SUMMARY: The five times Dean realizes you're more than just his childhood best friend, and the one time he finally does something about it.
WARNINGS: Friends to eventual lovers, idiots in love, slow burn romance, psychology!student, fluff, slight angst, non-graphic descriptions of an injury, cursing, jealousy, sexual innuendos, domestic bliss (Dean is down bad), rushed ending sorry!
A/N: Happy Fourth of July!! 🇺🇸 I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write one of these fics and inspiration finally struck! Let me know what you guys think, and if you want to see more! Hope y’all enjoy!! Divider by @dividers-are-us <3
➩ main masterlist
➩ dean di laurentis masterlist
1. Garrett’s not so secret feelings
After a brutal Friday in the weight room with Beau, Dean wanted nothing more than to demolish whatever leftovers Tucker had most likely abandoned in the fridge, scrub the sweat and soreness off his skin, and disappear in his room until Monday. The workout had been relentless. His shoulders ached, his legs felt like concrete, and he was fairly certain Beau got some sick enjoyment out of making him suffer.
As he pushed through the front door of the hockey house, the familiar scent of stale pizza, laundry detergent, and whatever Tucker had cooked earlier greeted him. He kicked off his shoes near the entrance and rolled his neck, already mentally planning his evening. That's when he noticed you and Garrett sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the kitchen island, textbooks spread across the countertop.
Dean slowed, not because Garrett was studying, that wasn't unusual lately, but because Garrett looked utterly miserable. "Jesus," Garrett groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Remind me again why you want to pursue a career in this?" His eyes narrowed at the open psychology textbook like it had personally offended him. "Not memorizing the difference between operant conditioning and classical conditioning isn't the end of the world, G."
Dean couldn't help smiling. Somehow, whenever you were around, the house felt lighter. Before either of you could react, he crossed the room and made a beeline toward the kitchen island. Garrett spotted him first, a knowing smirk immediately tugged at his mouth, one which Dean blatantly ignored it. You barely had enough time to look up before all six-foot-two of him folded himself around you.
One arm slid around your shoulders, the other wrapped around your waist as his face buried itself in your hair as he let out a long, exhausted groan. "If you're having trouble distinguishing classical and operant conditioning, just make flash cards," You advised Garrett, as though you weren't currently trapped beneath an oversized hockey player. "Handwritten ones. They always helped me."
Without even thinking about it, your fingers slipped between Dean's where his hand rested against your stomach. The gesture was entirely unconscious. Dean's tired brain barely registered it, but Garrett's definitely did. "Are we not going to address the overgrown golden retriever currently hanging off your shoulder?" Garrett questioned, motioning toward Dean.
In response, Dean didn't move, in fact, his hold only tightened around your waist. You rolled your eyes at both their antics. "Are we not going to address the fact that you're here 'studying' on a Friday night because you refuse to admit your feelings for Hannah and couldn't stand the thought of her going out with Justin tonight?" The reaction was immediate, Garrett immediately went red, really red.
His jaw clenched as he snapped his attention back to his notes with exaggerated concentration. "Your girl is disturbingly insightful, Di Laurentis." He muttered which made you scoff as you playfully nudged his shin with your foot from across the table. “Damn straight she is.” Dean’s answer came instantly, low and smug, with a kiss pressed to your forehead that you unconsciously leaned into which made Dean's stomach do something profoundly embarrassing.
For a few moments, only the rustle of paper and the hum of the refrigerator filled the kitchen. Then you reached across the counter and squeezed Garrett's hand, your expression softening. "Hey, G," You muttered softly as Garrett's eyes slowly lifted to meet yours. "For what it's worth, I don't think Hannah likes Justin nearly as much as you think she does." Garrett squeezed your hand back, hope flashing across his face before he could hide it.
Dean watched the exchange quietly, body still wrapped around you. He didn't notice the way his thumb kept tracing small absent minded circles against your waist. He did notice that when you smiled at Garrett, he felt oddly jealous of his best friend for getting that look. And for the first time in a very long time, Dean couldn't help but wonder if maybe his attachment to his childhood "friend" wasn't quite as platonic as he'd always pretended it was.
2. Self-Care Day with Summer
Safe to say Dean had a shitty day.
All he wanted now was you. He wanted to kick off his shoes, collapse onto his bed, and bury himself in your arms while your fingers lazily carded through his messy hair. He wanted your soft voice filling the silence, your hand rubbing slow circles across his back until the tension seeped from every tight muscle in his body. The guys would never let him live it down if they knew, but Dean really couldn't bring himself to care.
As he pushed open the front door of the hockey house, the familiar sounds of shouting commentators and button mashing greeted him. Logan and Tucker were planted on opposite ends of the couch, controllers gripped tightly in their hands as they battled it out on the TV. An empty pizza box sat abandoned on the coffee table, surrounded by half-empty Gatorade bottles and crumpled napkins.
Dean barely spared them a glance, his eyes immediately sweeping areas where you'd probably be. The kitchen, empty. The dining room, nothing. No backpack tossed over one of the chairs. No oversized sweatshirt draped over the counter. No mug of tea you'd inevitably forget to finish. "Looking for your girl?" Logan's amused voice pulled him from his search. Without taking his eyes off the television, a knowing smirk spread across his face.
Dean didn't even bother correcting him anymore. "You seen her?" He asked, already craning his neck toward the hallway as if you might magically appear. Logan shrugged one shoulder. "She was here with Wellsy earlier. Upstairs probably." That was all Dean needed. He took the stairs two at a time, each step creaking beneath his weight. His exhaustion momentarily forgotten, as he headed straight for his bedroom.
"Y/N?" He called, knocking lightly before twisting the doorknob. The room was empty, bed neatly made, and the hoodie you'd stolen from him last week was nowhere to be found. Dean frowned. Without even realizing what he was doing, his phone was already in his hand, your contact pulled up from muscle memory. His thumb hit the call button before he had a chance to even think twice.
The phone rang twice before: "Hi, Dicky!" Dean physically recoiled. "What the hell— Summer?" His eyebrows shot toward his hairline. "What are you doing with Y/N's phone?" An exaggerated scoff crackled through the speaker, he could practically see Summer rolling her eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, Dicky," Summer huffed. "She doesn't belong to you. She was my friend first."
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, a fresh headache blooming almost instantly. "Just give her the phone, Summer." He heard muffled voices, the sound of the phone changing hands, and then: "Hi, Dean." It was amazing what two simple words could do. The knot between his shoulder blades loosened. His jaw unclenched. The lingering frustration in his body eased just from hearing your voice. A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.
"Babydoll," He murmured, unable to hide the relief in his voice. "Where are you? And why on earth are you with my hellion of a sister?" Your soft laugh drifted through the speaker, warm enough to make him wish you were standing beside him instead. Somewhere in the background, Summer barked an offended, "Dick." You laughed harder before finally answering. "She called me this morning after my eight a.m. class. She was having a bad day, so I drove into Manhattan to spend the day with her."
"You drove all the way to Manhattan?" Dean blinked. "Of course I did, Summer needed me." His heart did that stupid thing it always seemed to do around you. You hadn't hesitated. Summer needed someone, and you'd simply gone. No complaints. Just packed your things and made the drive because someone you cared about asked. There was another shuffle on the other end before Summer snatched the phone back. "Retail therapy works wonders, Dicky," She announced proudly.
"She'll be all yours tomorrow, but today?" Summer continued, smug satisfaction dripping from every word. "Today she's mine. Love you. Bye!" Seconds later, the line went suddenly dead. Dean stared down at his phone for several long seconds before letting out a disbelieving laugh. Of course Summer would steal your phone. Of course she'd hang up before he could get another word in.
But none of that was what stuck with him. What lingered was the realization that the second his sister admitted she was struggling, you'd dropped everything and driven nearly four hours just to make sure Summer didn't have to be alone. No hesitation. No expectation of anything in return. Just because that's who you were. Dean had always known you had the biggest heart of anyone he'd ever met. Today, though...
Today, he caught himself wishing he was more than just a friend.
3. The Injury
"Let her through! She's with the team!" Garrett's authoritative voice cut cleanly through the chaos surrounding the arena tunnel, commanding enough that even over the frantic chatter, blaring arena speakers, and the lingering roar of thousands of fans filing toward the exits, everyone nearby turned their heads. However, you barely heard him. Your heartbeat thundered so loudly in your ears it drowned out almost everything else.
"I'm the captain of this team," Garrett interrupted sharply, stepping between you and security. "She's family." The guard hesitated only a second before stepping aside. The moment the path cleared, your feet carried you forward before your brain had a chance to catch up. Garrett fell into step beside you, one steady hand settling against the middle of your back as if he could feel the way your entire body trembled.
"How is he?" Your voice barely sounded like your own. Garrett's jaw tightened. "The medic thinks he'll be out at least two weeks." His expression darkened. "Mild concussion and a fractured ankle." Hot fury ignited beneath your ribs. Not at Dean, but at the player who had recklessly swept his stick between Dean's legs. You'd watched it happen. There'd been no attempt to play the puck. It was just a cheap shot.
A dangerous one.
Your hands curled into fists as the replay flashed through your mind all over again. "He keeps asking for you," Garrett continued, his tone softening. "Won't let anyone get a word in." Despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitched. "He's being more annoying than usual," Garrett added with a tired sigh. "Logan and Tucker are about five minutes away from knocking him unconscious themselves."
That definitely sounded like Dean. "I should probably go micromanage before they make good on that threat." Garrett chuckled under his breath and pulled open the door to the medical room. The sight waiting on the other side nearly made your knees buckle. Dean sat propped awkwardly on the examination chair, his hockey pants and jersey still on, shoulder pads discarded in a heap beside him.
His normally perfect blond curls were damp with sweat and flattened where his helmet had been, several loose strands sticking out in every direction. A medic knelt beside him, carefully supporting his injured ankle while a PT intern shined a light into his eyes, checking his pupils. Logan and Tucker both stood on each side of him, still wearing their jerseys, neither looking remotely interested in getting changed until they knew Dean was okay.
"Garrett went to get her, just wait." Logan reminded him patiently, keeping a firm hand planted on Dean's shoulder the second he tried to stand again. "Let the medic finish checking you out, man." Tucker coaxed like the mother hen he was. Dean opened his mouth, ready to argue then his eyes found yours. It was almost eerie, like he'd sensed you before you'd even stepped through the doorway.
