Summary: After Garett finds out the truth, y/n and him have a heartfelt conversation.
TW: sélf hárm
Word Count: 1.5K
Part 1 can be found here
The room felt impossibly quiet. Not the comfortable kind of quiet Garett usually shared with her. This one felt heavy.
Fragile. Like one wrong word might break something. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed with her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She couldn’t look at him. Every few seconds her fingers twisted the sleeves of her hoodie tighter around her wrists. A nervous habit. One Garett had seen a hundred times before. Only now he understood why. For a long moment neither of them spoke. Garett wasn’t angry. That somehow made it worse. Y/N thought she could’ve handled anger. Disappointment. Even yelling. But the concern in his eyes? The hurt? That was unbearable.
The idea of opening up frightened her. She debated each word that could come out of her mouth.
Am I going to be the same if I open up and form the words? Just the thought of someone knowing is painful enough.
Racing with her mind, debating nonstop if she should say it or not. She still has not announced the words out loud. How can I sit with a straight face, or in this
Now Garett knows what she did. Now every time he looks at her, he will see the scars left behind, visible and non-visible ones.
How can she sit and tell a loved one she tried to end it all, or at least wanted to? How can she casually slip it into the conversation and admit that if it wasn’t for God knows what strength that possessed her, she wouldn’t be sitting here.
And the relapse… It was going so well… and now she needs to speak… to say something…
But how can she voice all her struggles, hoping only that Garett would understand and won’t turn around hating her?
She can’t form the confession into words. A forever burden she shall carry, a forever guilt that will follow her into the happiest days of her life.
If y/n don’t see herself worthy enough, how would confessing to anyone make her feel any more worthy? It’ll only tear away the last shred of dignity she has left. Once the word is out that she’s lost it, her sanity, along with the cuts she carved into her flesh, everything will shatter into pieces. Into small bloody pieces, just how she drew on her body, slowly and painfully, once at a time. The blood would slowly slide through, covering the area in burning red. Staring at the result, all she would be able to do is wipe her tears and let it consume her. That’s what the truth would do to her. It’ll be new cuts. No, she won’t relapse… she can’t…
How would their relationship continue if every time Garett looks at her he will see a fragile girl who once tried to end it all? Fuck, maybe that’s the best that would happen. What if he sees the ugly and the monstrous side? What if he sees an insane person, a person who cannot be trusted?
She won’t be the same affectionate friend and partner who humors around. No, she’ll be the fractured one walking the hallways. Every joke she makes will drag him to think if she’s truly happy or masking yet another relapse. What if all he sees are cuts covering her body instead of her smile and eyes?
Who would want to date with a mentally unstable person? It’s all cared for in the books when a fictional character is going through it, but once it’s real life it’s no longer supported or worthy of affection.
But there is always this small chance, hoping Garett will accept her and love her through the cuts. See the same person she was and is, just one who encountered a little bumps on her journey.
The realization in Garett’s eyes. She can’t even look at him. Are his eyes filled with dark hatred and disgust, or simply weigh with disappointment, or are they tearing up right now looking at her as she is avoiding his gaze? Gosh… she can’t stand the idea of looking into his eyes again, thinking how much the truth is changing their life and how much pain she would cause Garett by sharing a slice of hers.
Her gaze remained fixed on her hands. Anywhere except him. Anywhere except his face. Then she felt the mattress dip. Garett moved closer. Not far. Just enough that his knee brushed hers. Slowly, carefully, he reached for her hands. His fingers wrapped around them gently. Like she was something precious. Something breakable. The gesture alone nearly made her cry.
“Hey.” His voice was soft.
Y/N swallowed hard. Still refusing to look up. Garett squeezed her hands once. Then carefully tilted her chin. Not forcing. Just encouraging. When her eyes finally met his, his expression made her chest ache. Because he was looking at her exactly the same way he always did. Like she was his favorite person in the world. And somehow that made the tears burn even harder. There was one question sitting between them.
Both of them knew it.
Y/N had been dreading it since the moment he’d opened that box. Garett hesitated. Then asked quietly, “How long?”
The question landed exactly where she’d known it would. Y/N closed her eyes briefly. A shaky breath escaped her. When she finally answered, her voice barely rose above a whisper.
“Years.”
Garett’s grip tightened around her hands. Not painfully. Just enough for her to know he was still there. Still listening. Still staying.
Y/N looked down again.
“I stopped.” The words caught in her throat “I was doing really good.” A tear slipped free before she could stop it. “I was clean for a year and a half.” The room went silent.
A year and a half.
Garett felt his heart crack a little. Not because he was judging her. Because suddenly he understood how much effort that represented. How much fighting. How much strength. How much pain she’d carried alone.
“And then…” she whispered.
She couldn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Garett understood.
“I know.” She laughed weakly through tears “It sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t.”
For the first time since he’d found out, there was firmness in his voice.
Y/N blinked.
Garett looked at her steadily. Like he wanted her to believe him. Like he wasn’t going anywhere until she did. A long silence followed.
Then Garett glanced toward the sleeves she kept pulling over her hands. His expression softened even more. Slowly, carefully, he reached out. His fingers stopping before touching the fabric. His eyes met hers.
