to absorb everything.
Then his hand came down on your wrist.
Not rough. Firm enough that it wasn’t optional.
He took the cigarette from your fingers before you could properly react.
“Hey—” you started, turning toward him. “That’s mine.”
He didn’t respond immediately. He looked at it for a second like it had personally offended him, then dropped it to the ground and stepped on it, pressing it out with slow, almost mechanical certainty.
“I don’t care,” he said.
You huffed out a short breath. “That’s littering.”
His eyes flicked to you then, unimpressed.
“It’s already litter,” he replied simply. “The ground just gets it first.”
There was no satisfaction in it. No teasing. Just finality.
He stepped back slightly after that, like he wasn’t entirely sure what distance made sense anymore.
For a moment neither of you spoke. The house behind him kept moving, laughter, music, footsteps, but it all felt far away here.
Garrett’s gaze stayed on you longer than necessary, not intense in a way that pushed, but attentive in a way that didn’t let things slip by unnoticed.
“You left pretty quickly,” he said eventually.
Not accusing. Just observing.
You shrugged lightly, still leaning on the railing. “It got loud.”
“That’s part of it,” he said after a pause, “but I don’t think that’s the only reason you came out here.”
That made you glance at him properly. He wasn’t challenging you. That was the strange part. He just sounded certain that there was more, like he wasn’t interested in letting you reduce it to something convenient.
“I’m fine,” you said automatically.
Garrett didn’t respond right away. Then he shook his head slightly.
“You don’t have to say that just because it’s easier,” he said. “I’m not asking you to explain yourself. I’m just telling you I can tell when you’re not fine.”
That landed heavier than you expected.
You pushed off the railing a little, turning more toward him. “You didn’t have to step in like that inside.”
“I did,” he said.
It wasn’t defensive. It was matter-of-fact, like it was already decided in his head.
You frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to handle it for me.”
“I wasn’t handling it for you,” he replied.
That made you pause.
He exhaled slowly, glancing briefly toward the house before looking back at you.
“I was telling him to stop because he was pushing something that didn’t need to be pushed in front of everyone,” he said more evenly. “It wasn’t about proving a point or making him look bad. It was just… enough had been said.”
There was a beat where he shifted his weight, leaning lightly against the railing across from you, finally settling instead of hovering.
Then, quieter, almost like he was thinking out loud:
“And you didn’t look like you were having a good time anymore.”
That was what stayed in the air. Not dramatic. Not accusatory. Just honest.
You looked away for a second, jaw tightening like that made things harder to hold onto.
“It was a stupid question,” you said. “I answered it. That’s it.”
Garrett watched you for a moment.
Then, carefully, he said, “Did you actually hook up with someone during orientation week?”
The question didn’t come out sharp. It didn’t feel like part of an interrogation.
It felt like he was circling back to something that had already bothered him and trying to understand it properly now that there was no audience for it.
You hesitated. Your fingers tightened slightly around the railing behind you.
“It doesn’t matter,” you said finally.
Garrett didn’t push.
He just nodded once, like he accepted that answer for what it was,not complete, but real enough.
“It matters a little,” he said, quieter. “Because you said it like it was something you needed to make up on the spot. And that doesn’t sound like you.”
That made your chest tighten in a different way. Not discomfort exactly. Something more exposed than that.
“I didn’t make anything up,” you said, but it came out less certain than you meant it to.
Garrett didn’t react to the contradiction.
He just stayed where he was, giving you space instead of filling it.
“I’m not judging you,” he said after a moment. “I don’t care what you did during orientation. That’s not the point.”
A pause.
“The point is just that you don’t have to perform anything in there,” he added, nodding slightly toward the house. “Not for them. Not for anyone.”
The words settled slowly. Not heavy in a dramatic way. Just quiet enough that you couldn’t easily brush them off.
And for the first time since you’d come outside, the silence didn’t feel like escape.
It felt like he was actually staying in it with you.
—
The party didn’t really stop, it just softened at the edges.
Music blurred into everything else, voices folding over each other instead of cutting through. It felt easier now, like the room had finally stopped expecting anything from you. Or maybe you’d just stopped noticing when it did.
You were a little drunk. Not gone, just loose around the edges. Everything slightly warmer, slightly funnier than it needed to be. And you liked it that way.
It was easier to stay in it like this. Easier not to think about earlier. Easier not to think about Garrett outside, or the way your name had sounded in his voice when he said it. So you didn’t.
You stayed.
You laughed when things weren’t that funny. You leaned into conversations without overthinking them. You let yourself drift instead of standing still.
Dean found you again somewhere in the movement of the room.
“You’re still here,” he said, like it was a good thing.
You smiled, a little too easily. “Where else would I be?”
That got him laughing, like that was exactly the answer he wanted.
The music shifted again, louder now, and the room started turning into motion more than conversation. People stopped talking so much and started moving instead, filling space just because it was there.
Someone grabbed your hand, pulling you into the middle before you had time to decide not to go.
You went anyway.
At first you were stiff about it, half-laughing at yourself, but it didn’t take long before it got easier. Everything did. The more you moved, the less you thought.
Dean stayed close.Not touching at first, just matching your movement like it was natural. Like you were already doing this together.
“You’re actually really good at this,” he said, leaning in so you could hear him over the music.
You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m literally just moving.”
“You’re doing more than that,” he said, like it was obvious.
You rolled your eyes, still smiling.
The room felt warmer now. Closer. People bumping into each other without caring, laughter spilling into the music.
Dean’s hand brushed your waist again when you swayed, steadying you for a second too long to feel like nothing, but not long enough to feel like something you had to question.
You didn’t pull away.Not really thinking about it. Not really thinking at all.
He leaned in again, like he was going to say something, but it got lost in the noise between you.
And then-
“Dean.”
Garrett’s voice cut through the music without needing to be loud. It still made everything shift.
You blinked, slower than you meant to, turning your head like it took effort.
Dean straightened, like he’d just been reminded there was more than the two of you in the world.
Garrett was a few steps away. Still. Not part of the movement. Not caught in it like everyone else.
Just watching.
“You’re good,” Garrett said.
Calm. Even. Not asking.
Dean let out a short laugh, trying to keep it light. “It’s just dancing, man.”
Garrett didn’t react to that.
“I said you’re good.”
The second time, it didn’t sound like part of the music anymore.
Dean hesitated. You could feel the shift even if you weren’t fully tracking it. The way the room wasn’t really watching anymore, but also wasn’t not watching.
He exhaled and stepped back a little, lifting his hands like he was dropping it.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Relax.”
The space opened again. Music filled it back in fast, like nothing had happened. People started moving again like it was easy. Like it hadn’t mattered.