The tension visibly drained from his shoulders. Relief flooded his features so quickly it made your chest ache. "Babydoll..." He breathed, every ounce of stubbornness disappearing. "Thank fuck." He sank back into the chair, extending both hands toward you without an ounce of hesitation. "C'mere... please." There wasn't a universe where you wouldn't. You crossed the room in two quick strides.
The second your fingers slipped between his, Dean gripped them like a lifeline. Like he'd been holding himself together by sheer force of will until you walked through that door. Your eyes immediately began searching him. A faint scrape along his cheekbone. Fresh bruising already blooming beneath one eye. A split lip. The ugly swelling around his ankle. "You scared the hell out of me, Dean." You whispered, your voice catching despite your best efforts to keep it steady.
Dean's thumb swept absentminded circles across the back of your hand. Whatever pain medication they'd given him had softened the hard edges around his eyes, leaving him wearing a crooked, hopelessly boyish smile that somehow made him look younger. "How's your head?" You asked gently, your free hand lifted almost on its own, brushing one stubborn blond curl away from his forehead before tucking it back into place.
Your fingertips lingered there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, wanting the reassurance that he was really here. Dean leaned unconsciously into your touch. "Never had any complaints, babydoll." He punctuated the line with an exaggerated wink. An audible chorus of groans filled the room. "Oh my fucking God." Logan muttered, eyes rolling. "He's concussed and still flirting." Tucker complained, rubbing both hands down his face.
You felt heat instantly flood your cheeks, but ultimately chose to ignore it. "Oh, you're absolutely fine." You huffed, rolling your eyes as you tried to tug your hand free. Only Dean wasn't having it. His fingers tightened around yours and with one gentle pull, he drew you closer until you stood between his knees, your bodies only inches apart. The teasing grin he'd been wearing slowly faded.
Something quieter settled over his features, something almost fragile. His thumb continued tracing slow circles across your knuckles, grounding himself in the simple fact that you were here. That he could still hold your hand. "Thanks for being here." The words came quietly. Without the usual confidence. Without a joke to soften them. Just plain, raw honesty. You didn't even have to think about your answer.
Your other hand rose to cup his cheek, brushing over the rough stubble beginning to grow along his jaw. "There's nowhere else I'd be." Dean's breath caught. Those five simple words landed somewhere deep inside his chest, slipping past every wall he'd spent years carefully building. He'd spent so long convincing himself that what he felt for you was just harmless, a silly crush that would eventually go away.
But watching you burst through security with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. Feeling your hands check every bruise like you could somehow erase the pain. Hearing you tell him there was nowhere else you'd rather be. It unraveled him. The feeling he'd been trying so desperately to bury came rushing back all at once, stronger than ever. Because for one terrifying moment on that ice, he'd thought he might open his eyes and not get to see you looking at him like he was the only person in the room.
4. Tucker’s Deathbed
Dean: Might wanna stay away tonight, Tuck’s got one hell of a cold.
Respectfully, there was no way in hell you were listening to that text. Your psychology paper on stress sat half-finished on your laptop, several journal articles scattered across your desk, but they could wait another night. Tucker couldn't. Besides, you knew exactly why Dean had texted you. He wasn't trying to be controlling, far from it.
He knew how often you caught whatever bug was going around campus, and the last thing he wanted was for you to spend the next week sniffling and miserable. It was sweet, but it was also completely futile seeing as your mind was already made up. You quickly shoved your laptop shut, gathered your keys, slipped your feet into your sneakers, and headed out the door before you had the chance to think twice about it.
Ten minutes later, you were pulling into the familiar driveway of the hockey house. The porch light cast a warm glow over the worn wooden steps, and the second you let yourself inside, the usual atmosphere felt...off. There was no music blasting from Logan's room. No laughter echoing through the halls. No Tucker humming while experimenting with whatever recipe had caught his attention that week.
Closing the front door behind you, your gaze immediately landed on the couch. "Oh, sweet Tuck." Your voice softened into something almost maternal. Tucker looked absolutely miserable. He was cocooned beneath two thick blankets despite the thermostat being turned up, curly hair sticking out in every direction, cheeks flushed an unhealthy shade of pink. A mountain of crumpled tissues littered the coffee table beside half-empty glasses of water and an abandoned mug of tea that had long since gone cold.
Setting your purse onto the nearest chair, you crossed the room quietly until you stood beside the couch. Your hand found his forehead with featherlight pressure, careful not to startle him awake. The warmth beneath your palm made you hiss. His skin was damp with sweat, far warmer than it should've been. He cracked one sleepy eye open before lazily batting your hand away with all the strength of a disgruntled toddler. "You're gonna get sick, Y/N." He mumbled, voice rough from congestion.
"Have you taken anything? Eaten?" You asked, purposely ignoring him. A weak shake of his head made you frown as he burrowed farther beneath the blanket until all you could really see was the top of his head. Without another word, you disappeared into the kitchen. Opening cabinet after cabinet, you smiled when everything was exactly where you'd expected. If there was one thing Tucker took almost as seriously as hockey, it was cooking.
Rolling up your sleeves, you got to work. Butter melted with a quiet sizzle before onions, carrots, and celery joined the pot, filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of sautéing vegetables. Garlic followed moments later, its rich scent curling through the house. You shredded leftover rotisserie chicken Tucker had prepared earlier in the week, added handfuls of fresh herbs from the windowsill, poured in the homemade stock, and let everything simmer low and slow.
Nearly twenty minutes later, the soup bubbled gently on the stove, filling every room with warmth. Which was probably why the front door swung open. Logan stepped inside first, Garrett followed, and Dean came in last. All three stopped dead in the entryway as the unmistakable scent of homemade chicken noodle soup drifted toward them. Dean's gaze found you almost instantly, it was second nature nowadays.
You stood at the stove in one of Tucker's aprons, sleeves pushed to your elbows as you stirred the soup with practiced ease. Something deep in his chest squeezed painfully the more he looked at you. God, you looked like you belonged there. Like you'd always belonged there. His stomach flipped at the domestic image. The thought came so naturally it almost scared him. He could picture this years from now: Coming home after practice. Finding you in a kitchen making dinner, scolding one of the guys for skipping lunch.
It was such a simple fantasy, one he had absolutely no business imagining. "I thought I told you to stay home." Dean's voice carried equal parts exasperation and concern as he crossed his arms against his chest. "Last I checked, none of you know how to cook," You replied matter-of-factly while ladling soup into bowls. "Tuck needs homemade soup not whatever sodium-packed excuse for soup you three would've heated up from a can." Their silence spoke volumes.
Oh how you loved being right.
You slid two steaming bowls across the island toward Garrett and Logan who were openly salivating. "Sit and eat." Both men obeyed immediately, neither needed to be told twice. "You're my favorite person ever." Logan declared, already reaching for a spoon. "I've been saying that for years," Garrett chimed in, grinning as he accepted the bowl. "Thanks, sweetheart."
Dean watched the exchange in silence, eyes never leaving you as he watched you carry another bowl into the living room. You crouched beside Tucker, placing the soup carefully on the coffee table before setting cold medicine and a bottle of water beside it. "There we go." Your fingers brushed his forehead once more. "A little less warm." Tucker managed the weakest smile imaginable before taking a tentative bite.
Within minutes he looked noticeably more alive. Color slowly returned to his face as warmth spread through him. Dean, however, couldn't stop watching you. Couldn't stop noticing how naturally you slipped into caretaker mode. You remembered everyone's favorite meals. You always noticed when one of them skipped breakfast. You always looked after them without ever expecting anything in return.
It was simply woven into who you were.
"Serious question." Logan's voice pulled everyone's attention back toward the dining table. You looked up, brows furrowing and mentally preparing for what Logan was about to say. He pointed his spoon toward you. "Why has literally nobody wifed you up yet?" Your eyes widened, heat creeping up into your cheeks as you blinked at him processing his words. A nervous laugh escaped as you simply shrugged one shoulder instead of answering.
Thankfully, Logan accepted your non-answer. "Wild." He muttered before returning his full attention to the soup in front of him. You let out a quiet breath of relief, completely missing what happened across the room. Tucker slowly lifted his gaze as Garrett did the same, both men turning towards Dean in perfect synchronization. Dean was already glaring at them, if looks could kill both hockey players would already be six-feet under.
Garrett bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling and Tucker looked seconds away from bursting out laughing despite the gruesome cold. Because they both knew. They'd watched Dean stare at you from the second he'd walked through the front door. Watched his eyes follow every movement you made. Watched the way his expression softened whenever you smiled his way.
Logan, blissfully unaware of the silent conversation unfolding beside him, happily shoveled another spoonful of soup into his mouth. Dean barely noticed, because despite his two smartass friends smirking at his obliviousness, his attention had drifted back to you. Back to the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you rinsed dishes. Back to the quiet hum you made under your breath while cleaning Tucker's kitchen.
Back to how effortlessly you took care of people you loved.
You were a catch. Dean had always known that. He'd known it long before anyone else started noticing. Long before Logan blurted it out over dinner. The problem was, other people were starting to realize it too. And someday, someone was going to look at you the way Dean already did. They'd flirt with you. Take you out. Learn your coffee order. Memorize the little wrinkle that appeared beside your nose whenever you laughed.
Most importantly, they'd get to call you theirs. The thought alone lodged itself beneath his ribs like a skate blade carving into fresh ice. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. You were his childhood best friend. He should've been thrilled if someone made you happy. Instead, all he could think was: I hope they don't. And that terrified him far more than any hockey game ever could.
5. The Male Gaze
"Hey, Y/N, is it true that Archer Beckett asked you out?" The question left Beau's mouth so casually you'd think he was asking you about the weather. Dean, on the other hand, nearly inhaled his beer. He coughed violently, setting the bottle down with a little more force than intended as carbonation burned the back of his throat. Beside him, Garrett didn't even attempt to hide his grin, his shoulders already beginning to shake with silent laughter.
Across the table, you took another leisurely sip of your piña colada, completely oblivious to the internal crisis unfolding three feet away. "He did." You confirmed, shrugging nonchalantly. Dean's entire body went rigid, his jaw locked so tightly he could feel his molars grinding together. Archer Beckett, of course it had to be Archer fucking Beckett. The lacrosse captain had been circling you for weeks like a damn shark.