“May I?”
The question nearly broke her. Because he was asking. Not demanding. Not grabbing. Asking. Giving her a choice.
Y/N’s throat tightened. She nodded once. Garett moved carefully. Giving her every opportunity to pull away. Every opportunity to change her mind. But she didn’t. The silence stretched between them.
Gentle. Painful. Honest.
Y/N couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand not knowing what he was thinking. The fear she’d been carrying for weeks suddenly spilled out.
“I’m still me.” Her voice cracked.
Garett immediately looked up. Tears blurred her vision. “I’m still the same girl.” The confession sounded small. Childlike. Terrified.
“I know.”
“What if you don’t look at me the same?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “What if this changes everything?”
Garett stared at her. Actually stared at her. Like he couldn’t believe she thought that. Then he reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Y/N.” His voice was so gentle it hurt. “This doesn’t change who you are.”
More tears spilled.
“You don’t suddenly become a different person because you’re struggling.”
Y/N’s breathing hitched. Garett continued quietly. “You are still the girl who steals my hoodies.”
A tiny laugh escaped her.
“You still complain about chemistry assignments.”
Another shaky laugh.
“You still make fun of my handwriting.”
“It’s really bad.”
“There she is.”
For the first time since the conversation started, a small smile appeared.
Tiny. Fragile. But real.
Garett felt his own eyes sting.
“You are still you.”
His forehead rested briefly against hers.
“And I still love you.”
The sentence shattered whatever was left of her composure. Y/N started crying properly then. Months of fear. Weeks of guilt. Days of carrying everything alone. All of it finally crashing down at once. Without hesitation, Garett pulled her into his arms. And the second she felt him hold her, she broke completely. The hug wasn’t rushed. It felt like coming home. Warm. Steady. Safe.
Y/N buried her face in his shoulder while his arms wrapped around her tighter. Holding her together when she couldn’t seem to do it herself. One hand rested against the back of her head. The other rubbed slow circles across her back. No pressure. No demands. Just presence. Just love.
Minutes passed. Neither of them moved. The world outside the room seemed impossibly far away. For the first time in weeks, Y/N wasn’t carrying the weight by herself.
And for the first time since Garett had noticed something was wrong, he finally understood. The road ahead wasn’t magically fixed. Nothing was solved in one conversation. But as he held her close and felt her slowly relax against him, one thing became certain: She wasn’t alone anymore. And Garett had no intention of letting her face it alone again.
Summary: Garett finds out there is more to y/n’s stress than she actually shows.
TW: sèlf hárm
Word Count: 2K
Something was wrong. Garett noticed it on Monday. By Tuesday, he was sure of it. By Thursday, it was driving him insane.
Y/N was not acting dramatically different. She still showed up to class. Still texted him good morning. Still smiled when he walked into a room. But it felt like she was doing all of those things from very far away. Like part of her was stuck somewhere else.
The weekend trip home had been good or at least that’s what she’d told him. Her parents had been excited to see her. She’d gone out for coffee with old friends. Nothing major had happened. At least, that’s what she’d said.
But every time Garett asked about it, her answers felt rehearsed. Short. Careful. Like she was reading from a script. And Garett knew her too well not to notice.
——
By Friday afternoon, they were curled up together in his apartment. Well. Garett was curled up. Y/N was physically present. Mentally she was somewhere else entirely.
A the TV played quietly in the background while Garett scrolled through something on his phone. Y/N sat tucked against his side beneath one of his hoodies, staring at the television without actually seeing it. The commentators’ voices blurred together. The crowd noise coming from the TV blurred together. Everything blurred together. Because her thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
A stupid argument.
A stupid weekend.
One horrible moment that she couldn’t undo.
She’d worked so hard. That was the part that hurt. Not just the mistake itself. The fact that she’d worked so hard.
Months.
Months of progress.
Months of fighting through difficult days.
Months of proving to herself she was doing better.
Then one terrible night at home had happened and suddenly all she could think was: “Now I have to start over.” The thought made her stomach twist. She hated it. She hated herself for it. She hated that something as simple as a visit home had affected her this much. Most of all, she hated that she couldn’t stop replaying it.
“You’re always so dramatic.”
Her mother’s voice echoed through her memory.
“Nobody can say anything to you without you turning it into a crisis.”
Y/N had laughed it off at the time. Pretended it didn’t hurt. Pretended she was older now. Stronger now. Past all of that.
But later, lying awake in her childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling she’d grown up under it all came crushing down; the words had come back.
Then another one.
And another.
And another.
Years of old insecurities resurfacing all at once.
Like she’d never left.
Like college had never happened.
Like she was seventeen again.
——
“Baby.”
Y/N blinked.
Garett was looking at her.
Concern written all over his face. “You okay?”
Her heart dropped. Had she been staring into space again?
“Yeah.”
The answer came automatically. Too automatically. Garett’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“Just tired.”
Another lie.
A stupid one.
Because she could see he didn’t believe it.
The worst part was that she wanted to tell him.
God, she wanted to tell him.
She wanted to crawl into his lap and confess everything. Tell him she was struggling. Tell him she’d messed up. Tell him she felt like she’d failed herself. Tell him she was terrified he’d look at her differently afterward.