You laughed a little under your breath, like you were supposed to. Like it was still fun. Like you were still in it. But your body felt slightly off now, like you’d stepped out of rhythm without noticing when it happened.
Garrett’s attention shifted to you.
Not intense. Just steady.
Like he was checking something he didn’t trust the room to notice.
You gave him a small smile automatically, light and a bit too quick, like you were proving something without meaning to.
“I’m fine,” you mouthed, even though he hadn’t asked.
It sounded normal in your head.
It didn’t feel as normal as you wanted it to.
You stayed for a few more seconds anyway, swaying back into the music, trying to catch the feeling again.
But it didn’t quite come back the same. So eventually, you just slipped out of the circle, still smiling a little, like nothing had happened at all.
So you slipped into the kitchen for a minute and ended up taking a couple more shots without really thinking about it, chasing the buzz until everything felt lighter again.
—
“Y/N?” Garrett called after you, his voice cutting through the bass-heavy music spilling out of the house. “Where do you think you’re going?”
You didn’t stop right away. Just kept walking down the driveway, steps a little too loose, a little too unsteady, like the night was slightly out of sync with you. The cold air hit your face and for a second it almost helped.
Almost.
You slowed, then turned back. Your expression was annoyed more than anything else, annoyed at him, at the situation, at the fact that he was even asking.
“Home.”
Garrett let out a short laugh, not unkind, just disbelieving. He was still on the porch, half in the glow from inside, arms folded across his chest like he had all the time in the world.
“And how,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “are you planning on doing that?”
“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “Walk. Taxi. Vibes.”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t fully smile.
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“I’m fine,” you shot back immediately.
That made him exhale through his nose, shaking his head a little.
“Yeah,” he said. “No, you’re not.”
You crossed your arms tighter, like that would somehow fix your balance and your pride at the same time. “I don’t need you babysitting me, Graham.”
There it was again, that pause from him. Like he was deciding whether to argue, tease, or just let it go.
“I know you don’t,” he said finally. His voice was quieter now. “Just… don’t be stupid about it.”
You huffed. “I’m not being stupid. I’m going home.”
“You’re not getting home like this,” he replied simply.
Not mocking. Not challenging. Just certain. That made you pause.
Garrett stepped off the porch then, closing the distance a little, but not crowding you. Just there. Steady in a way the rest of the night wasn’t.
“Come inside,” he said. “Seriously.”
You shook your head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he said again, softer but firmer at the same time. “Stay here. You can sleep it off. Take my bed.”
That made you look at him properly for the first time in a few seconds, like you were actually trying to decide if he meant it.
“I’ll take the couch,” he added. “Or I’ll steal Logan’s room. I don’t care. Just don’t walk home like this.”
Inside, the house kept going without you, music, laughter, life continuing like nothing mattered except the next song.
You were quiet for a moment, the stubbornness still there, but weaker now, like it had been worn down.
Finally, you exhaled.
“Fine.”
Garrett nodded once. “Good.”
You brushed past him up the steps, trying to ignore how unsteady they felt.
He followed close enough to notice if you slipped, far enough not to make it obvious.
“You’re annoying,” you muttered.
“Yeah,” he said, like it didn’t bother him at all. “You’ll live.”
And somehow, you did walk inside.
—
The room had gone quiet in that heavy, final way, like the house had finally run out of energy to keep pretending.
You were on your back in Garrett’s bed, his pillow soft under your cheek, everything slightly out of reach in that warm, drunk haze where your thoughts didn’t always arrive in order. The room slightly spinning.
On the floor, Garrett shifted once. The mattress creaked faintly above him.
“Is it fine if I sleep on the floor?” he asked, voice low.
You turned your head lazily. “I actually don’t care.”
A quiet laugh came immediately.
“Wow,” he muttered. “Mean drunk. Noted.”
You heard him settle beside the bed like it wasn’t strange at all that he was just… there. The light clicked off. Darkness filled the room.
A few seconds passed before you spoke again, softer now.
“If you told me yesterday I’d be sleeping in Garrett Graham’s bed,” you murmured, “I would’ve had a whole personality crisis.”
“Yeah?” he said from the floor. “And now?”
You exhaled.
“Now it kind of sucks.”
That got a pause.
“…That’s hurtful,” Garrett said.
You let out a small laugh. “Not you. The situation.”
“Good. I was about to take that personally.”
A beat.
“Why does it suck?” he asked, quieter.
Your fingers tightened slightly in the blanket.
“Because I ruined it,” you said. “Truth or Dare. I lied about something stupid and now I look like an idiot.”
Silence. Then Garrett, immediately:
“I was there.”
You paused.
“I know you lied.”
That made you go quiet for a second longer.
“…Yeah,” you admitted.
From the floor, his tone stayed calm. Almost factual.
“So what’s the problem.”
You turned your face slightly into the pillow.
“The problem is I said I hooked up with someone. And I haven’t. Ever. And now I just, look weird.”
A short silence.
Then Garrett exhaled like he was trying to understand something that didn’t add up.
“You’re embarrassed because you don’t have experience?”
Your throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then, blunt, immediate:
“That’s stupid.”
You lifted your head slightly.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m serious,” he said, still calm. “That’s not a thing to be embarrassed about.”
You frowned into the dark.
“It is when everyone thinks you’re not.”
“No one important thinks about it that much,” he said.
That made you scoff.
“Dean literally does.”
At that, Garrett went quiet for half a beat. Then:
“Dean De Laurentis is not who you should be basing anything on.”
You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see it.
“He’s just, he’s confident. People like him.”
“Yeah,” Garrett said. “People like loud. It’s not the same thing as worth listening to.”
A pause. Then, a little sharper:
“And he’s definitely not the guy you just hook up with because you felt weird at a party.”
That landed differently. You turned your head toward the ceiling again.
“I didn’t say I was going to.”
“I know,” he said immediately. “I’m saying don’t start making decisions like that just to fix a moment you didn’t even need to fix.”
Silence. That one stuck a little. Not harsh. Just steady. Certain.
After a beat, you muttered:
“It still feels embarrassing.”
From the floor, Garrett shifted slightly.
“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s only embarrassing if you think it says something about you. It doesn’t.”
You didn’t answer right away. Then quieter:
“You don’t think it’s weird?”
A pause. Then, like it was obvious:
“No.”
Another beat. Then he added, softer, almost lightly:
“I think it’s weird you tried to invent a whole backstory under pressure, but that’s more funny than tragic.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. “Wow.”
“I’m trying to be supportive.”
“You’re terrible at it.” you chuckled.
“I’m actually great at it.”
Silence again, easier now. The room settled. Then Garrett, like he couldn’t quite let it go:
“And for the record, Dean still isn’t the standard.”
You sighed.
“I know you hate him.” you joked.