Every time Dean turned around, Archer was "coincidentally" showing up wherever you happened to be, outside the psych building, in line at the campus coffee shop, even at Malone's after games. Dean had noticed, he noticed everything when it came to you. "What'd you tell him?" Hannah wondered from across the table, tucked comfortably beneath Garrett's arm.
Dean sat a little straighter without realizing it, every muscle in his body tensed as he waited for your answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Garrett and Beau exchanging identical shit-eating grins. Again. Lately they'd been doing that a lot. Assholes. You swirled the straw around your drink absentmindedly before answering as though the conversation couldn't possibly be less important. "I told him I wasn't interested."
Dean forgot how to breathe. Relief washed over him so suddenly it nearly made him dizzy. It came in one overwhelming wave, loosening the knot in his chest before he'd even processed why. His shoulders relaxed and the death grip he'd had on his beer bottle eased. A part of him, a part he'd spent months trying very hard to ignore, felt absurdly, ridiculously happy.
"The guy's relentless," Garrett observed, lifting his beer toward his lips. "I'm honestly surprised he backed off that easily." Dean caught the smug smirk Garrett aimed directly at him over the rim of his bottle. The silent message couldn't have been clearer: You hear that, Di Laurentis? She turned him down. Make your move, idiot. Dean responded by silently mouthing, I'm going to kill you to which Garrett's grin only widened.
Thankfully, you remained blissfully unaware of the silent death threats being exchanged across the table. "I need another drink." You stood, gathering your empty glass before pointing toward the bar. "Anyone want a refill?" Everyone but Hannah declined. Dean opened his mouth to offer to go with you, but the opportunity disappeared before the words reached his tongue because you were already weaving through the various crowds of people toward the bar.
His eyes followed instinctively as they always did. He watched as you smiled at Allie the second you reached the bar, leaning comfortably against the polished wood as the short brunette reached over the counter to squeeze your hand before beginning your drink. Dean couldn't help smiling too. "Dude, you're so whipped." Beau's voice yanked him back to reality. Dean managed to drag his gaze away from you just long enough to glare murderously at his best friend.
"At least pretend you're listening to us instead of staring at her like she hung the moon. You've watched her walk to the bar like four times already, man." Garrett interrupted, amusement dancing across his face. Dean scoffed at Garrett's words, opening his mouth to rebuttal before Hannah held her hand up stopping him. "Dean, at least try to hide it better." Hannah teased, smiling far too knowingly.
"Wellsy, don't encourage them." Dean groaned dramatically. "I'm not encouraging anything." Hannah's smile only grew. "I'm just observing." Dean rolled his eyes dramatically before looking back toward the televisions mounted behind the bar. Or at least, that was his intention. Instead, his attention landed on you again, watching as your eyes were fixated on Shane Hollander as he carried the puck through the neutral zone while Ilya Rozanov shadowed him stride for stride on the television screen.
Dean smiled despite himself, only you would get distracted by hockey while ordering drinks. Then he noticed them. Three guys at the opposite end of the bar. One of them glanced your way, then another. A fourth turned completely around in his stool. Dean's smile vanished instantly. They weren't watching the game, they were watching you. His grip tightened around his beer bottle until his knuckles turned white.
One of them, a tall brunette with an easy grin and far too much confidence nudged his friend before climbing off his stool. Dean's pulse immediately picked up as he watched the guy walk straight toward you. "I just love it when he gets territorial." Beau snickered as Hannah immediately elbowed Garrett in the ribs hard enough to earn an exaggerated grunt, though the smile she was unsuccessfully trying to suppress betrayed her.
They'd all noticed. Of course they did.
Dean didn't bother with them, his gaze was solely on you, stomach twisting unpleasantly. He had absolutely no right to feel possessive. You weren't his girlfriend. Hell, you weren't even remotely close to being his. You could flirt with whoever you wanted. Accept drinks from whoever you wanted. Go on dates with whoever you wanted. The thought alone made something ugly twist low in his stomach.
Jealousy.
Because it wasn't just that he didn't want Archer Beckett asking you out anymore. He didn't want anyone asking you out. He didn't want another guy making you laugh. Didn't want someone else memorizing your coffee order. Didn't want someone else bringing you flowers during finals week because they knew you were stressed. Didn't want someone else being the person you instinctively reached for.
He didn't want to be just your best friend anymore. He wanted to be the man sitting beside you. The one whose hand you'd reach for beneath the table. The one you'd kiss goodnight. The one you'd introduce as yours. Thankfully, after a few gruesome minutes which really seemed like decades, he watched as the brunette returned to his friends a few moments later. Empty-handed; no longer smiling and head hung low. Only then did Dean realize he'd been holding his breath.
You followed shortly after, balancing two frozen piña coladas with practiced ease, once again, completely oblivious to the emotional crisis currently unfolding inside Dean's head. "What'd he want?" The question escaped before Dean could stop it. You slid Hannah's drink across the table before answering. "Oh," You shrugged, hand waving dismissively as if it was no big deal. "He wanted to buy me a drink, but I told him my boyfriend was waiting for me."
Silence.
Dean stared, his brain stopped functioning altogether.
"Boyfriend?" He echoed weakly. You looked at him as though the answer was obvious, a tiny smile tugged at your lips. "I knew he wouldn't question it if I pointed at you." Dean's heart slammed against his ribs. You'd said it so naturally, so effortlessly. As if pretending Dean was yours had come as easily as breathing. You reached across the table without thinking, your fingers wrapping gently around his forearm, the simple touch nearly undid him.
"You don't mind, do you, Dean?" You looked almost worried, like the possibility of upsetting him genuinely bothered you. Across the table, Garrett looked ready to burst into laughter. Beau had outright stopped pretending to hide his grin. Even Hannah pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Yet, Dean barely noticed. He was too busy imagining what it would've felt like if your words had actually been true. My boyfriend. God, he wanted to hear you say that again.
Not as an excuse, not to get rid of some random guy at a bar, but because you meant it. The realization settled over him with startling certainty. He wasn't just protective. He wasn't just attached because you'd been friends forever. He wasn't just comfortable around you. He was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend. And judging by the three idiots trying and failing not to laugh across the table, everyone seemed to know it before he did.
He swallowed hard, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before forcing himself to smile. "Course not, babydoll." You smiled back, satisfied with his answer, completely unaware that the tiny lie had just shattered what was left of his resolve. Because the truth was, Dean minded more than he could ever admit. Not because you'd called him your boyfriend, but because he wasn't. God, he wanted to be. More than his next championship. More than hockey. More than anything.
+1 The Hat Trick
The sharp November air nipped at your cheeks the second you stepped out of the car, your breath curling into soft white clouds as you made your way toward the entrance of the Briar arena. Even after countless games, countless Friday nights spent wrapped in Briar blue, there was still something magical about hockey nights.
The bright arena lights reflected against the freshly resurfaced sheet of ice, music boomed through the speakers as students flooded into the stands. Your eyes immediately searched for one player in particular. Dean, it was always Dean. The knot that had lived in your stomach for the past two weeks loosened the moment you spotted number sixty-six gliding effortless laps around center ice during warmups.
He was back. After the concussion and the fractured ankle. After countless days of sitting beside his bed while he complained about being benched, insisting he was "perfectly fine," and begged you to sneak him out of physical therapy. The team medic had finally cleared him that morning. Watching him skate again should've filled you with relief. Instead, your traitorous brain decided to notice how his practice jersey stretched across his shoulders every time he leaned into a stride.
How the muscles in his thighs flexed beneath his hockey pants as he dug his edges into the ice. How one damp blond curl escaped beneath his helmet while he stretched against the boards. You tore your eyes away with an embarrassed cough. Absolutely not. There was a hockey game to watch, not Dean Di Laurentis looking unfairly attractive while doing literally anything. Beside you, Hannah caught the direction of your gaze, hiding a knowing smile behind her cup of hot chocolate.
Thankfully, the referee's whistle echoed through the arena, signaling the start of the game before she could say anything. The opening puck drop snapped your attention back where it belonged. The first period against Harvard flew by in a blur of hard checks and blistering speed. Dean looked like he'd never left the lineup. He was everywhere. Breaking up passes through the neutral zone. Winning puck battles along the boards. Setting crushing screens in front of Harvard's goalie.
Even when he wasn't scoring, he dictated the pace every time his line hopped over the boards. Midway through the first period, Garrett intercepted a sloppy pass just inside Briar's blue line.Without hesitation, he banked the puck off the boards toward Logan, who exploded down the right wing with Tucker keeping pace on the opposite side. The three connected like they shared one brain.
Logan faked a slapshot which allowed for Tucker to intercept, cleanly sliding the puck into the goal. The red light flashed, the goal horn erupted, and the arena exploded. You shot to your feet along with Hannah and everyone else, cheering until your throat burned. Dean was the first one to reach Tucker, wrapping an arm around his shoulders before shoving his helmet affectionately.
By the middle of the second period, Logan buried one of his own after Dean fought through two defenders behind the net to feed him a perfect no-look pass. A few minutes later Tucker struck again on the power play after Garrett rifled a shot from the point that bounced straight onto Tucker's stick. Everything Briar touched seemed to turn into goals tonight. The chemistry between the four upperclassmen was almost unfair to watch.
Every pass landed tape-to-tape. Every line change happened seamlessly. Every player seemed to know exactly where the others would be before they even got there. At the end of the second period, Briar held a comfortable 3-1 lead against Harvard. "Dean is going to lose his mind when he sees you in his jersey tonight." Hannah leaned closer with an unmistakably mischievous smile, which made a blush climb up your neck as you instinctively glanced down.
Dean's navy blue jersey hung almost to the middle of your thighs, the sleeves swallowing your hands completely. You'd borrowed it from Beau after he'd insisted Dean deserved a little 'extra motivation'. "He hasn't even noticed." Hannah smiled knowingly, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Trust me babe, he'll notice." Before you could ask what that cryptic statement meant, the buzzer sounded meaning that the third period had officially began.