Finally form it into words that she has relapsed. She gave in to emotions and blindly followed the known route to the hidden razor.
Voicing her biggest fear felt terrifying but she needed someone to see the struggle to help her. She was not herself. After the relapse, that was all she could think about.
But every time she imagined saying the words out loud, shame slammed into her chest. Because what if he didn’t understand? What if he was disappointed? What if he realized his girlfriend wasn’t nearly as put together as she pretended to be?
The thoughts were exhausting.
——
“Y/N.”
She blinked again.
Garett was staring.
“What?”
A small frown appeared on his face.
“I asked you a question.”
“Oh.”
Embarrassment immediately flooded her.
“Sorry.”
“You zoned out.”
She attempted a smile, which apparently wasn’t convincing.
“What were you thinking about?”
Everything.
Nothing.
The weekend.
The argument.
The blood.
The shaking hands.
The razor on the floor.
The regret.
The fear.
The secret she was carrying around like a weight tied to her ribs.
Instead she shrugged.
“School.”
“Liar.”
The response came immediately.
Y/N looked up.
Garett wasn’t smiling, also not angry, just worried. Which somehow felt worse.
“You’ve been somewhere else all week.”
She looked away first.
The guilt was becoming unbearable.
——
A little later she shifted on the couch, pulling her sleeve down absentmindedly.
The movement caught Garett’s attention.
His gaze dropped briefly. Then lingered.
Y/N immediately felt her stomach sink.
No.
No no no.
Not now.
Please.
“What’s that?”
Her pulse spiked instantly.
She followed his gaze.
For a split second she considered telling the truth. Just saying it. Getting it over with.
But fear won.
Fear always won.
“Oh.”
She forced herself to sound casual.
“The neighbor’s cat.”
The lie left her mouth effortlessly. Which somehow made her feel even worse. Because she wasn’t just hiding something now. She was lying to him. Directly.
Garett looked at her for a long moment. Too long. Like he knew. Like he didn’t believe a word she was saying.
“Neighbor’s cat?”
She nodded.
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Long silence.
Painful silence.
——
“Baby.” The gentleness in his voice nearly shattered her. Because he wasn’t accusing her of anything. Wasn’t angry. Wasn’t suspicious. He just sounded worried. Deeply worried. “Are you okay?”
The question hit harder this time. Maybe because he kept asking. Maybe because she knew he genuinely wanted the answer. Maybe because nobody had asked her that question and actually meant it in a very long time. For one awful second tears threatened. Y/N immediately swallowed them back. “I’m okay.”
Garett stared at her. And she knew he didn’t believe her. Not even a little. The realization sat heavily between them.
——
That night, after she’d fallen asleep against him, Garett remained awake. His arm rested around her shoulders. The room was dark and quiet. But his mind wouldn’t shut off. He kept thinking about the way she’d gone distant whenever home came up. The way she’d stared into space all week. The way she’d flinched at simple questions. The lie she’d told earlier. Most of all, he kept thinking about the look on her face. Because whatever was bothering her wasn’t small. And for the first time all week, Garett stopped wondering if something was wrong. He knew something was. He just didn’t know what yet. And that scared him more than he wanted to admit.
——
For the first time in almost two weeks, Garett felt like he could breathe again.
Y/N was laughing. Actually laughing. Not forcing it. Not giving him those small, tired smiles she’d been wearing all week. The real thing.
The week after their conversation on the couch had felt different. Better. She complained endlessly about a huge project she was working on. She dragged him to the library twice. She sent him three separate texts about how much she hated one particular professor. Everything felt normal again.
And honestly?
Garett had started believing maybe he’d overreacted. Maybe she’d just had a rough week. Maybe going home had brought up some old emotions. Maybe that was all it was. People had bad weeks. That didn’t automatically mean something was seriously wrong. So slowly, his worries started fading. Not completely. But enough.
Enough that when Saturday rolled around and they were getting ready to walk to a café downtown, he wasn’t watching her every second anymore. He was relaxed. Happy, normal.
“Baby?”
Garett looked up from tying his shoes.
Y/N stood in front of her mirror trying, and failing to tame her hair.
“What?”
“My flower bracelet.”
“The what?”
“The white flower bracelet.”
“Very descriptive.”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s in my drawer. White top box.”
“Got it.”
Without another thought, Garett crossed the room and pulled open her dresser.
Inside sat several small white boxes, which were stacked neatly in rows.
“Which one?” he called.
“The top one.”
“Okay, baby”
He heard her laugh behind him. The sound made him smile automatically. Then he picked up the first box.
Necklace.
Not it.
Instead of checking the other top box next to it, Garett grabbed the box underneath. The second box underneath felt lighter. Empty. Or mostly empty. Garett was already putting it back when something shifted inside. A faint sound. Small enough that he almost ignored it. Almost. His hand paused. Then he opened it. There was a false bottom. Or some sort of soft insert. Something tucked underneath. His brow furrowed. He was confused but yet so curious. And once he saw it, noted the small hidden razors, everything stopped.
The room.
The noise.
His thoughts.