“I don’t hate him,” Garrett said. “I just think you’re overestimating what he is.”
A pause. Then, quieter:
“He’s not the guy you should be trying to match yourself to.”
That one didn’t sound like judgment. Just certainty. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, quieter now.
“Okay,” you said, finally.
Not fully agreeing. But not fighting it either.
The conversation drifted after that, slower, softer. Until your voice started to blur at the edges again.
“He plays hockey too,” you mumbled „The guy I like.“
From the floor:
“That narrows it down to a lot of problems.”
You smiled faintly.
“He’s funny.”
“Dangerous trait.”
“You’re funny.” you mumble half asleep.
“I’m aware.”
“He’s nice.”
“That’s worse.”
That made you breathe out a small laugh.
“He makes me feel safe,” you said quietly.
The room went still for a second.
Then Garrett, a little softer:
“Good.”
You didn’t respond. Sleep was already pulling at you.
A few seconds passed. Then, quieter:
“…Does he know you like him?”
You were barely awake now.
“No,” you whispered.
A pause.
Then Garrett, almost to himself:
“Of course he doesn’t.”
Another beat.
“Most guys don’t notice things like that.”
You didn’t hear the rest. You were asleep.
And Garrett stayed still in the dark for a long time after that. Then, like he was thinking out loud, not performing anything:
“Dean De Laurentis is just the kind of guy people assume is important because he talks first.”
A pause.
“He’s not complicated. He’s just… obvious.”
Silence. Then Garrett shifted slightly on the floor.
“And your mystery guy sounds like he’s not doing anything at all.”
A beat.
“That’s usually where people get stuck,” he added. “Not the wrong guy. Just the one who doesn’t move.”
Another pause. Then, quieter:
“You don’t need to figure it out drunk in someone else’s bed anyway.”
summary: dean di laurentis is used to charming everyone he meets. until he unknowingly spends an entire meal flirting with the one girl he absolutely shouldnt: coach jensen's daughter.
pairing: dean di laurentis + coach's daughter!reader
wc: 1.2k
tags: coach's daughter trope, forbidden attraction
notes: would happily add more on them if this goes well 🙏
reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo
The diner smelled like burnt coffee and stale maple syrup, which somehow made Dean want to stay longer. He spun his fork lazily through a puddle of syrup on his plate, grinning up at the new waitress who had just slapped his third stack of pancakes onto the table.
"You know," he said leaning forward just enough to make his biceps flex under his shirt, "most people smile when they serve me."
"Most people haven't had to refill your coffee four times in twenty minutes."
Dean watched you walk away, more intrigued than he cared to admit. Usually, girls—hell, people—melted a little when he turned on his charm. But you moved through the diner, unfazed by the rowdy hocky team crammed into the corner booth.
The bell above the door jingled, and Coach Jensen strode in, his usual scowl deepening as he surveyed the mess of empty plates and crumpled napkins.
The team instantly straightened up, forks clattering against plates. Dean, mid-bite into a stolen strip of bacon, froze as the coach's gaze landed on you—and how your shoulders stiffened,
"Dad," you said, voice flat.
Dean choked.
The bacon lodged in his throat. He pounded his chest, eyes watering as the word echoed in his skull.
Dad. Coach Jensen's kid. The same man who benched him last season for missing curfew by three minutes was standing five feet away from his daughter, who he had just spent the last hour shamelessly flirting with.
Coach Jensen's frown twisted into something resembling warmth as he reached out to squeeze your shoulder. "Y'good here? Need me to kick anyone out?"
His glare swept over the team, lingering just a second too long on Dean. The blonde ducked his head, suddenly fascinated by his syrup-soaked pancakes.
"They're harmless. Mostly."
Dean swallowed hard. Harmless. He could work with that.
The team, oblivious to the nuclear bomb that had just detonated in Dean's chest, shuffled out with mumbled goodbyes to Coach. Dean hesitated, fingers drumming the edge of the table.
He should leave. He definitely should leave. Instead, he grabbed his empty coffee cup and sauntered toward the counter where you were stacking dirty plates.
"Funny," he said, leaning against the counter like his knees weren't seconds from buckling. "You never mentioned your old man runs the hockey team."
You didn't look up. "You never asked."
Dean snorted. Fair point. "So, uh. How pissed would Coach be if he knew his star player was—"
"Star player?" you glanced at him, one eyebrow arched. "Pretty sure Graham's got twice your points this season."
Dean spun his empty coffee cup between his palms. "Seriously though. Y'gonna rat me out?"
"For what? Being annoying? Trust me, he already knows." You grabbed a tray of dirty glasses, your arms flexing under the weight. Dean tried (and failed) not to stare.
He cleared his throat. "For the record, I didn't know who you were when I was—"
"When you what?" you paused, tilting your head. "When you winked at me while ordering extra whipped cream? Or when you 'accidentally' dropped your fork three times?"
Coach Jensen's voice boomed from the back room. "Honey, y'almost done? I'll help you with the inventory!"
You rolled your eyes, but there was no real irritation in it. "Coming." You jerked your chin toward the door. "You should go before he comes out here and sees that you're still here."
Dean hesitated. "What if I don't want to?"
"What?"
"I'm saying," Dean leaned in, voice dropping, "what if I want to stick around? See if I can get a laugh out of you."
"Are you insane? My dad's right there."
Dean glanced toward the back room door, where Coach's muffled voice was talking to someone on the phone. The risk should've made him retreat.
"Exactly. Makes it more fun."
You stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You have a death wish." But you didn't stop him when he grabbed the tray and followed you toward the sink.
Coach's voice cut through as he got off the phone and went into the kitchen. "Hey, Iris called to say—"
His eyes locked onto Dean. "Di Laurentis."
Dean's spine went rigid. "Coach."
Coach's jaw twitched. "You two know each other?"
Dean swallowed hard. "Yeah. Just, uh, helping with the dishes."
Coach's eyes narrowed. "Since when do my players bus tables?"
You tossed the rag onto the counter. "Since they spill syrup everywhere and don't tip." You shot Dean a look. "Right, Di Laurentis?"
Dean's throat went dry. "Right. Sorry about that." He edged backward, hands raised in surrender. "I'll, uh. See you at practice, Coach."
Coach grunted, crossing his arms. "You better. And clean up after yourself next time."
Dean nodded like his life depended on it—which, given Coach's infamous drills, it might. He risked one last glance at you, whose expression had settled into something unreadable.
He took the hint to leave.
The diner's bell jingled as Dean shoved through the door, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face.
He sucked in a breath, half-expecting Coach to come barreling after him. When no one did, he slumped against the brick wall, pressing his palms to his burning cheeks.