Harvard came out desperate. Every shift became increasingly physical as the numbers of the clock counted down. Bodies slammed into the glass hard enough to make the boards rattle. Unfortunately, the referees' whistles remained suspiciously quiet. You hated when games turned like this, knowing that the desperation made players reckless. Halfway through the period, Dean carried the puck through the neutral zone with impossible speed.
One defender challenged him, luckily Dean was able to effortlessly slip around him effortlessly only for a second to step up. Dean toe-dragged the puck between the man's skates. The crowd collectively rose to its feet, only before he could shoot, a Harvard defenseman drove him shoulder-first into the plexiglass. Your breath caught as the impact thundered through the arena. Dean, however, bounced off the boards, somehow maintaining possession before spinning away from another defender.
He never even looked shaken, instead he cut toward the slot. Garrett anticipated the play perfectly. One crisp pass was all it took for Dean to snap a wrist shot through the two defenders. The net rippled as the goal horn blared yet again. You were already on your feet before you realized you'd moved. Dean pointed toward the student section as his teammates swarmed him in congratulatory helmet bumps. For one irrational second, you could've sworn he was looking directly at you.
When you finally sat back down, Hannah's grin could've powered the entire arena. "Told you." You shoved her shoulder, which only made her grin widen. "Oh, shut up." Only, you were smiling too hard to sound annoyed. Barely ninety seconds later, Dean struck again. Logan forced a turnover at center ice and immediately passed to Garrett. In response, Garrett threaded a pass between two Harvard sticks that had absolutely no business making it through.
Dean picked it up in stride, one fake forehand made the goalie drop in anticipation to which Dean calmly pulled the puck back to his backhand and slid it between the goalie's pads before anyone could react. Another goal and another explosion from the crowd. Your hands hurt from clapping, voice embarrassingly hoarse yet you couldn't find youself to care. The scoreboard now read 5-1 which in turn made Harvard's frustration boil over.
With just over two minutes remaining in the third period, one of their forwards blindsided Logan long after he'd dumped the puck in the net. Gasps echoed around the arena as Logan crashed awkwardly into the boards. Dean was halfway across the ice before Logan even climbed back to his skates, Garrett and Tucker followed immediately after seeing Dean shove the Harvard player backward with enough force to send him stumbling several feet.
Luckily, the freshmen on Briar's bench dragged the upperclassmen away before punches started flying. One minute remained. The arena buzzed with nervous anticipation despite Briar's lead, your lip was caught between your teeth watching as Garrett and Dean wordlessly communicated with one another. No words were exchanged. Years of playing together had made communication almost instinctive.
Garrett stole the puck near Briar's blue line and Dean was there in an instant, already alert. Garrett feathered a perfect stretch pass through the neutral zone. Dean caught it in stride without breaking rhythm. One defender remained, shifting left as the the defenseman followed. Dean snapped the puck back right through his own skates, slipping around him with breathtaking ease. The goalie lunged. Dean, however, waited until the last possible second lifting the puck cleanly beneath the crossbar.
The red light flashed and the horn sounded. For a heartbeat, the arena went completely silent, then every single person inside exploded. "A HAT TRICK BY #66, DEAN DI LAURENTIS!" The announcer's voice echoed through the building. Without thinking you threw your arms around Hannah, the two of you laughed as you nearly toppled into the row in front of you, hugging each other while the entire team tackled Dean beneath an avalanche of helmets and gloves.
Six-two. Final. Dean Di Laurentis. Hat trick.
You'd never been prouder. By the time you and Hannah reached the tunnel, your heart was still racing, body buzzing with adrenaline. Players filtered through in small groups, laughing loudly as they relived every goal. Garrett appeared first and Hannah didn't hesitate. She practically flew into his arms, you couldn't help but beam as Garrett caught her effortlessly, spinning her once before pressing a kiss against her forehead before dipping down and pressing one to her lips.
Then, Dean walked through. His helmet had disappeared somewhere during the celebration, blond curls damp with sweat, sticking up in every direction, cheeks flushed from exertion. When his eyes caught yours, everything ceased to exist. The coaches. The teammates. The reporters. The noise. There was only you. In two quick strides he was right in front of you. One second there was a few feet separating the two of you and the next, his hands were around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the concrete.
A startled laugh bubbled from your lips as your feet left the ground. Instinctively, your arms wound around his neck, fingers brushing against the damp curls at the nape of his neck. He held you impossibly close, burying his face against your shoulder for the briefest moment as his heartbeat hammered wildly against your chest. He'd just scored a hat trick. The arena had chanted his name. Thousands of hats had rained onto the ice. Yet none of it compared to this. None of it compared to having you in his arms.
You melted into his embrace without hesitation, holding him just as tightly. "That was amazing!" You laughed, pulling back just enough to cup his flushed cheeks between your hands. Your eyes sparkled with so much pride that it stole what little breath he had left. "A hat trick, Dean! I'm so fucking proud of you." Dean couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him with so much unfiltered admiration. Maybe no one ever had.
His eyes drifted downward before he could stop them and his breath caught. You were wearing a jersey, but not just any Briar jersey. His. His last name stretched proudly across your shoulders, and the white number on the front rested directly over your heart. Something inside his chest squeezed so painfully he almost winced. It really shouldn't have affected him the way it did. It was just a jersey. Just fabric. Except, it wasn't. Seeing his name on you awakened every selfish, possessive thought he'd spent months trying to bury.
It looked right. Far too right.
"You're wearing my jersey." The words escaped almost reverently. Your gaze followed his before a rosy blush crept across your cheeks. "Oh." You smiled sheepishly, smoothing the front of it with your palms. "Beau practically insisted. He claimed it was good luck since you guys are only two games away from another Frozen Four." Yet, Dean barely registered your explanation. His thoughts were spiraling too quickly. His jersey. Your smile. The way you'd waited for him in the tunnel instead of celebrating with everyone else.
The way you'd hugged him before anyone else had the chance. The way you'd looked absolutely radiant cheering for him from the stands. His mind replayed every moment from the last few months in painful succession. You showing up with homemade soup when Tucker got sick. Driving hours just because Summer needed a friend. Holding his hand while the medic checked him over after his injury. Calling yourself his girlfriend just to get another guy to leave you alone.
Every forehead kiss he'd lingered on a little too long. Every hug he'd held a few seconds longer than necessary. Every excuse he'd made just to have you close. He'd spent months convincing himself that wanting you around all the time was normal. That missing you after only a few hours was normal. That getting irrationally jealous every time another guy looked at you was normal. Only it wasn't. It had never been normal. He couldn't keep pretending anymore, he wouldn't.
"Dean?" Your voice was soft, tinged with concern now that he'd gone completely quiet. Your thumb brushed gently across his cheek. "You okay?" His eyes found yours again. God. How had he been so blind? He was so unbelievably in love with you it almost hurt. A helpless laugh escaped him as he shook his head once, mind made up. "Fuck it." Before doubt had a chance to creep back in, he surged forward and captured your lips with his.
The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant. As if he was giving you every opportunity to stop him. You didn't. Instead, your surprised gasp melted into a smile against his mouth before you kissed him back with equal certainty. Every ounce of fear he'd carried for months dissolved in an instant. His hands slid more securely around your waist, holding you like he'd dreamed about doing for far too long.
Not because he was afraid you'd disappear, but because after wanting this for what felt like forever, he couldn't bear to put even an inch of distance between the two of you. Your fingers disappeared into his blond curls, gently scratching at his scalp as your tilted your head deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against his. Dean nearly melted. The one thing he'd imagined over and over whenever his feelings became impossible to ignore. The reality was infinitely better.
When the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved very far. Your foreheads rested together, noses brushing. His eyes searched yours almost nervously, as though waiting for someone to tell him he'd imagined the whole thing. Instead, you smiled completely enamored. "Took you long enough." You whispered, your lips brushing his as you stole another quick kiss simply because you could. Dean let out a breathless laugh. "You mean," He searched your face in complete disbelief. "We could've been doing this the whole time?"
A sheepish grin spread across your face as you nodded. Dean stared at you for a long moment, then groaned dramatically. "God..." He dropped his forehead against your shoulder. "I really am such a clueless bastard." You laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "It's okay, I still love you." Dean practically tackled you into another kiss, finally hearing the words he'd been waiting for months to hear without knowing it. "God, I fucking love you too, babydoll." He muttered against your lips.
Finally. Finally. Finally.
Off to the side, Hannah bumped Garrett's shoulder with a knowing grin. "See you guys at Malone's?" Dean didn't even glance in their direction. "Sorry, Wellsy." His answer came automatically, one hand absentmindedly tracing circles against your back. "I've got a lot of lost time with my girl to make up for." Because, now that Dean had you, there was absolutely no way in hell he was letting you go anytime soon.
Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!
hi, guys, i wanted to make this post to thank everyone for the support! it's been one year since i started posting on this blog and i have loved writing on it. i have learnt a lot from other bloggers and have enjoyed reading all the ukyt related content. that's all from me, i really am grateful for the support and will continue to post more, stay tuned x
recs
🧸 hide and seek by @ghostwrittenbygrace
🧸 first choice by @/ghostwrittenbygrace
🧸 worried sick by @/ghostwrittenbygrace
🧸 accidental vegas wedding by @dvmpanwa
🧸 shit...we both forgot by @/dvmpanwa
🧸 orpheus under the influence by @sdmnpact
🪩 still my winner by @/sdmnpact
🧺 mean by @/sdmnpact
🪩 camping by @pretendyoucantseeme
🪩 nsfw alphabet by @/pretendyoucantseeme
🪩 creep in with me @/pretendyoucantseeme
🧸 harry is a footballer for the day by @pushingitdownnpraying
To celebrate 1k I thought it would be cute to compile all my most popular fics that got me here and my favourites I’ve written along the way! Enjoy!