Everything.
For a second he just stared.
Not understanding.
Then understanding all at once.
His stomach dropped so fast it made him feel sick.
The cuts.
The long sleeves.
The distance after visiting home.
The way she’d frozen when he’d asked if she was okay.
The lie.
Neighbor’s cat.
The memory slammed into him so hard his chest physically hurt.
There had never been a cat.
The realization landed like a punch.
“Oh my God.”
The words came out barely above a whisper.
Behind him Y/N was still focused on the mirror.
“What was that, baby?”
Garett didn’t answer immediately.
His mind was racing too fast.
Every strange moment from the last few weeks suddenly rearranging itself into something horrible and painfully clear. His grip tightened around the box.
“There was no cat.”
Y/N laughed lightly.
“What?”
Slowly, Garett turned around. His face had gone completely pale.
“There was no cat, was there?”
The smile on her face faltered. Only slightly.
“What are you talking about?”
He took a step forward. Then another. The box still in his hand. And the second her eyes landed on it, everything changed. The color drained from her face. Immediately. Like someone had flipped a switch.
Oh.
Oh no.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
The silence felt deafening.
Garett stared at her. Y/N stared at the box. And somehow that was answer enough. The realization hurt more than he’d expected. Because suddenly he wasn’t wondering anymore. Now he knew.
“Y/N.”
Her name came out quiet. Not angry. Not accusing. Just heartbroken.
She swallowed hard.
“Oh my God.” The words barely escaped her. Garett watched panic spread across her face. Not because she’d been caught. Because she knew exactly what he understood now.
“I can explain…”
“You don’t have to explain right this second.”
His voice cracked slightly. That got her attention. Garett wasn’t looking angry. He looked devastated. And somehow that was worse.
“Baby…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t seem to find the words. Garett shook his head.
Not at her.
At himself.
At the last two weeks.
At every moment he’d almost figured it out.
Y/N felt tears instantly burn behind her eyes.
“How long have you been carrying this by yourself?” The gentleness in his voice shattered whatever defenses she had left.
Because he wasn’t asking: Why would you do this?
He wasn’t asking: What’s wrong with you?
He wasn’t angry.
Wasn’t disgusted.
Wasn’t leaving.
He just sounded hurt that she’d been suffering alone.
Y/N’s vision blurred from the tears. “I didn’t want you to know.”
Garett’s expression broke. “Why?”
And there it was.
The real question.
The one she’d been avoiding.
Why hadn’t she told him? Why had she lied? Why had she kept pretending everything was fine?
Y/N looked at him standing there with concern written all over his face. And suddenly she realized she didn’t have another excuse left. No more lies. No more changing the subject. No more pretending. The truth was standing between them now. And for the first time, she knew she couldn’t carry it by herself anymore.
Summary: Garett meets y/n’s parents for the first time and is surrounded by unexpected warmth.
Word Count: 1.4K
The weekend started terribly.
Which honestly felt unfair considering Garett had spent the entire week looking forward to it.
Briar had blown a two-goal lead in the third period. The locker room afterward had been tense as hell, and Garett still felt irritated two hours later while tossing his duffel into the back of Y/N’s car.
“You okay?” she asked carefully from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah.”
“You’re doing the hockey silent thing.”
“I’m literally talking.”
“You answered with one word.”
Garett sighed dramatically before climbing into the passenger seat.
“We should’ve won that game.”
Y/N reached over immediately, squeezing his hand once before pulling out of the parking lot.
“You still played well.”
“Didn’t matter.”
He leaned his head back against the seat afterward, staring out the window while campus slowly disappeared behind them.
Normally after losses, Garett liked being around the guys. Noise helped. Distractions helped.
But somehow sitting in the car with Y/N felt easier. Quieter in a good way.
About an hour into the drive, though, she suddenly spoke again.
“So… quick thing.”
Garett glanced over.
“That sounds dangerous.”
She bit back a smile.
“It’s not dangerous.”
“Those are famous last words.”
Y/N adjusted her grip on the steering wheel slightly before saying:
“You’re actually the first guy I’ve ever brought home.”
Garett blinked.
“What?”
“The first boyfriend.”
He stared at her fully now.
“Like… ever?”
She nodded once, suddenly looking weirdly nervous about admitting it.
“I mean, my parents were strict about dating in high school.” She shrugged awkwardly. “You’re the first real relationship.”
And just like that, Garett’s lingering irritation about hockey vanished completely. Replaced immediately by panic.
“Oh my god.”
Y/N laughed.
“Why are you reacting like that?”
“Because now this matters.”
“It mattered before.”
“No, before this was just a weekend trip.” He pointed at her accusingly. “Now this is a boyfriend evaluation.”
She snorted.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Your father is going to judge me.”
“My dad likes you.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s true.”
Garett narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“No dad just likes the random hockey player dating his daughter.”
“Well mine does.”
“You sound way too confident about this.”
Y/N smiled softly at him then.
“Because they’re going to adore you.”
Which honestly should’ve reassured him. Instead it somehow made him more nervous.
—
By the time they reached her hometown that evening, the anxiety had fully settled in.
Not enough to freak out externally.