Shit. He'd flirted with Coach's daughter. Repeatedly.
may I please I request a Luffy x fem reader where Luffy has an oblivious crush on the reader, maybe with some bits of Luffy being jealous. thank you :)
Oblivious Crush
Summary: Luffy has an oblivious crush on you and unfortunately for him, you don't notice too
Song: One Dance - Drake
Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶
The first time you noticed something was off about Luffy was when he punched a hole through the mast of the Going Merry—not out of anger, but because you'd laughed at something Usopp said.
His face had gone weirdly blank, straw hat shadowing his eyes, before his fist just… went through solid wood like it was made of wet paper. "Whoops," he'd said, grinning that impossible grin of his, but his voice was higher than usual.
You'd chalked it up to another Luffy Thing, until it kept happening: the way he'd suddenly materialize beside you during meals, elbow knocking over Sanji's carefully plated dishes, or how he'd startle Chopper mid-examination by demanding to know if you thought his new scar looked cool.
By the third week, even Zoro had stopped napping through it. "He's being weird," the swordsman grunted one afternoon, watching Luffy—who was currently hanging upside-down from the rigging—drop an entire orange into your lap without explanation.
You'd barely peeled it before he snatched half the segments with a speed that would've made Nami's temper flare, if she hadn't been too busy rolling her eyes.
"Weirder than usual," you corrected, spitting out a seed. Zoro just gave you a look that said you're somehow dumber than he is.
The jealousy was subtler than you'd expect from a man who announced his hunger like a naval siren. Like when Buggy's new recruit—some grinning idiot with a sword twice his size—had dared to challenge you to a duel on that last island.
Luffy hadn't even let the guy unsheathe his weapon before clotheslining him into the next cove with a rubbery arm, then immediately pretending to pick his nose like he hadn't just committed assault.
"You looked busy," he'd said later, shrugging, except you'd been sharpening your knives. Not exactly a high-stakes activity.
And then there was the hat. Your hat, the wide-brimmed one you'd stolen from a Marine captain last summer, salt-stained and perfect for napping under.
Luffy had started stealing it when he thought you weren't looking, only to return it hours later smelling faintly of meat and his own stupid, sun-warmed hair.
You'd catch him adjusting it over your head with a concentration usually reserved for fighting warlords, fingertips brushing your temples like he was afraid you'd vanish if he pressed too hard.
"There," he'd say, satisfied, as if he hadn't just reordered your entire world with two syllables.
The breaking point came during a storm so violent even Nami looked nervous. Lightning split the sky as you wrestled with a loose sail, rain turning the deck into a hazard, when suddenly—warmth.
Luffy's arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his chest plastered against your back like a human shield against the downpour.
"Don't drown," he muttered into your sopping hair, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and for a heartbeat, you forgot how to breathe.
Then he was gone, tackling a wayward barrel before it could hit Usopp, laughing like nothing had happened.
That night, curled in the women's quarters with Nami's soft snores filling the dark, you pressed your face into the stolen hat still damp from the storm. It hit you then, slow and inevitable as tide coming in: Luffy didn't do subtle.
The mast, the oranges, the way his sandals squeaked when he pretended not to be following you—this was him screaming without making a sound. You sat up so fast Robin stirred in her sleep, heart hammering.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Luffy was—
Morning found you bleary-eyed at the galley table, nursing coffee thick enough to stand a spoon in.
Sanji slid a plate of eggs toward you with a smirk. "Captain's been asking for you," he said, nodding toward the deck where Luffy was—of course—balanced precariously on the figurehead.
As if sensing your gaze, he turned, straw hat tilting back to reveal that grin, bright as the dawn behind him. Your stomach did something complicated.
You were so fucked.
The realization settled like gunpowder in your veins—dangerous and liable to blow at the slightest spark. Luffy, who'd once headbutted a sea king for stealing his meat, was currently watching you eat with the intensity of a man starved.
When you accidentally met his eyes, he didn't look away. Just tilted his head, curious, like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. You choked on your toast.
Nami chose that moment to slam her weather logbook onto the table, making you jump. "Either tell him or stop making that face," she muttered, not even looking up from her charts. Your cheeks burned.
Across the deck, Luffy stretched one rubbery arm to snag a passing seagull mid-flight, entirely unsubtle. The bird squawked indignantly as he reeled it in, examining its wings with exaggerated interest.
"Hey," he called, holding it out toward you, "think this one's faster than Buggy's guy?"
The sheer audacity of it punched a laugh out of you. That was the thing about Luffy—he didn't do hints, didn't do half-measures. If he wanted something, he reached for it with both hands.
And right now, standing there with a baffled seagull in his grip and sunlight caught in his lashes, he was reaching for you. The knowledge hit like a cannonball to the chest: inevitable, devastating, exhilarating.
You stood so fast your chair clattered to the deck. Time to find out if rubber could burn.
You crossed the distance before you could second-guess it, stopping just shy of where his toes curled over the figurehead's edge. The seagull, sensing its opportunity, pecked his wrist and flapped away.
Luffy didn't blink. "You're staring," you said, your voice steadier than your pulse.
His grin widened. "Yep." Simple as that. No pretense, no games—just Luffy, laid bare in a way that made your ribs ache.
You swallowed hard. "Why?"
He cocked his head, considering. "Same reason I punch things that piss me off," he said, like it was obvious. "Feels right."
Then, before you could process that, he leaned forward—too far, too fast—and your hands shot out to catch him on instinct.
His chest collided with yours, warm and solid, his breath a laugh against your cheek. "See?" he murmured, fingers tangling in the fabric of your shirt. "Told you."
Behind you, Usopp's poorly stifled gasp was loud enough to wake the dead. You didn't turn. Couldn't. Not when Luffy's thumb was tracing the hinge of your jaw like he'd mapped it in his sleep, not when his eyes were dark with something hungry and new.
The ship swayed beneath your feet. Or maybe that was just you. "You're gonna fall," you managed. Luffy's grin turned wicked. "Nah," he said. "Got you."
And damn him—damn him straight to hell—he was right. . . .
Summary: Garett meets y/n’s parents for the first time and is surrounded by unexpected warmth.
Word Count: 1.4K
The weekend started terribly.
Which honestly felt unfair considering Garett had spent the entire week looking forward to it.
Briar had blown a two-goal lead in the third period. The locker room afterward had been tense as hell, and Garett still felt irritated two hours later while tossing his duffel into the back of Y/N’s car.
“You okay?” she asked carefully from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah.”
“You’re doing the hockey silent thing.”
“I’m literally talking.”
“You answered with one word.”
Garett sighed dramatically before climbing into the passenger seat.
“We should’ve won that game.”
Y/N reached over immediately, squeezing his hand once before pulling out of the parking lot.
“You still played well.”