Most Popular <3
Tease - Will Lenney
All the times Will has teased you, and the one time you tease him back - fluff/suggestive
What's your problem - Will Lenney
Mean!Will | You finally ask Will why he hates you so much - smut/angst
Reflection - Will Lenney
Will's been in a mood all day and taking it out on you, James isn't having it - angst
Don't scare me like that - George Clarke
You get an allergic reaction while on set with Chip. George comes to get you, and is not happy - fluff
Lean on me - George Clarke
You get clingy and touchy when drunk, and George takes care of you the whole night - fluff
On speaker - George Clarke
You call george while he's on stream and the chat goes crazy - fluff
Honey and lemon - Arthur Frederick
You're sick and Arthur takes care of you - fluff
Daddy's girl - Chris Dixon
Chris has been gone for a work trip, and your daughter misses him very much - fluff
Sharing clothes - Chris Dixon
You and Chris share clothes all the time - fluff
Adore you - Chris Dixon
Chris gets drunk and won't shut up about you - fluff
Miss posessive - Harry Lewis
You get possessive over your boyfriend when you go out - fluff/angst
Still be friends - Harry Lewis
After years of being friends and almost crossing the line several times, Harry finally admits he can't keep pretending - fluff
Snowed in - Harry Lewis
You get snowed in at a sidemen video shoot and have to share a bed with Harry - fluff
Hide and seek - Harry Lewis
You’re visiting Harry while he hosts hide and seek at his house, he tells the guys not to bother you… but do they ever listen? - fluff
Waiting room - Harry Lewis
There are complications with your labour, and Harry is kicked out of the room to wait - angst
Worried sick - Harry Lewis
You hurt yourself during the trampoline park video, and Harry proceeds to fret over you - angst/fluff
Christmas miracle - Alfie Buttle
You surprise Alfie on the fellas podcast for Christmas - fluff
He's taken - Alfie Buttle
You defend alfie from stray, unwanted flirting - fluff
My Favourites <3
Change your ticket - Chris Dixon
Chris really doesn't want you to go home - fluff/suggestive
House special - Chris Dixon
Head Waiter!Chris | Chris can't stand the way you're changing the way he runs things at Side Table. What happens when you finally put him in his place? - smut/fluff
Two lines - George Clarke
George asks Chris and Arthur to check on you since hes been so busy and they find out you're pregnant... - angst/fluff
That's why his hair's so big - George Clarke
George seems to know everything
The trouble with cowboys - George Clarke
Cowboy!George | While visiting a friend in Texas, you meet a certain cowboy who's got his sight set on you - fluff
Yes Chef - Will Lenney
Chef!Will | You challenge Chef Will at every turn. What happens when the line between professionalism and want finally disappears? - fluff/smut
Are you satisfied? - Will Lenney
Perv roommate!Will | Your roommate will has something incriminating on you and makes you a deal - smut
Desperate measures - Arthur Hill
You get desperate on tour and arthur offers to help you out - smut
Number one fan - Arthur Hill
Mean rockstar!Arthur | You get invited backstage at your favourite band's concert and proceed to make some bad decisions - suggestive/darker content
One more time - James Marriott
You sit with james until he get's his song right - fluff
summary, in which you get your wisdom teeth removed and your drugged up self starts talking about yours and morgan’s future.
warnings, none
request, ‘Heyy<3 I was wondering if you wrote for angry ginge? If you do can you write about reader getting her wisdom teeth removed?’
morgan opened the car door for you, one arm wrapped around your waist keeping you steady. “i just love you so much”, you slur, still under the anaesthesia. morgan laughs and straps your seatbelt in, amused at the whole situation. “alright, love”, he chuckles again.
he quickly hops in the drivers seat, starting the car. you drape your hand on his thigh lazily, “when will you marry me”, you pout softly, looking at him with glossy eyes. morgan bursts out laughing, absolutely loving this. “whenever you want, love”. lie.
you swat his thigh, making him turn to look at you. he notices your impossible expression immediately, “we have been together for like. . . forever. i don’t see no ring”, you whine dramatically.
“maybe a baby as well”, you mumble and look out the window. now that, catches his full attention. he puts one of his hands on your upper thigh, massaging it soothingly while he continues to drive.
“maybe when your not drugged”.
“i am not on drugs!”, you huff loudly.
morgan pulls up and parks to your shared home, ryan already inside, streaming. morgan comes around and unbuckles you, “take it easy, love”, he says cautiously, placing an arm around your waist again.
you lean into his side, putting all you weight on him. morgan was basically dragging you in the house, yet you didn’t have a care in the world. “carry me”, you groan dramatically. morgan lifts you up, now in bridal style. “ryan!”, you call when you reach the top of the stairs.
“what!”, he shouts from his room.
morgan rolls his eyes and goes into ryan’s room, “the mrs is under anaesthesia at the minute”, he huffs and you just smile at ryan, waving.
“aye, i think i can tell”, he laughs.
you jump down from morgan’s grip, mad at the loss of contact. you stumble as you reach ryan. you look at the screen, seeing chat flow quickly.
user3: bet ginge is fed up
user7: user3, i would be.
user2: i bet shes in pain :(
user4: YES, reader!
you smile giddily, “your chat is way nicer than morgans”. you laugh softly and morgan swats your arm, “my chat is fucking amazing, thank you”.
summary: you crash in your f1 race and will can’t do anything to help | Will x fem!reader
notes: more angst!! I keep putting this man through shit oops. Sorry ab the slight cliffhanger but I probably won't write a part 2 just cuz I've got so many other things I wanna write and I like leaving you wondering <3
content: angsttttt, f1 crash, fire, injury, medical emergency, emotional distress, intense panic descriptions, ambiguous ending (sorry)
Engines scream down the straight, the grandstands blur into colour, and the air smells like burnt rubber and heat. Will’s heart has been racing since lights out – not because of the care but because you’re in one of them.
Helmet on. Visor down. Invisible to him except for the small onboard screen looping above the garage.
“That’s her car, yeah?” James asks, squinting at the monitor.
“Yeah,” Will says, too quickly. He hasn’t looked away from it once.
Your name flashed in the timing tower.
P4
Ieuan claps him on the shoulder. “She’s smashing it.”
Will nods, jaw tight. He loves watching you do what you love. Loves the focus in your eyes before a race, the way your hands flex unconsciously like you’re already gripping the wheel.
He hates how little control he has over any of it.
Lap 37.
The race has settled into a rhythm. Pit strategies. The commentators talking about everything.
Will’s finally breathing properly.
And then-
A yellow flag flashes on screen.
“Sector two yellow-”
The words don’t even finish before it happens.
On the big screen, two cars tangle. One misjudged overtake. One clipped rear tyre.
Your car spins.
The sound is so wrong.
Metal scraping at high speed. The sickening crack of impact as you hit the barrier sideways. The car ricochets. Smoke explodes into the air.
Will’s stomach drops so violently that it feels like he’s the one falling.
“No-”
The car doesn’t stop cleanly. It catches, and flames lick up the side in an instant – bright, violent orange against carbon fibre.
The crowd gasps.
Red flag.
Red flag.
Red flag.
Will can’t hear anything anymore. Everything goes muffled like his ears have filled up with water.
“That’s her car,” he breathes.
James goes still beside him.
Marshals are sprinting. Fire extinguishers are blasting white foam around the car.
The car is still.
Too still.
“Move,” Will says suddenly, and he’s pushing forward, weaving past crew members toward the edge of the garage.
“Will-” Ieuan grabs his arm. “You can’t go out there.”
“They’re not moving,” Will snaps, eyes locked on the screen. “Why aren’t they moving?’
Onboard cuts to static.
The flames are thicker now. Smoke pouring upward in black clouds.
Every second stretches.
“Get her out,” Will mutters under his breath. “Come on, come on-”
A marshal finally reaches the cockpit.
Then another.
They’re trying to pry something open.
Will’s breathing turns shallow.
James steps in front of him slightly to block the screen. “They’ve got it, mate”
“They don’t- they don’t look like they’ve got it.”
His hands are shaking. He doesn’t notice until Ieuan takes one in both of his.
“Will,” Iean says firmly. “Look at me.”
He doesn’t. He tries to move around James to see what’s going on.
“I can’t just stand here.”
“You have to. Let them do their jobs.”
The cockpit finally cracks open.
For a second – just one second – there’s nothing.
Then you move.
A hand.
A helmet shifting.
You’re being pulled out, supported under the arms by two marshals. Your legs buckle as soon as your boots hit the ground.
Will makes a sound that doesn’t feel human. Relief and terror tangled together.
“They’ve got her,” James says, voice tight. “They’ve got her.”
But you’re not walking.
You’ve collapsed on the track, the medics swarm instantly, putting you on a stretcher and taking you to the medical car parked trackside.
Will surges forward again.
“I need to go to her.”
“You can’t,” Ieuan says, stepping in front of him fully now.
“She’s alone.”
“She’s not alone. There are medics looking after her.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
His voice cracks on the last word.
Security is already blocking the garage exit. Team members shouting into radios. Everything is chaotic and loud.
Will’s chest feels like it’s being crushed inward. His whole life was falling apart in front of his eyes.
“I need to see her,” he says again, but it comes out smaller now.
They wheel you past on a stretcher.
Your helmet’s off. Your face is pale under the soot streaked across your cheek.
Your eyes are open. You look dazed.
But you’re alive.
Will tried to move to you.
James has to physically grab him around the middle.
“Will, stop.”
“They won’t let me in,” Will chokes as the medical unit doors close behind you. “They have to let me in.”
“No one’s allowed in there.”
“But she’s my girlfriend.”
“And they still won’t let you.”
Will shoves his hands into his hair, pacing like a caged animal.
He can still see the flames.
Can still hear the car hitting the barrier.
His brain keeps replaying the worst possible version – the version where you don’t move.
“She couldn’t get out,” he whispers. “They took too long.”
Ieuan guides him backwards toward the sofas inside the team hospitality suite.
“Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down!” he snaps, hands shaking.
“Sit down.” Ieuan repeats.
Will sighs and collapses more than sits.
His leg won’t stop bouncing. His fingers dig into his palms hard enough to leave marks.
James crouches in front of him.
“Breathe,” he says quietly. “With me.”
Will’s eyes are glassy now, blinking too fast in an attempt to stop tears from falling.
“What if she-”
“She didn’t,” Ieuan cuts in. “You saw her. She was conscious.”
“She couldn’t stand.”
“She was in a crash at 200 miles per hour. Anyone would be a bit wobbly after that.”
Will lets out a shaky exhale that turns into something dangerously close to a sob.
He swallows it down hard.
“I told her to be careful,” he says, voice breaking anyway. “Before the race. I kissed her and said, ‘Don’t scare me.’”
James squeezes his knee.
“She’s stubborn. You know that.”
Will lets out a weak, humourless huff.