Garett Graham was many things, but visibly nervous usually wasn’t one of them.
Internally, however?
Catastrophic.
Especially when they pulled into the driveway and he immediately spotted a man standing in the garage.
Her dad looked up from unpacking groceries the second the headlights swept across the driveway.
Garett suddenly sat up straighter instinctively.
“Oh my god,” Y/N muttered beside him. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You look like you’re about to meet the president.”
“This is worse.”
She laughed under her breath while climbing out of the car.
Garett followed a second later, grabbing their bags from the trunk while trying not to look as tense as he felt.
Her dad walked down the driveway toward them.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Comfortable smile.
The exact kind of dad that should’ve been intimidating.
The first thing he said was “You must be Garett.”
And somehow his voice sounded genuinely happy about it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t start that,” the man said immediately before holding out his hand. “I’m Anthony.”
The firmness in Garett’s chest loosened slightly.
“Nice to meet you.”
Anthony shook his hand once before grinning, “She’s been talking about you nonstop for months.”
“Dad.”
“What? It’s true.”
Y/N groaned while Garett immediately looked at her with a smug smile.
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t encourage him.”
Before Garett could respond, the front door swung open.
“There they are!”
Her mother hurried outside immediately and pulled Y/N into a hug before turning toward Garett with the warmest expression he’d ever seen from a stranger.
“And you’re the famous Garett.”
Famous?
Garett barely had time to process the word before she hugged him too.
Actually hugged him.
He froze for half a second in surprise before awkwardly hugging her back.
“Hi,” he managed.
“Oh honey, we’re so happy you’re here.”
And just like that, half his nervousness disappeared.
—
The house felt warm in a way Garett couldn’t fully explain. The kitchen smelled like fresh bread. Music played softly somewhere in the background. Pictures covered the walls: vacations, birthdays, school events, years and years of obvious love. Everything about the place felt lived in.
Safe.
Y/N disappeared upstairs to unpack while Garett stayed downstairs helping her dad carry bags inside despite repeated assurances that he didn’t have to.
“When’s the next game” Anthony asked casually while putting groceries away.
“Next Friday.”
“Tough loss tonight.”
Garett glanced over, mildly surprised.
“You watched?”
“Of course.” Anthony shrugged like it was obvious. “Can’t have my daughter dating Briar hockey and not keep up.”
“We kinda blew it in the third.”
“Maybe.” Anthony closed the fridge. “Still takes a hell of a lot of work to play at that level.”
The simplicity of the statement caught Garett off guard.
No criticism.
No “you should’ve done this.”
No lecture.
Just acknowledgment.
Before he could respond, Y/N’s mom appeared again and immediately shoved a bowl toward him.
“Try the potatoes.”
“What?”
“Just quality control.”
Garett laughed despite himself before taking the spoon she offered.
Five minutes later he somehow got trapped helping set the table while Y/N’s mom asked him questions about school and hockey and whether college boys actually ate enough vegetables.
It was… easy.
Too easy.
Like they’d known him longer than two hours.
—
Dinner somehow made everything worse.
Not because it was uncomfortable. But actually because it wasn’t at all, which honestly felt more dangerous.
Y/N sat beside him under the warm kitchen lights while her parents asked about classes and hockey and weather.
Every answer Garett gave seemed genuinely listened to, not politely tolerated. Actually listened to.
At one point Y/N casually mentioned:
“He skipped a team party last week because he had an economics paper.”
Her mother looked impressed immediately.
“Good for you.”
Garett shrugged.
“Had to get it done.”
“That discipline matters,” Anthony said.
The words landed strangely hard.
Discipline matters.
Not goals.
Not points.
Not winning.
The work itself mattered.
Later the conversation shifted back to hockey naturally.
“Tough game tonight,” y/n’s mother said this time.
Something about that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
Garett picked absently at the edge of his napkin.
“We should’ve won.”
Anthony nodded once, “Maybe.”
The table stayed quiet. And then Anthony added, “But I hope you know one loss doesn’t erase the amount of work it takes to get there.”
Garett stilled.
Anthony continued easily, like he had no idea he was saying something life-altering.
“Most people never commit themselves to anything the way athletes do.” He shrugged slightly. “The discipline alone is something to be proud of.”
Proud.
The word hit Garett so hard he almost visibly reacted.
Because his father had talked about hockey constantly growing up.
But never like that.
Never with warmth.
Never with pride that existed outside of winning.
For a horrible second, Garett genuinely didn’t know what to say. Y/N noticed immediately. Her hand slipped quietly onto his thigh beneath the table. It was grounding Safe.
Anthony smiled slightly across from him.
“You clearly care a lot. That says enough about your character for me.”
And God.
That one nearly did him in.
Because suddenly Garett understood why Y/N was the way she was.
Why she was gentle.
Why she believed in people so easily.
Why being loved by her felt effortless.
She grew up here.
In this house.
With parents who spoke softly and proudly and kindly.
No wonder she loved the way she did.
“You raised a pretty incredible daughter,” Garett admitted quietly before he could stop himself.
Y/N immediately looked down at her plate, embarrassed.
Her mom smiled warmly.
“We know.”
Anthony grinned.