“Didn’t matter.”
He leaned his head back against the seat afterward, staring out the window while campus slowly disappeared behind them.
Normally after losses, Garett liked being around the guys. Noise helped. Distractions helped.
But somehow sitting in the car with Y/N felt easier. Quieter in a good way.
About an hour into the drive, though, she suddenly spoke again.
“So… quick thing.”
Garett glanced over.
“That sounds dangerous.”
She bit back a smile.
“It’s not dangerous.”
“Those are famous last words.”
Y/N adjusted her grip on the steering wheel slightly before saying:
“You’re actually the first guy I’ve ever brought home.”
Garett blinked.
“What?”
“The first boyfriend.”
He stared at her fully now.
“Like… ever?”
She nodded once, suddenly looking weirdly nervous about admitting it.
“I mean, my parents were strict about dating in high school.” She shrugged awkwardly. “You’re the first real relationship.”
And just like that, Garett’s lingering irritation about hockey vanished completely. Replaced immediately by panic.
“Oh my god.”
Y/N laughed.
“Why are you reacting like that?”
“Because now this matters.”
“It mattered before.”
“No, before this was just a weekend trip.” He pointed at her accusingly. “Now this is a boyfriend evaluation.”
She snorted.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Your father is going to judge me.”
“My dad likes you.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s true.”
Garett narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“No dad just likes the random hockey player dating his daughter.”
“Well mine does.”
“You sound way too confident about this.”
Y/N smiled softly at him then.
“Because they’re going to adore you.”
Which honestly should’ve reassured him. Instead it somehow made him more nervous.
—
By the time they reached her hometown that evening, the anxiety had fully settled in.
Not enough to freak out externally.
Garett Graham was many things, but visibly nervous usually wasn’t one of them.
Internally, however?
Catastrophic.
Especially when they pulled into the driveway and he immediately spotted a man standing in the garage.
Her dad looked up from unpacking groceries the second the headlights swept across the driveway.
Garett suddenly sat up straighter instinctively.
“Oh my god,” Y/N muttered beside him. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You look like you’re about to meet the president.”
“This is worse.”
She laughed under her breath while climbing out of the car.
Garett followed a second later, grabbing their bags from the trunk while trying not to look as tense as he felt.
Her dad walked down the driveway toward them.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Comfortable smile.
The exact kind of dad that should’ve been intimidating.
The first thing he said was “You must be Garett.”
And somehow his voice sounded genuinely happy about it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t start that,” the man said immediately before holding out his hand. “I’m Anthony.”
The firmness in Garett’s chest loosened slightly.
“Nice to meet you.”
Anthony shook his hand once before grinning, “She’s been talking about you nonstop for months.”
“Dad.”
“What? It’s true.”
Y/N groaned while Garett immediately looked at her with a smug smile.
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t encourage him.”
Before Garett could respond, the front door swung open.
“There they are!”
Her mother hurried outside immediately and pulled Y/N into a hug before turning toward Garett with the warmest expression he’d ever seen from a stranger.
“And you’re the famous Garett.”
Famous?
Garett barely had time to process the word before she hugged him too.
Actually hugged him.
He froze for half a second in surprise before awkwardly hugging her back.
“Hi,” he managed.
“Oh honey, we’re so happy you’re here.”
And just like that, half his nervousness disappeared.
—
The house felt warm in a way Garett couldn’t fully explain. The kitchen smelled like fresh bread. Music played softly somewhere in the background. Pictures covered the walls: vacations, birthdays, school events, years and years of obvious love. Everything about the place felt lived in.
Safe.
Y/N disappeared upstairs to unpack while Garett stayed downstairs helping her dad carry bags inside despite repeated assurances that he didn’t have to.
“When’s the next game” Anthony asked casually while putting groceries away.
“Next Friday.”
“Tough loss tonight.”
Garett glanced over, mildly surprised.
“You watched?”
“Of course.” Anthony shrugged like it was obvious. “Can’t have my daughter dating Briar hockey and not keep up.”
“We kinda blew it in the third.”
“Maybe.” Anthony closed the fridge. “Still takes a hell of a lot of work to play at that level.”
The simplicity of the statement caught Garett off guard.
No criticism.
No “you should’ve done this.”
No lecture.
Just acknowledgment.
Before he could respond, Y/N’s mom appeared again and immediately shoved a bowl toward him.
“Try the potatoes.”
“What?”
“Just quality control.”
Garett laughed despite himself before taking the spoon she offered.
Five minutes later he somehow got trapped helping set the table while Y/N’s mom asked him questions about school and hockey and whether college boys actually ate enough vegetables.
It was… easy.
Too easy.
Like they’d known him longer than two hours.
—
Dinner somehow made everything worse.
Not because it was uncomfortable. But actually because it wasn’t at all, which honestly felt more dangerous.
Y/N sat beside him under the warm kitchen lights while her parents asked about classes and hockey and weather.
Every answer Garett gave seemed genuinely listened to, not politely tolerated. Actually listened to.
At one point Y/N casually mentioned:
“He skipped a team party last week because he had an economics paper.”
Her mother looked impressed immediately.
“Good for you.”
Garett shrugged.
“Had to get it done.”
“That discipline matters,” Anthony said.
The words landed strangely hard.
Discipline matters.
Not goals.
Not points.
Not winning.
The work itself mattered.
Later the conversation shifted back to hockey naturally.
“Tough game tonight,” y/n’s mother said this time.
Something about that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
Garett picked absently at the edge of his napkin.
“We should’ve won.”
Anthony nodded once, “Maybe.”
The table stayed quiet. And then Anthony added, “But I hope you know one loss doesn’t erase the amount of work it takes to get there.”
Garett stilled.
Anthony continued easily, like he had no idea he was saying something life-altering.
“Most people never commit themselves to anything the way athletes do.” He shrugged slightly. “The discipline alone is something to be proud of.”
Proud.
The word hit Garett so hard he almost visibly reacted.
Because his father had talked about hockey constantly growing up.
But never like that.
Never with warmth.
Never with pride that existed outside of winning.
For a horrible second, Garett genuinely didn’t know what to say. Y/N noticed immediately. Her hand slipped quietly onto his thigh beneath the table. It was grounding Safe.
Anthony smiled slightly across from him.
“You clearly care a lot. That says enough about your character for me.”
And God.
That one nearly did him in.
Because suddenly Garett understood why Y/N was the way she was.
Why she was gentle.
Why she believed in people so easily.
Why being loved by her felt effortless.
She grew up here.
In this house.
With parents who spoke softly and proudly and kindly.
No wonder she loved the way she did.
“You raised a pretty incredible daughter,” Garett admitted quietly before he could stop himself.
Y/N immediately looked down at her plate, embarrassed.