Time crawls along.
Five minutes feel like an hour.
Ten feels like a lifetime.
Will checks his phone even though he knows you won’t be the one texting.
He stares at the closed medical doors like he can will them open.
When they finally do, a team doctor steps out.
Will rushes over as fast as he can.
“How is she?” he asks, voice cracking despite how hard he’s trying to keep it steady.
There’s a pause. Not long. But long enough for his heart to drop through the floor.
“She’s with the doctors,” they say, choosing their words carefully. “They’re still assessing her.”
Will’s throat tightens.
“Is she-” He can’t finish the question.
They soften slightly.
“You can go see her.”
That’s it. No smile. No reassurance. Just ‘you can see her.’
He doesn’t wait to hear anything else. He pushes past, down the corridor that suddenly feels too narrow, too bright.
His palms are slick as he reaches for the handle and steps inside.
taglist: @pretendyoucantseeme @williamlenneys @theoreticallythe @thechurchboyniall @urinternetfairygf @luvbuttlestv @lilyyxoii @pookietv @lxzzxebunny @lenneyswhore @wherethezoes-at @st3viez3 @kislnd @mirrorinthemeadow @calico-lou @loveheart-123 @sdmnpact @smzyyx @arthurtvslover @chair-things @l3nney @aqraxiia @lostdeerinthemist @peachmd @willuver @teleskinnd @rubyrubyrubyrubyahhhhhh @lovingaphroditesworld @sturnsmols @darleneslane - send a message or leave a comment to be added <3
Will finds himself fixated on a question he can’t shake
⭒ Wait, you didn’t know? By @/octaneink
The Reader really likes Will. Like, really likes him. She spends all their time together, she just need to ask him out, becuase they weren’t dating yet…right?
⭒ Custom Fit by @/octaneink
The Reader supports Will at the 2025 Sidemen Charity Match
⭒ October Rain by @/octaneink
Will forgets his two-year anniversary with the Reader
⭒ Smooth by @/octaneink
Will and the reader enjoy their vacation time while Will sends death glances to flirty divers. (He trusts you. He just doesn’t trust them.)
⭒ Custom Fit by @/octaneink
The Reader supports Will at the 2025 Sidemen Charity Match
⭒ SNOWY ESCAPE by @lvrslvt3
reader is stuck sharing a room with her crush; willne.
⭒ Suffocate Me Sweetly. By @livvymd
⭒ D.i.l.f by @clarkeysbedchem
your son comes home with some interesting news about will after the school run.
⭒ making the bed by @/clarkeysbedchem
in the two years of dating, you and will had never had a serious argument but when everything starts to pile on top of you both it was bound to happen.
⭒ GREEN EYES, GREEN ROOM by @fawnme1
during a group video shoot, will grows jealous when you get close to another creator.
⭒ OFF LIMITS by @/fawnme1
the reserved sister of ChrisMD — find yourself caught in a forbidden yet irresistible romance with WillNE.
⭒ OFF LIMITS 2 by @/fawnme1
⭒ OFF LIMITS 3 by @/fawnme1
⭒ the alchemy by @lenneygirl4ever
The two times you were recruited to play in a Sidemen charity match, and the one time you score.
⭒ the alchemy 2 @/lenneygirl4ever
after seeing the public’s reaction to your performance, you see how your fellow teammate takes to social media after the fact. causing the two of you to reach a breaking point.
⭒ YOUR RELATIONSHIP by @wcters
an overview of what your relationship with will would look like
⭒ IS HE PROPOSING OR . . . ? by @/wcters
is he proposing or did he just take you to your dream vacation spot?
⭒ 𝙄𝙁 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝘿𝘼𝙏𝙉𝙂 𝙒𝙄𝙇𝙇𝙉𝙀... by @thedyingliiight
⭒ Being Nice by @missust3l3vision
Will is a lot different on camera and it intimates Y/n. Good thing he has a soft spot for her.
⭒ Cry To Me by @roc-haze
⭒ Thank You For The Music by @/roc-haze
⭒ Off Script by @whore4fanfics
While filming a chaotic Sidemen YouTube video, WillNE invites Y/N—his long-time best friend and secret crush—to join the fun. But things quickly spiral when a stunt goes wrong and Y/N ends up hurt. In the panic and rush of the moment, Will's carefully hidden feelings come bubbling to the surface, along with a whole lot of regret.
content warnings : small arguments, small mentions of burnout and anxiety, first time, light mentions of drunkenness
word count : around 4500 words !
A/N : thanking the sun and the pinot grigio for this one, but this was also to counteract the sad will one i did earlier this week, and i loved the atv one - so i wanted to sort of remake that, but with a few different scenarios - hope you enjoy !!
masterlist here !!
THE FIRST DATE :
The evening began with a bit of hesitation, the quiet anticipation hanging between you and Will. You weren’t nervous - well, maybe just a little, but it was the kind of nervousness that felt exciting, promising. Will had chosen a bistro not too far from his place, one of those hidden gems where the lights are warm, the food is amazing, and the vibe is cosy but not too intimate. It felt like the perfect setting for a first date.
As you sat down at the small table, you both immediately fell into easy conversation. The usual first-date questions came up: favorite movies, childhood stories, what each of you thought of your respective jobs. But even in the midst of all that, the chemistry was undeniable; every laugh seemed to draw you closer, and Will’s eyes sparkled in the dim light, full of curiosity about you. You noticed that every time you spoke, he leaned in just a little closer, genuinely interested, hanging on to your every word.
As the night went on, the table between you two felt smaller, the words fewer. There was a quiet moment when you both just sat back in your chairs, the conversation ebbing and flowing naturally. Will, his usually confident persona slipping just a little, smiled shyly and said, “I’m really glad we’re doing this.”
You nodded, your heart fluttering. “Me too.”
Will seemed a little flustered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, it’s a good start, hey? Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
You grinned, and your chest warmed as you answered, “Definitely.”
The walk back to your car felt like a moment suspended in time. With each step, you felt closer to him, the evening unfolding into something far more than you had imagined it would be.
YOUR FIRST TIME TOGETHER :
The first time you and Will shared a physical connection was gentle, slow, and carefully attuned to each other’s needs. You both wanted to take your time, neither rushing nor forcing anything. It was as if you were both discovering each other in the most intimate way possible, slowly peeling back layers of vulnerability and trust.
It began with an accidental brush of fingers as you both reached for the same book on the shelf. That small, innocent contact seemed to electrify the air between you. Will caught your gaze, his eyes flickering with something deeper than mere curiosity. You both stood there for a second, unsure whether the moment should pass or if something should happen. And then, without saying a word, Will took the first step and he leaned in kissing you passionately.
It was tender, not rushed. His lips were gentle, as though testing the waters, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart race, matching the rhythm of his touch. Will was careful, making sure you were comfortable, always checking in. His hands brushed over your shoulders, your sides, memorizing the feel of you.
He was tentative throughout, keeping eye contact as he kissed and left hickeys down your body, whispering affirmations and sweet nothings as you moaned his name, nails scratching his back. It was about connection, a melding of body and heart, not just about having sex - a moment of vulnerability and excitement between two people who were learning to trust each other in a whole new way.
When you both finally pulled away, breathless, Will smiled sheepishly. “You okay?” he whispered, standing to pour a bath for the two of you.
You nodded, your chest full of warmth. “More than okay.”
As you lay together afterward, Will wrapped his arm around your waist, your head laying on his bare chest, knees drawn in, and it felt like the start of something beautiful, something long-lasting.
MEETING THE PARENTS :
You’d heard so much about Will’s parents. He’d spoken about them in the most loving way possible, mentioning how they’d shaped his personality and given him the values that made him so genuine. But meeting them in person was a different experience entirely. Will had promised you that they were both lovely, and that promise was quickly proven right.
Will’s mum greeted you with open arms and a bright, welcoming smile as soon as you stepped through the door. “Oh, you must be the one Will’s been going on about!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug. “I’ve heard so much about you! It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”
Her presence was calming, her voice light and full of love. You couldn’t help but smile at how similar she seemed to Will, in both appearance and mannerisms. She was quick to offer you a drink, making sure you were comfortable from the moment you entered.
Will’s dad, on the other hand, was more reserved at first. He watched you carefully from across the room, but the moment he spoke, you felt instantly at ease. “Will’s told us a lot about you,” he said, his voice steady and kind. “It’s good to finally meet the person he’s been so happy with.”
There was a subtle nod between them, a silent confirmation that this was important, that you mattered to their son. Will couldn’t stop smiling, the love he had for them so clear in his eyes. Dinner was a lively affair, full of stories, laughter, and Will’s usual cheeky comments. But beneath it all, there was a real sense of family, a feeling that, for the first time, you were beginning to understand just how much Will valued his roots.
The night wrapped up with Will’s mum handing you a small package. “Just a little something,” she said with a wink. Inside, there was a knitted scarf, soft and handmade. “For the colder months. Keep warm, love.”
You couldn’t help but feel touched. In that moment, surrounded by Will’s family, you felt like you were starting to build something of your own with them, a sense of belonging that was more than just a relationship—it was a family dynamic that was forming right in front of your eyes.
AND MEETING THE FRIENDS..:
The first time you met Will’s friends, it was like stepping into a whirlwind of personalities. Will had warned you that each one was a character in their own right, but nothing could have quite prepared you for the full experience.
George was exactly what you expected - an outgoing character. The kind who was always up for a pint and could make anyone laugh with a perfectly timed joke or a playful nudge. He had a loud laugh, one that could be heard from across the room, and wasn’t afraid to get everyone involved. You quickly realized he was the life of the party, the type of guy who would be at the centre of any group and keep the energy high. He was just constantly making fun of himself and anyone else who dared to get involved. It was infectious, and before you knew it, you were laughing along with him, enjoying the easy-going vibe he brought to the group.
Then there was Chris, who was more laid-back but no less passionate. His love for football was something that came up in nearly every conversation, and he always knew the latest gossip or rumours. His eyes lit up when he talked about favourite team, and even though you didn’t know much about the game, it was hard not to get caught up in his excitement. He was also super into promoting his YouTube channel, always talking about his latest videos and the tips and tricks he’d learned along the way. You could tell he was dedicated to his passions, and that energy was contagious, despite George taking the piss out of him from time to time.