“She gets most of it from me.”
“Oh my god,” Y/N groaned.
Garett laughed for what felt like the first genuine time all day.
And somewhere in the middle of dinner and warm food and easy conversation, he realized this was the most welcomed he’d ever felt in someone else’s home.
Summary: Garett attends y/n’s awards night expecting a long night of academic jargon. Instead, he watches his girlfriend collect award after award, realising his nerdy girlfriend might be the smartest person he’s ever met.
Word Count: 1.5K
“Why do I have to come?”
Garett glanced up from tying his shoes to where Dean sprawled dramatically across the couch in the hockey house living room.
“Because Tucker’s busy, Logan said no, and I need someone to suffer with me.”
Dean pointed accusingly.
“So you admit this is suffering.”
“It’s an awards ceremony, not a funeral.”
Dean stared at him blankly.
“For science students.”
“…fair.”
Dean groaned loudly and dragged himself upright anyway.
“You owe me wings after this.”
“Done.”
“And beer.”
“Greedy.”
“And if anyone starts talking about molecules, I’m leaving.”
Garett snorted and shoved his jacket on.
Honestly, he didn’t think the night would be a big deal.
Y/N had invited him earlier that week while curled against him in his dorm bed, absentmindedly highlighting something in a chemistry textbook thicker than his anatomy notes.
“Will you come to my awards ceremony Thursday?”
“What kind of awards?”
“Science department stuff.”
Garett had immediately grimaced.
“That sounds horrifying.”
She kicked his leg lightly.
“Please?”
And because Garett Graham would probably agree to literally anything when she looked at him like that, he’d sighed dramatically and said yes.
He figured it was one of those polite academic events where everyone got a certificate for surviving organic chemistry.
He just needed to uphold the supportive boyfriend duties, easy enough.
Now though, standing outside the university’s Natural Sciences building while Dean looked personally victimized beside him, Garett was beginning to question his life choices.
Students and faculty crowded the entrance dressed significantly nicer than usual for a Thursday night. Parents carried flowers. Professors chatted near display boards filled with research posters Garett absolutely did not understand.
Dean stopped dead in front of one.
“What the hell is computational biophysics?”
“No clue.”
“There are graphs.”
Dean shook his head solemnly.
“This is why athletes should stay with athletes.”
Garett rolled his eyes.
Then he spotted Y/N across the lobby.
And for a second, everything else disappeared.
She stood near the auditorium doors talking to a professor, wearing a dark blue dress and heels he already knew were going to kill her feet later. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders and she laughed softly at something the professor said.
But what caught Garett off guard wasn’t how pretty she looked.
It was the way everyone around her seemed to know her.
Students waved while passing. Professors stopped to talk to her. One older faculty member actually touched her shoulder proudly while speaking. It reminded Garett uncomfortably of hockey banquets. Of people stopping him after games. Recognizing him on campus. Talking about his stats and goals and future.
Only this wasn’t hockey.
This was her world.
And apparently she mattered in it a lot more than he realized.
Y/N spotted him then and immediately brightened.
“There you are.”
Garett grinned automatically as she walked over.
“You know,” Garett said while following her up the stairs, “you still haven’t explained what this actually is.”
Y/N glanced back at him with a grin.
“It’s just the College of Natural Sciences awards ceremony.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not fake.”
“It sounds fake.”
She laughed under her breath and hooked her fingers through his.
The building buzzed with students and faculty dressed nicer than usual. Professors chatted near the entrance while families filled rows of seats inside the auditorium.
“Nerd convention,” he muttered.
Y/N nudged him with her shoulder.
“You’re literally dating one of them.”
“Yeah, but you’re my nerd. Different category.”
That earned him an eye roll, but he caught the smile she tried to hide afterward.
Dean looked between them and gagged dramatically.
“You two are disgusting.”
“Why are you here?” Y/N laughed.
“He was emotionally forced.”
“I was bribed with wings,” Dean corrected.
Y/N smiled before slipping her hand into Garett’s.
“You look nice, hockey boy.”
“You saying I usually look bad?”
“I’m saying your formalwear is usually team-issued.”
Dean barked out a laugh.
Before Garett could respond, someone called Y/N’s name from across the lobby.
She turned immediately.
“Oh, I have to go sit with my department. You guys are over there.” She pointed toward the auditorium seating. “Please try to survive.”
“No promises,” Dean muttered.
Y/N leaned up to kiss Garett quickly before disappearing into the crowd.
Dean watched her leave before looking at Garett.
“She’s definitely smarter than you.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious. I can feel it.”
Garett shoved his shoulder as they headed into the auditorium.
The room slowly filled while faculty shuffled papers near the stage. Dean looked seconds away from death already.
“If this lasts longer than an hour,” he whispered, “tell my family I loved them.”
Garett ignored him, gaze drifting toward Y/N a few rows closer to the front.
She sat between other science students laughing quietly about something, completely relaxed.
Comfortable.
Again, it reminded him of himself before games.
Like she belonged here.
The ceremony started a few minutes later.
Dean lasted approximately seven minutes before leaning over.
“I haven’t understood a single word.”
Garett smirked slightly.
A professor stepped to the podium.