Her mom smiled warmly.
“We know.”
Anthony grinned.
“She gets most of it from me.”
“Oh my god,” Y/N groaned.
Garett laughed for what felt like the first genuine time all day.
And somewhere in the middle of dinner and warm food and easy conversation, he realized this was the most welcomed he’d ever felt in someone else’s home.
Summary: Garett Graham has spent his whole life trying not to become his father. Y/N has spent hers believing controlling men are proof of love. Neither of them realizes how deeply those beliefs have shaped their relationship, until one small word finally breaks everything open: “Allowed?”
Word Count: 2.1K
The first time it happened, Garett barely noticed it.
He was sprawled across Y/N’s bed half-awake, one arm thrown over his eyes while she dug through her closet for something to wear to dinner. Music played softly from her speaker, the same playlist she always put on when she got ready.
“Babe?”
“Mhm,” he mumbled.
He heard hangers clack together.
Then:
“Is this okay?”
Garett moved his arm enough to look over.
She stood in front of the mirror wearing a dark red skirt and a cropped sweater, turning slightly as if trying to check herself from every angle.
His brows lifted immediately.
“You look amazing.”
A small smile tugged at her lips, but she still hesitated.
“Are you sure it’s not too short?”
That made him sit up a little.
The skirt barely reached mid-thigh, sure, but there was nothing shocking about it. Girls wore shorter things to class every day.
“If you like it, wear it.”
She looked relieved at the answer, smoothing her hands over the fabric before turning back toward the mirror.
And that was it.
Mostly.
The conversation sat somewhere in the back of his head afterward. He figured she probably wanted reassurance. Lots of girls did that. So he let it go.
—
The second time happened two weeks later in the library.
Garett was hunched over a statistics worksheet while Y/N highlighted something in her physics notes beside him. She suddenly sighed dramatically and dropped her head onto his shoulder.
“What?”
“My professor assigned lab partners.”
“Sounds unfortunate.”
“It is,” she muttered. “I got paired with some guy named Eric.”
Garett snorted. “Poor you.”
She didn’t laugh.Instead she glanced up carefully and said,
“Is that okay?”
His pencil stopped moving.
“What?”
“The partner thing.”
He stared at her for a second, genuinely confused.
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
Her expression shifted like she hadn’t expected the question back.
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I just wanted to let you know.”
Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist slightly.
Not jealousy.
Not anger.
Just… something strange.
“You don’t need my permission to do your lab, baby.”
“I know,” she answered quickly. Too quickly.
Then she smiled and nudged his shoulder like she wanted to move past it.
“Good because he already seems annoying.”
Garett laughed and let it drop, but the weird feeling lingered.
Permission.
The word sat wrong in his chest.
—
A month later, Garett was at Malone’s with Logan, Tucker, and Dean while a game played across the TVs overhead. The place buzzed with noise and music and clinking glasses.
Y/N was there too, sitting on the table nearby with her friends.
He wasn’t paying much attention until he heard his name.
“She invited me to this thing Friday,” one of her friends said. “You’re coming, right?”
Y/N hesitated.
“I don’t know if Garett would want me going.”
Garett’s head lifted immediately.
Logan kept talking beside him, oblivious, but Garett’s focus narrowed completely onto her table.
“What?” her friend asked. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Y/N shrugged lightly, tracing the rim of her drink.
“I don’t know. It’s at a frat house.”
“So?”
“I’ll ask him.”
Garett felt something cold settle heavily in his stomach.
Not because she was asking, because she sounded so normal about it, like it was expected, like of course she needed to ask her boyfriend first.
The conversation moved on, but Garett barely heard any of it after that. Instead, memories kept surfacing unwanted and sharp.
His father’s voice.
His mother asking permission for things that didn’t require permission.
The constant checking in.
The careful wording.
And suddenly every tiny interaction with Y/N replayed differently in his head.
Is this okay?
Would you mind?
Can I?
Should I change?
His beer suddenly tasted bitter.
“You good?” Tucker asked.
“Yeah,” Garett answered automatically.
But he wasn’t.
—
Later that night Y/N sat cross-legged on his bed wearing one of his hoodies while Garett changed for bed.
“So…” she started carefully.
He glanced over. “So?”
“My friends are going to this party thing on Friday.”
He nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“They wanted me to come.”
There was that same careful tone again.
Garett leaned against the dresser, already knowing where this was heading.
“And?”
She twisted the sleeves of the hoodie around her fingers.
“Would that bother you?”
The question hit him harder this time.
Not because she asked. Because she looked nervous asking it. Like she was bracing for the wrong answer.
Garett suddenly felt sick in a way he couldn’t explain. For one horrible second, he pictured his father standing where he was. The thought made his chest tighten immediately.
“Baby,” he said carefully, “why would it bother me?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged softly. “A lot of guys don’t like their girlfriends going to frat parties.”
“And what do you want?”
That seemed to genuinely throw her off.
“What?”
“What do you want?” he repeated gently. “Do you wanna go?”
She nodded after a second.
“A little.”
“Then go.”
Her shoulders visibly loosened in relief.
Relief.
Like he’d granted her something.
Garett hated how much that bothered him.
“You don’t have to ask me for stuff like that,” he said quietly while climbing into bed beside her.
She looked confused.
“I was just trying to be respectful.”
And there it was again. That awful twisting feeling in his chest because she sounded sincere. Completely sincere. Garett wrapped an arm around her anyway and kissed the top of her head.
“You’re allowed to do things without my approval, you know.”
She smiled softly against him like he’d said something sweet instead of something that quietly terrified him.
“Okay,” she whispered.
But somehow, Garett knew she didn’t really understand what he meant at all.
—
Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while Garett flipped through a textbook he hadn’t actually read a single word of in the last ten minutes.
Y/N sat on the floor beside the coffee table surrounded by folded clothes and an open duffel bag, packing for the weekend trip her friends had planned for weeks.
Tonight, something in Garett’s chest had been tight all evening, maybe because he’d noticed the way Y/n kept glancing at him while she packed. Like she was gauging his mood first. Or maybe because he was tired of hearing echoes of his father in harmless conversations. Or maybe because he was starting to realize this wasn’t harmless to her at all.
“You excited?” he asked finally.
“A little.”
“A little?”
She smiled faintly without looking up.
“I’ve never really gone on trips like this before.”
“That’s kinda depressing, baby.”
She laughed softly.
The sound loosened something in him for about half a second.
Then she pulled a black dress from the pile and held it up uncertainly.
“Do you think this is too much?”
Garett’s jaw tightened instantly.
“Too much for what?”
“For the club they wanna go to.”
He closed his textbook carefully.
“If you like it, wear it.”
She nodded and folded it into the bag.
A few minutes passed quietly.