Stephen, on the other hand, had a dry wit that made you laugh even when you weren’t sure if he was being serious. His stand-up comedy experience was evident in his quick comebacks, and you could see why Will loved him so much. It was almost like having a personal comedian in the group—his delivery was spot on, and his observational humour hit just the right notes. The more you got to know him, the more you realized he had this perfect mix of sarcasm and sincerity. And when he decided to tell a story, it was hard not to get sucked into his world.
Harry was the one who kept you on your toes. Social situations made him a bit awkward at first, but once he had a drink in his hand, his confidence seemed to spike. He had this sharp, deadpan humour that could cut through the room, and he wasn’t afraid to dish out a little banter, even if it was a bit on the mean side. But despite his occasional sharp edges, you could tell Harry was just a bit shy, using jokes an non-meant insults to shield himself. He had this charming gruffness about him, and once you saw past the surface, you realized that, like the others, he was just looking for connection.
All in all, it was a group of personalities that perfectly balanced each other out. And Will, right in the middle of it, couldn’t help but beam every time his friends made you laugh or feel at home.
AFTER A NIGHT OUT :
Will’s nights out with his friends were always chaotic, loud, and full of energy. But tonight was a little different. Maybe it was because you’d both had a little too much to drink, or maybe it was because you were both feeling the heady effects of the night, but the world outside the pub felt quieter.
Will, ever the gentleman kept his arm around you as the two of you made your way down the street, away from the pub’s noise. “You doing alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his words slightly slurred but his concern clear. You nodded, even though the ground felt a little unsteady beneath you.
“Yeah, just feeling the buzz,” you grinned, trying to stay balanced.
“I’m not letting you walk home like this,” Will chuckled, pulling you closer. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”
“You’d try,” you teased, laughing.
Will laughed too, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I love you.”
As the two of you wandered down the quiet streets, you ended up sitting on a bench, leaning into each other as the buzz from the night finally wore off. The city was still alive around you, but here, in this little moment, everything felt still. Will was leaning back, his arm around you, his head resting against yours.
“No one else I’d want to be with right now,” he said softly, and you felt your heart swell. “You make everything better.”
You smiled, your fingers tracing patterns on his hand. “Same here.”
It was a moment that would become one of those small, treasured memories. Just you two, the quiet night, and the feeling of being completely in sync, despite the world around you.
GETTING JAMES' APPROVAL :
Getting James' seal of approval on your relationship was priority for Will, so introducing you to him was a must. James was loud, full of energy, and always had some hilarious story to tell. However, there was something deeper to him as well, a kind of quiet loyalty that Will clearly relied on.
You met James during one of Will’s video shoots, and you immediately noticed how comfortable the two of them were together. It was like watching a well-oiled machine—James knew exactly when to crack a joke, when to step in with a quick suggestion, and when to just sit back and let the shoot happen.
“Alright, alright, so we’ve got the lighting just right, but how do we make this even better?” James joked, looking at Will with a smirk. “Maybe throw in a random dance break, yeah?”
Will rolled his eyes but grinned, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous. But you’re not wrong. Let’s make it fun.”
As the shoot went on, you could see how much Will valued James’ input, how he trusted him completely. When the cameras were off, James was easy going, with a sarcastic edge. But when it was time to get down to business, he was all focus. You could tell they had a history, a bond that was unspoken but so clearly present.
“So, this is the infamous James, huh?” you teased, as you made your way to the craft table after the shoot.
James gave you a cheeky smile, raising an eyebrow. “Infamous? I’m just here to make sure Will doesn’t take himself too seriously.”
You laughed, instantly feeling at ease. “I think that’s a full-time job,” you replied, earning a playful shove from Will.
MOVING IN :
Moving in together felt like the most natural next step. The whole process was a whirlwind, filled with boxes, late-night packing sessions, and the occasional bicker about who forgot to bring the extra set of keys. But despite all the little stresses, you both found ways to make it fun.
Will insisted on assembling all the furniture himself, but there was no hiding his frustration when he couldn’t figure out how to put the coffee table together. “This is a two-man job,” he muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration. “But for some reason, I’m doing it alone.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, kneeling beside him with the instructions in hand. “Let me help, Will.”
“I don’t need help!” he insisted, only for the coffee table leg to fall off. “Okay, fine. Maybe I need a bit of help.”
Eventually, the place started to feel like home. The walls, once bare, were filled with photos of your favourite memories, little knick-knacks you both had picked out, and cosy touches that made it feel like you were building something together. The small, silly moments, like waking up to find Will still asleep with his hand dangling off the edge of the bed, became the moments that would stick with you forever.
A SPONTANEOUS MOMENT:
Getting a dog was a decision that came on a lazy Sunday morning, while you and Will were sitting on the couch, scrolling through photos of puppies. It started as a joke: “What if we got a dog?” Will asked, laughing. But that question quickly spiralled into a serious conversation about responsibility, timing, and what kind of dog would fit into your lives.
You both decided on adopting from the shelter. Will was the one to find her - a small, scruffy pup with big brown eyes and a coat that could use a little TLC. From the moment Will laid eyes on her, he was hooked. “She’s perfect,” he said, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, and you couldn’t help but agree.
When you brought her home, the chaos began. She ran around the apartment, wagging her tail, excited by her new surroundings. You and Will spent hours playing with her, trying to train her, and of course, bonding over the joy that a puppy brought into your lives.
“You think we’re ready for kids now?” Will asked one evening as you both sat on the floor, the dog curled up in your lap.
You chuckled, rubbing the pup’s belly. “Well, we’ve got some practice.”
Will grinned, leaning in to kiss you on the forehead. “It’s a good start.”
ANNIVERSARIES:
Each anniversary with Will was unique, a celebration of the time you’d spent together and a quiet acknowledgment of the memories you had created. The first one was simple - a quiet dinner at home, just the two of you. Will surprised you with your favourite- lasagne and garlic bread, homemade, and despite the occasional burnt piece, it was perfect.
The second anniversary was a surprise weekend getaway to a small coastal town. Will had packed the car with snacks, a couple of blankets, and a few too mant bottles of wine, and the two of you spent the weekend exploring the beach, sharing lazy afternoons in front of the fire, and watching sunsets that painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. Every moment felt magical, even if it was just sitting quietly together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
As the years went by, anniversaries became an opportunity to reflect on how far you’d come and to remind each other of why you chose each other, year after year. No matter what life threw at you, those quiet moments were the ones that stood out; the ones where Will’s hand was in yours, and it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.
PROBLEMS WE FACE:
Every relationship has its bumps in the road, and you and Will were no exception. It wasn’t anything major, but the argument still left a mark. It started over something small - leaving dishes in the sink, a bit of miscommunication about weekend plans, maybe both of you being a little too tired and stressed. It was the kind of thing that snowballed until it was bigger than either of you had intended.
You had been standing in the kitchen, frustration bubbling under your skin. Will stood opposite you, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that way he always did when he was upset. His usual easy-going demeanour was gone, replaced by a sharp edge you didn’t see often.
“It's not just about the dishes, is it?” you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of irritation and hurt. “You’ve been distant lately, and it’s driving me crazy.”
Will’s jaw tightened, but you could see he was trying to keep his cool. “I’m not being distant, I just—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been stressed, okay? Work, life, it’s all piling up, and I don’t know how to handle it sometimes.”
You paused, letting his words sink in. The anger in your chest began to ebb, replaced by something softer - concern, maybe even understanding. “I get it,” you said quietly. “But you can’t just shut me out. We’re in this together, Will.”
For a moment, there was silence, and you saw Will’s eyes soften, the frustration melting away. He stepped closer, and you could feel the tension between you both start to dissipate. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low. “I don’t want to push you away. I just don’t always know how to talk about it.”
You took his hand, the familiar warmth of his touch grounding you. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Will. But just talk to me. We’ll figure it out together, we always have each other's backs. You're my best friend Will.”
He nodded, pulling you into a hug. “I promise, I’ll try harder.”
The argument, though tense, ended in the kind of understanding that made your bond stronger. It was a reminder that no matter what happened, you could face anything as long as you were honest with each other.
ROMANTIC GETAWAYS:
The first holiday you took together was a spontaneous decision. Will had found an affordable last-minute deal to a cabin in the countryside, and with just a few days off, the two of you packed your bags and drove out of the city. The air was crisp, and the landscape looked like something out of a postcard, rolling hills and forests stretching into the distance.
There was something special about the simplicity of it all. You spent mornings wrapped in blankets, sipping coffee by the fire, talking about everything and nothing at all. Will, being the adventurer he was, suggested a hike one afternoon, even though it started to rain halfway through. You both laughed as the rain soaked through your jackets, but it didn’t matter. You were in it together, both giddy and carefree in a way that only a holiday could bring.
As you sat at a tiny table in a candlelit restaurant that evening, the rain tapping against the windows, Will reached across the table, his hand finding yours. “This is perfect,” he said with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more me than I do right now, with you.”
You smiled back, squeezing his hand. “Feeling's mutual darling.”
VULNERABILITIES AND TRUST :
There were moments when Will’s usual charm and wit faded, and you saw a side of him that not many people got to seethe vulnerable side. It had been one of those days, the kind where everything felt heavier than usual. Will had been quieter than normal, his usual jokes falling flat, his usual enthusiasm nowhere to be found. You knew something was up, but it took a little prodding before he finally opened up.
You found him sitting on the edge of the couch, his fingers tapping nervously on his knee. “Hey, what’s going on?” you asked gently, sitting beside him.
He hesitated for a moment, then finally spoke, his voice tinged with frustration. “I just feel overwhelmed, you know? With everything. Work is so challenging at the moment, I love it, but production are always demanding more from me, I don't know how much more I can give.”
You watched him, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes, something he rarely let show. It hurt to see him like this, but you were grateful that he trusted you enough to let it out. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, Will. I’m here for you, always,” you said softly, your hand gently resting on his.
He exhaled, shoulders slumping as he leaned into you. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I just don’t want to disappoint you, I guess. I’m not perfect, and I feel like sometimes, I’m just too much, or not enough.”
You shook your head, pulling him closer. “You don’t have to be perfect. You’re perfect to me just as you are. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. What did I say, William, you're my best friend.”