“We’d first like to recognize undergraduate excellence in research…”
Polite applause filled the room.
Garett half-listened at first, attention drifting occasionally.
Then….
“For her work in analytical chemistry research…”
Y/N’s name echoed through the auditorium.
Garett straightened immediately.
She walked across the stage while the audience applauded warmly.
Dean blinked.
“Oh. She’s getting an award-award.”
Garett frowned slightly.
“Apparently.”
Then twenty minutes later her name got called again.
And again.
And again.
By the fourth time, Dean looked personally offended.
“What the hell?”
Garett could only stare.
Because suddenly the entire room was making sense.
The professors that knew her.
The students whispering about her.
The way she carried herself here.
This wasn’t some random ceremony where everyone got participation certificates.
This was recognition.
Real recognition.
One professor smiled while handing her an award and said into the microphone:
“Students like Y/N remind us why we love teaching.”
The audience applauded louder at that.
Garett felt something warm and overwhelming settle in his chest.
Because he knew what it felt like to be noticed for something you worked your ass off at.
To walk into a room and have people know your name because you earned it.
Hockey had always been that for him.
But sitting there now, watching professors light up when his girlfriend crossed the stage, he realized science was that for her.
And somehow that made him emotional as hell.
Dean leaned toward him slowly.
“Dude.”
“Yeah?”
“Your girlfriend’s kinda famous.”
Garett laughed quietly under his breath, unable to look away from her.
Y/N sat back down, smiling shyly while another student whispered congratulations beside her.
“She’s just…” Garett trailed off.
“Terrifyingly smart?”
“Yeah.”
Dean nodded solemnly.
“She could probably build a bomb.”
“She studies chemistry, not terrorism.”
“How do you know there’s a difference?”
Garett shoved him again, but he was smiling.
By the end of the ceremony Y/N had four awards, two faculty recognitions, one research distinction, and apparently an entire department ready to adopt her.
Garett honestly felt stunned.
Because outside of this building, people looked at him first.
At parties.
At games.
On campus.
He was Garett Graham.
Star hockey player.
Center of attention without trying.
But here?
Here, people looked at her the same way.
Like she was impressive.
Important.
Exceptional.
And watching it happen made him absurdly proud.
After the ceremony ended, the lobby filled immediately with congratulations and conversation.
Y/N got stopped every three feet.
A professor asked about her summer research plans.
Another student congratulated her tutoring award.
Someone’s mom literally told her, “You were wonderful up there.”
Garett stood off to the side watching her laugh politely through it all.
And suddenly he understood something.
This was her version of the rink.
This was where she shined.
A few minutes later she finally escaped the crowd carrying several certificates against her chest.
Dean stared at the stack.
“I’m actually embarrassed for the rest of the department.”
“Oh my god,” Y/N laughed.
“I’m serious. You won half the ceremony.”
“It was not half.”
“Forty percent minimum,” Dean argued.
She rolled her eyes before turning toward Garett.
But the second she looked at him properly, her smile faltered slightly.
“What?”
Garett stepped closer slowly.
“You never told me you were basically the Wayne Gretzky of science.”
Y/N immediately groaned.
“Please never say that again.”
“I’m serious.”
Her cheeks pinked slightly beneath the lobby lights.
“You looked at home up there,” Garett admitted quietly. “Like… this is your thing.”
Something softer flickered across her expression then.
“It is,” she said.
And Garett swore he’d never heard her sound prouder.
He reached for the awards in her arms before leaning down enough to kiss her forehead gently.
“I’m really proud of you, baby.”
The words clearly hit harder than she expected because her entire expression softened instantly.
“I understood like three percent of the ceremony,” stated Garett.
Dean nodded seriously beside them.
“I understood zero percent and even I’m impressed.”
Y/N laughed quietly.
Then Garett wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his side.
And standing there surrounded by professors and research students and academic achievements Garett felt more certain that his girlfriend was every bit as exceptional as people said he was on the ice.
Summary: Garett Graham has spent his whole life trying not to become his father. Y/N has spent hers believing controlling men are proof of love. Neither of them realizes how deeply those beliefs have shaped their relationship, until one small word finally breaks everything open: “Allowed?”
Word Count: 2.1K
The first time it happened, Garett barely noticed it.
He was sprawled across Y/N’s bed half-awake, one arm thrown over his eyes while she dug through her closet for something to wear to dinner. Music played softly from her speaker, the same playlist she always put on when she got ready.
“Babe?”
“Mhm,” he mumbled.
He heard hangers clack together.
Then:
“Is this okay?”
Garett moved his arm enough to look over.
She stood in front of the mirror wearing a dark red skirt and a cropped sweater, turning slightly as if trying to check herself from every angle.
His brows lifted immediately.
“You look amazing.”
A small smile tugged at her lips, but she still hesitated.
“Are you sure it’s not too short?”
That made him sit up a little.
The skirt barely reached mid-thigh, sure, but there was nothing shocking about it. Girls wore shorter things to class every day.
“If you like it, wear it.”
She looked relieved at the answer, smoothing her hands over the fabric before turning back toward the mirror.
And that was it.
Mostly.