Then:
“And I’m allowed to go to the club part too, right?”
Everything in Garett went still.
Allowed.
The word slammed into him so hard it almost felt physical.
Suddenly he was twelve years old again listening to his father tell his mother what she was “allowed” to wear. Where she was “allowed” to go. Who she was “allowed” to see.
Allowed.
Allowed.
Allowed.
“Stop saying that.”
The words came out sharper than he intended.
Y/N froze immediately. Her hands stilled over the zipper of the bag as she looked up at him, startled.
“What?”
“You keep saying stuff like that.”
Her brows pinched together.
“Like what?”
“Allowed.” Garett stood abruptly, shoving a hand through his hair. “Permission. Asking me if things are okay every five seconds like I’m supposed to control what you do.”
Confusion spread across her face first.
Then hurt.
“I was just asking…”
“But why?” he interrupted, frustration bleeding through despite trying to hold it back. “Why do you think you need my approval to go out with your friends? Or wear something? Or talk to another guy in class?”
Y/N stared at him now like she genuinely didn’t understand why he was upset.
And somehow that made it worse.
“I’m trying to be respectful,” she said quietly.
“There’s a difference between respect and asking me to run your life.”
“I’m not asking you to run my life.”
“You literally just asked if you were allowed to go to a club.”
Her expression crumpled slightly at his tone.
“Well… yeah.”
Garett let out a disbelieving laugh, turning away before immediately regretting it.
“Jesus Christ.”
The apartment went painfully quiet.
When he looked back at her, she looked small.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Just confused.
And that killed his irritation instantly.
“Why are you upset?” she asked softly.
The question cracked something open in him, because she really didn’t know. She had no idea why hearing those words made him feel sick. No idea why every conversation lately had been clawing at old memories he spent years trying to bury.
Garett swallowed hard and sat back down on the couch, suddenly exhausted.
“My dad was controlling,” he admitted quietly.
The words hung heavy between them.
Y/N blinked.
“What?”
“He controlled everything.” Garett stared at the floor while speaking, jaw tight. “What my mom wore. Where she went. Who she talked to. She used to ask permission for every little thing because it was easier than fighting with him.”
He laughed bitterly.
“And lately every time you ask me if you can do something, I feel like I’m turning into him.”
Y/N’s face fell instantly.
“Garett…”
“I know you don’t mean anything by it,” he said quickly. “I know you’re not doing it on purpose but….” He dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t want that. I never want you feeling like you need my permission to exist.”
The silence afterward felt fragile.
Then quietly:
“My dad was like that too.”
Garett looked up sharply.
Y/N sat curled in on herself on the floor, fingers twisting together nervously.
“In my house,” she said slowly, “that was just… normal.”
Her voice sounded embarrassingly small now, like she was suddenly hearing it herself for the first time.
“If I wanted to wear something my dad didn’t like, he’d tell me no. If my mom wanted to go somewhere, she asked first.” She shrugged weakly. “They always said when I got older my boyfriend or husband would decide those things instead.”
Garett felt his chest ache.
“Oh, baby.”
“I thought that’s what girlfriends were supposed to do,” she admitted. “Like… checking in. Making sure your boyfriend’s comfortable. I thought that meant you respected him.”
Garett stared at her for a long moment before standing and walking over.
The second he crouched in front of her, her eyes dropped automatically like she was bracing for criticism.
That alone nearly broke him.
He tilted her chin up gently.
“You never have to earn being loved by obeying me.”
The tears gathering in her eyes spilled instantly.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she whispered shakily.
“I know.” His voice softened immediately. “I know you didn’t.”
She looked devastated anyway.
“I just thought… if someone loves you, they’re supposed to care what you do.”
“I care,” Garett said carefully. “But caring isn’t controlling you.”
Y/N looked at him uncertainly, like the concept itself felt unfamiliar.
And honestly?
That hurt more than anything else.
Garett pulled her into his lap before she could protest, wrapping both arms around her tightly.
“You know what I want?” he murmured against her hair.
“What?”
“I want you to do things because they make you happy. Not because you think some guy has to approve them first.”
Her fingers curled weakly into his hoodie.
“That’s hard to unlearn.”
“I know.”
His hand rubbed slowly up and down her back while rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
For the first time all night, the tension finally began easing from his chest.
Because now he understood.
And now she did too.
After a long silence, Y/N mumbled quietly into his shoulder,
“So… I can wear the black dress?”
Garett barked out a surprised laugh, tightening his arms around her.
“Baby,” he said, kissing the top of her head, “you can wear literally whatever you want.”
And when she smiled against him this time, it felt a little less like relief and a little more like freedom.
“Do you think we’re best friends in every universe?”
The sudden question has Damian raise his brow, his head turning slightly towards you as he tilts it to the side in confusion. You two sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge of the building.
“What a bizarre question,” he mumbles, watching as you take a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, “what brought it up?”
“Dunno,” you shrug, placing the small cup of ice cream beside you, “I read somewhere that if you dream about someone, and they look slightly different, you’re getting a small glimpse of them from a whole different universe.”
“You dream about me?” Damian asked, stunned, mouth slightly open as he pointed at himself. He hears you hum, nodding along with a small cheeky grin on your face.
“Yeah!” You laugh, legs loving back and forth as the balls of your feet come in contact with the brick walls, “a few times actually. You were a girl in one of them. You’ll make a very pretty one by the way.”
“Oh, how lovely,” he groans, head turning to the side to avoid eye contact. His skin feels warm, and he’s sure his ears have a slightly red hue to them by now. “I assume this is something that’s been popping up on your for you page on TikTok?”
“Yep!” you nod, taking a glance at him one last time, before your eyes avert up towards the moon. To Damian, you look much more relaxed, and there’s a long pause before you continue, “I think we soulmate a little too hard in this universe, that the other universes had no choice but to make us best friends in others!”
soulmates.
Damian’s heart skips a beat at the single word.
He says nothing, eyes glancing at the side of your face as you smile up at the moon. He clears his throat softly—catching your attention. Your head snaps towards him, eyes shimmering from the moonlight. Damian finds himself smiling at you, and his fingers find yours. You don’t pull away, always giving him a confused look—smile never leaving your face as you do so.
“Is that what you truly believe?” He asked, his grip tightening slightly, no hesitation as you nod at him. Smile widened as you let out a breathy laugh.
“Yeah! It’s a little crazy, but I like to believe it’s real!”
Reader have no idea that they're dating the batboys for a quite some time already, although reader does hope for it, they just thought that the batboys being so nice to them, while the batboys waiting for reader to be ready to do couple stuff, they just thought reader is shy 😭
I been thinking this for a while now
Reader: what you mean we're dating?!?!
Batboys: we've been dating for a while now???