He finally let himself relax, the weight on his shoulders lifting just a little. “Thank you, darling - for not running away, for being here with me always. I love you endlessly,” he whispered, his voice full of gratitude.
In that moment, you both knew that even the hardest parts of life were easier to navigate when you had each other to lean on.
It was an evening that came unexpectedly, as most deep conversations do. You and Will were sitting on the couch after dinner, the dog curled up at your feet, the soft hum of the TV in the background. It had been one of those lazy, content evenings when the world felt calm.
SHOULD WE? :
Will, looking thoughtful, turned to you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your hand. “So you ever thought about kids?” he asked quietly.
You looked at him, surprised by the suddenness of the question. “Yeah, I mean, we spoke about it when we bought Nora (the dog). Why?”
He nodded slowly, looking into your eyes with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. “I think I want them, someday, with you obviously. I want to see you be a parent. I want to see us have a little version of us running around, making us laugh.”
You smiled, feeling your heart flutter at the thought. “I can see it too. I think we’d be great parents.”
“I hope so,” he said with a soft laugh. “But no rush, right? I want to make sure we’re ready, that we’ve got everything in place. It’s a huge thing, but imagine it, babe, mini-us running around, and if they have their mother's genes - oh my.”
You giggled, heat rising to your cheeks, “Stop it you. I agree, but when the time comes I’ll be right there with you. Ready to take it all on.”
Will smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “We’re going to be good at it, I know we will.”
WILL YOU :
When Will proposed, it wasn’t in some grand, over-the-top fashion, it was simple, sincere, and completely him. It happened on a quiet Saturday morning when you were both in the kitchen, making breakfast. He’d been acting a little strange all day, but you hadn’t thought much of it, until he suddenly turned to you, dropping to one knee, holding out a small box with a ring inside.
“Will,” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth as your heart skipped a beat.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, his voice steady but his eyes shining with emotion. “I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you marry me?”
Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your heart full to bursting. “Yes. Yes, of course!”
You both laughed, and he stood up, pulling you into a tight embrace. The ring slipped onto your finger, and you felt a weight of joy settle in your chest. This was it - the moment that sealed your future together.
The wedding itself was just as simple and beautiful. You had a small ceremony surrounded by family and close friends, and Will, dressed in his best suit, looked at you like you were the only person in the room. When the vows were exchanged, everything else faded away, leaving just the two of you.
KIDS OF OUR OWN :
Being parents was a wild ride, one you and Will had both hoped for, but never quite knew what to expect. The first few sleepless nights were filled with laughter and frustration, but through it all, you were in it together. Will, ever the one to lighten the mood, would try to make you laugh even when the baby wouldn’t stop crying.
“Hey, we’re learning,” he would say, holding the baby awkwardly in his arms while rocking him gently. “We’ve got this. We’re totally winning at parenthood.”
You couldn’t help but smile at his optimism. Parenthood had its hard moments, but there was something about seeing Will with the baby that filled you with a kind of love you didn’t even know existed. It was in the way he would whisper to the baby in the middle of the night, rocking him back to sleep, or the way he would talk about his day, trying to figure out how to balance work with being a dad.
There were moments when the exhaustion hit, when you both felt like you were running on fumes, but then there would be a tiny hand reaching out for you, or a laugh, and everything would feel worth it. Parenthood was challenging, yes, but it was also beautiful, especially when you had someone like Will by your side.
Together, you were building something new—something incredible. And as you looked at your child in Will’s arms, you knew you’d be ready for whatever came next, as long as you were facing it together.
ANOTHER A/N : i will edit this when my blood isnt purely white wine, but if you enjoyed, then there may be one for george and chris...who knows
A/N: sad :( GUYS LMK IF YOUR LIKING IT SO FAR IM GENUINLEY SO INVESTED IN THIS
My Masterlist
Chapter 1
C/W: jealously?? angst? heartbreak maybe??
It started on a night out.
You were at a club with George, Arthur, Chris, and a few other friends — the kind of night where everyone lets loose, no one worries about the world outside, and everything feels a little brighter because of the company. The music was loud, the lights flashing in time with the beat, and the conversations scattered across the room felt like an easy background hum.
You and George were sticking close, as usual. He was leaning against the bar, sipping on a drink and throwing playful comments your way, while you teased him about his questionable dance moves. The night was going well, and you had no idea it would be one of those turning points in your life.
That’s when she appeared — Isla. She was with a group of friends, and her laughter caught George’s attention first. You noticed him glance over her way, but you didn’t think much of it at first. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when she wandered over to your group, drawn in by George’s laugh.
“Is this where the cool people are?” Isla asked with a grin, clearly joking, but her eyes were bright and full of warmth.
George raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I’d argue we’re the coolest people in here,” he said, leaning in just enough to make his point, his casual charm on full display.
Isla laughed and shook her head, and the two of them quickly fell into an easy back-and-forth. You could see the chemistry instantly, how she responded to his jokes, how his confidence seemed to grow as she smiled. There was a natural flow between them, and you couldn’t help but notice how effortless it was.
You stood back for a moment, feeling that tightness in your chest that you tried to ignore. You knew George, and you knew how he was with people — especially girls. He could be charming, effortlessly so, and it made sense that someone would be drawn to him. But seeing it firsthand was another thing entirely.
After a while, Isla excused herself to catch up with her friends, leaving you and George alone again. He turned to you with an almost mischievous grin. “She’s cool, right?”
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, she seems nice. You two hit it off.”
He beamed, clearly pleased by the attention. “I think she’s awesome. I’m probably gonna ask her out.”
Your stomach twisted, but you pushed it down. “That’s great, George. You should.”
The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and dancing, but in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the image of George and Isla talking, laughing, and connecting. It was a reminder of the things you could never say, of how George didn’t need to be told how much he meant to you because he had no idea.
The next day, he called you.
“Alright, emergency,” George’s voice crackled through the phone, sounding frantic. “I need your help.”
You smiled at his familiar tone. “What’s going on now?”
“I have a date in two hours,” he said, clearly panicking. “I’ve got no idea what I’m wearing.”
You laughed, already grabbing your keys. “I’ll be there in ten.”
When you arrived at George's flat, the door was barely cracked open, a large pile of clothes spilling out into the hallway. You pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped inside, meeting the overwhelming mess of the place. Clothes were strewn across his bed and chair, and his duvet had slipped halfway onto the floor.
"Planning on going on a date or starting a new clothing trend?" you teased, surveying the chaos.
“Funny,” George muttered from the other room. “I just had a major crisis, but I see you're judging me.” He poked his head around the corner, hands buried in a pile of shirts. “How do you own this much stuff and still have nothing to wear?”
"By being an actual disaster," you joked, pulling open his wardrobe door. "Alright, let's get this sorted. What’s the vibe you're going for tonight?"
“Effortless,” he said, looking at you with a serious face. “Like I didn’t try too hard, but also not like I just woke up from a nap.”
“Sounds like you want to appear cool, but not too cool,” you said with a smirk. “Tall order, mate.”
“I’m counting on you,” he grinned, sitting on the bed and crossing his arms. “I trust you’ve got better taste than me.”
“Trust me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
George chuckled softly, clearly unaware of how his words were digging into your chest. “Of course. You’re always right about this stuff.” His voice softened slightly. “And besides, you’re my go-to for everything. When it’s important, I always ask you.”
You swallowed hard, turning away to focus on the clothes.
You sifted through his options, picking a deep green jumper, and some slim jeans that would look perfect on him. “Try these. I promise, you won’t look like a walking disaster.”
He grabbed the clothes with a smirk. “A walking disaster, huh?”
You nodded, grinning back at him. “Honestly, sometimes you just need a good friend to save you from yourself.”
He ducked behind the door to change, the sound of fabric rustling and a quiet grunt slipping through the cracks.
When he emerged, the white tshirt and green bomber jacket made him look polished in a way that didn’t feel forced. He adjusted his jeans in the mirror, frowning slightly at his reflection.
"Good?" he asked, looking at you over his shoulder.
You stopped for a second, your breath catching in your throat at how naturally handsome he looked. You forced your voice to sound casual, trying to ignore the aching in your chest. “Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Thanks,” George said with a grin, clearly relieved. “Now, hair. What do I do with this mess?”
You laughed softly and moved toward him, taking the curl cream from his hands as he sat down on the floor between your legs. “I’ve got this.”
You worked your fingers through his curls, the familiar motion calming you even though your mind raced with all the emotions you were trying to hide. You’d done this before — after nights out, after long walks, after casual hangouts. It had always been comforting, the closeness between you, but tonight it felt different. Tonight, there was something painfully bittersweet about touching his hair, knowing he was getting ready for someone else.
“You’re really quiet,” he murmured, leaning his head back just slightly as you ran your fingers through his curls. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” you whispered, fighting the lump in your throat. “Just focusing.”
When you finished, you handed him the cologne you knew so well. You watched as he sprayed it on his neck, the scent filling the space between you. It was comforting, familiar, and yet, tonight, it felt like it would linger on him — and not you — forever.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” you asked, standing by his door as he slipped on his boots.
“A little nervous,” he admitted, brushing his hands down his coat. “But honestly, having you here is making it better.”
You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You’ll do great.”
“Alright, hug before I go?” he asked, arms opening wide.
Without thinking, you stepped into his embrace, your face pressed to his shoulder. You let yourself stay there for a moment, feeling the warmth of his body, wishing it could last a little longer than it ever did.
“You’re my lucky charm, you know that?” he said, voice low, a smile in his tone.
You nodded, pulling away with a weak grin. “Of course. Go impress her.”
“Thanks for everything. You’re a legend,” he said, already heading for the door.
“Anytime,” you murmured, watching him walk out. You felt the ache in your chest again, but this time, it stayed.
That night, as you lay in bed, your phone buzzed with a message from George.
Clarkeyy: date went well. She’s cool. Thanks again for everything x
You stared at the message, fingers frozen above your phone screen. You replied after a long pause.
You: anytime x
You closed your eyes, wishing he knew just how much that “anytime” really meant.
But he didn’t. And that was okay, because you had your role.
The one in the background.
A/N: chapter 3 to come if yall like this (lmk) also requests are open and if u wanna be in the taglist just lmk 💗
snowghoul
kaledo-art
stormborns
discoholicmusic
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