“I like you so much, and you don’t even know it.”
Sorry lowkey disappeared again.Im having my daughter next month,scared asf💔💔.My fanny is gonna be DESTROYED.also random does anyone else hate podfics.Like it will have the perfect plot and then say” podfic” like turn that shit off omg.
Batboys x Reader: clueless Reader
Bruce Wayne
The “exclusive relationship” was IMPLIED, apparently
•Bruce thought things were very clear.
• In his defense:
•you spend most nights at the manor
• he takes you to galas
•Alfred refers to you as “Mr. Wayne’s partner”
•Bruce literally kisses you goodbye before meetings
•So naturally he assumes:
yes, this is my significant other.
•Meanwhile you’re spiraling internally every day.
•Because Bruce Wayne is:
•holding your hand
•buying you things
•resting his forehead against yours when tired
•But he’s never technically said:
“Will you be my partner?”
•So your brain goes:
Maybe he’s just emotionally confusing.
•The realization happens because someone at a gala says:
“You and your boyfriend make a lovely couple.”
•You laugh awkwardly.
“Oh..we’re not-“
•Bruce looks over immediately.
“…Not what?”
•You stare at him.
“Dating?”
•Silence.
•Bruce blinks once.
“..We’ve been exclusive for eight months.”
“EIGHT??!”
•You almost choke on your drink.
•Bruce is now deeply confused.
*“You sleep in my bed.”
“AS A FRIEND.”
“I kissed you.”
“PEOPLE KISS CASUALLY SOMETIMES-“
•Bruce just stares at you like your operating system is corrupted.
• Then realization slowly dawns on him.
“…You genuinely didn’t know.”
• You hide your face immediately.
“I thought you were being nice because you liked me as a person.”
•Bruce physically has to sit down.
•Because somehow this is more stressful than fighting Bane.
⸻
Dick Grayson
Actually devastated you didn’t know
•Dick is the MOST affectionate naturally.
•So this misunderstanding gets BAD.
•This man:
• calls you baby
•kisses your forehead
•cuddles you constantly
• takes you on dates
•says “missed you”
•introduced you to the Titans
•And you STILL think:
He’s probably just emotionally open.
•Dick genuinely thinks you’re just shy about labels.
•One day he casually says:
“My girlfriend’s coming over later.”
•You:
“Oh? Who?”
• Dick laughs.
•Then stops laughing.
“…You.”
•You stare at him.
“Wait.”
•He stares back.
“WAIT.”
“You didn’t know we were dating?!”
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST REALLY FRIENDLY.”
•Dick falls backwards onto the couch dramatically.
“I HELD YOUR FACE AND TOLD YOU I ADORED YOU.”
“YEAH BUT YOU’RE DICK GRAYSON. YOU SAY THINGS.”
•He’s losing his mind now.
“I TOOK YOU ON ROMANTIC ROOFTOP DINNERS.”
• “I THOUGHT YOU WERE TESTING LOCATIONS.”
•He actually laughs so hard he can’t breathe.
•Then immediately crawls across the couch to grab your face.
“Okay,” he says, still laughing,
“just so we’re SUPER clear now-”
•Kisses you directly on the mouth.
“Boyfriend. Dating. Romantic. In love with you.”
•You’re bright red.
•Dick thinks this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.
⸻
Jason Todd
• Jason absolutely assumed you knew.
•Because from his perspective:
•you wear his hoodies
•you sleep at his place
•he threatens people for disrespecting you
•you’ve made out multiple times
•Clearly:
Relationship.
• But you’re an overthinker.
•So every time something romantic happens you internally go:
Don’t assume. Don’t ruin the vibe. Stay calm.
•The realization happens when Roy casually says:
“So how long have you two been together now?”
•You immediately answer:
“Oh we’re not together-“
•Jason:
“…What.”
•Roy:
“…WHAT.”
•You panic immediately.
“I MEAN-unless-“
•Jason is staring at you like his soul just left his body.
“Baby.”
“DON’T BABY ME RIGHT NOW.”
“I literally told a guy at a bar you were my girl.”
“I thought that was… metaphorical.”
•Jason actually puts his hands over his face.
“How are you alive.”
•Then he starts laughing.
HARD.
“Oh my god,” he says between laughs,
“you really thought I was just casually obsessed with you.”
•You hide in your hoodie immediately.
His hoodie.
•Jason notices. Smirks.
“You know normal friends don’t share apartments keys either, right?”
Silence.
“…oh my god.”
⸻
Tim Drake
•Tim honestly can’t blame you because he ALSO never formally asked.
• But he thought the relationship progression was obvious.
•You:
•have toothbrushes at each other’s places
• share passwords
• nap together
•hold hands constantly
•went to a wedding together
• Tim categorized this as:
Relationship Acquired.
•You categorized it as:
Extremely emotionally intimate friendship.
•The moment happens because Kon asks:
“Wait, did you never ask them out officially?”
•Tim pauses.
“..I thought I did.”
• You immediately look over.
“You WHAT.”
•Tim starts mentally replaying every interaction you’ve ever had.
“I said ‘you’re my favorite person.’”
“THAT ISN’T A CONFESSION.”
“I BOUGHT YOU FLOWERS.”
“AS A FRIEND???”
•Tim puts his head in his hands.
“This explains SO MUCH.”
“LIKE WHAT?”
“WHY YOU LOOKED PANICKED EVERY TIME I HELD YOUR HAND.”
•You whisper:
“I thought I was imagining things…”
• Tim looks up immediately.
“…Wait, you LIKE liked me?”
“YES???”
⸻
Damian Wayne
Actually offended you thought he behaved this way platonically
•Damian is NOT naturally affectionate.
•Which means from his perspective, this should have been EXTREMELY obvious.
• He:
•seeks you out voluntarily
•touches you first
•allows prolonged physical affection
•lets you hold Titus
• says “beloved”
•In Damian Language this is basically a marriage certificate.
•Meanwhile you:
He’s just… intense.
• The realization happens when you say:
“You’ll make someone really happy one day.”
•Damian stops walking.
• Slowly turns around.
“…Excuse me?”
“What?”“What do you mean ‘someone’?”
•You blink.
“Your future partner?”
•Damian stares at you in complete disbelief.
“Beloved. We are together.”
You laugh nervously.
“Wait, seriously?”
He looks genuinely disturbed now.
“You believed I was behaving this way PLATONICALLY?”
“YOU NEVER ASKED.”
“I ALLOWED YOU IN MY PERSONAL SPACE.”
“…that’s fair actually.”
•Damian pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I have called you ‘my love’ repeatedly.”
“I thought you were being poetic.”
Long silence.
Then:
“…Father was correct. You are catastrophically oblivious.”