The conversation sat somewhere in the back of his head afterward. He figured she probably wanted reassurance. Lots of girls did that. So he let it go.
—
The second time happened two weeks later in the library.
Garett was hunched over a statistics worksheet while Y/N highlighted something in her physics notes beside him. She suddenly sighed dramatically and dropped her head onto his shoulder.
“What?”
“My professor assigned lab partners.”
“Sounds unfortunate.”
“It is,” she muttered. “I got paired with some guy named Eric.”
Garett snorted. “Poor you.”
She didn’t laugh.Instead she glanced up carefully and said,
“Is that okay?”
His pencil stopped moving.
“What?”
“The partner thing.”
He stared at her for a second, genuinely confused.
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
Her expression shifted like she hadn’t expected the question back.
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I just wanted to let you know.”
Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist slightly.
Not jealousy.
Not anger.
Just… something strange.
“You don’t need my permission to do your lab, baby.”
“I know,” she answered quickly. Too quickly.
Then she smiled and nudged his shoulder like she wanted to move past it.
“Good because he already seems annoying.”
Garett laughed and let it drop, but the weird feeling lingered.
Permission.
The word sat wrong in his chest.
—
A month later, Garett was at Malone’s with Logan, Tucker, and Dean while a game played across the TVs overhead. The place buzzed with noise and music and clinking glasses.
Y/N was there too, sitting on the table nearby with her friends.
He wasn’t paying much attention until he heard his name.
“She invited me to this thing Friday,” one of her friends said. “You’re coming, right?”
Y/N hesitated.
“I don’t know if Garett would want me going.”
Garett’s head lifted immediately.
Logan kept talking beside him, oblivious, but Garett’s focus narrowed completely onto her table.
“What?” her friend asked. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Y/N shrugged lightly, tracing the rim of her drink.
“I don’t know. It’s at a frat house.”
“So?”
“I’ll ask him.”
Garett felt something cold settle heavily in his stomach.
Not because she was asking, because she sounded so normal about it, like it was expected, like of course she needed to ask her boyfriend first.
The conversation moved on, but Garett barely heard any of it after that. Instead, memories kept surfacing unwanted and sharp.
His father’s voice.
His mother asking permission for things that didn’t require permission.
The constant checking in.
The careful wording.
And suddenly every tiny interaction with Y/N replayed differently in his head.
Is this okay?
Would you mind?
Can I?
Should I change?
His beer suddenly tasted bitter.
“You good?” Tucker asked.
“Yeah,” Garett answered automatically.
But he wasn’t.
—
Later that night Y/N sat cross-legged on his bed wearing one of his hoodies while Garett changed for bed.
“So…” she started carefully.
He glanced over. “So?”
“My friends are going to this party thing on Friday.”
He nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“They wanted me to come.”
There was that same careful tone again.
Garett leaned against the dresser, already knowing where this was heading.
“And?”
She twisted the sleeves of the hoodie around her fingers.
“Would that bother you?”
The question hit him harder this time.
Not because she asked. Because she looked nervous asking it. Like she was bracing for the wrong answer.
Garett suddenly felt sick in a way he couldn’t explain. For one horrible second, he pictured his father standing where he was. The thought made his chest tighten immediately.
“Baby,” he said carefully, “why would it bother me?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged softly. “A lot of guys don’t like their girlfriends going to frat parties.”
“And what do you want?”
That seemed to genuinely throw her off.
“What?”
“What do you want?” he repeated gently. “Do you wanna go?”
She nodded after a second.
“A little.”
“Then go.”
Her shoulders visibly loosened in relief.
Relief.
Like he’d granted her something.
Garett hated how much that bothered him.
“You don’t have to ask me for stuff like that,” he said quietly while climbing into bed beside her.
She looked confused.
“I was just trying to be respectful.”
And there it was again. That awful twisting feeling in his chest because she sounded sincere. Completely sincere. Garett wrapped an arm around her anyway and kissed the top of her head.
“You’re allowed to do things without my approval, you know.”
She smiled softly against him like he’d said something sweet instead of something that quietly terrified him.
“Okay,” she whispered.
But somehow, Garett knew she didn’t really understand what he meant at all.
—
Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while Garett flipped through a textbook he hadn’t actually read a single word of in the last ten minutes.
Y/N sat on the floor beside the coffee table surrounded by folded clothes and an open duffel bag, packing for the weekend trip her friends had planned for weeks.
Tonight, something in Garett’s chest had been tight all evening, maybe because he’d noticed the way Y/n kept glancing at him while she packed. Like she was gauging his mood first. Or maybe because he was tired of hearing echoes of his father in harmless conversations. Or maybe because he was starting to realize this wasn’t harmless to her at all.
“You excited?” he asked finally.
“A little.”
“A little?”
She smiled faintly without looking up.
“I’ve never really gone on trips like this before.”
“That’s kinda depressing, baby.”
She laughed softly.
The sound loosened something in him for about half a second.
Then she pulled a black dress from the pile and held it up uncertainly.
“Do you think this is too much?”
Garett’s jaw tightened instantly.
“Too much for what?”
“For the club they wanna go to.”
He closed his textbook carefully.
“If you like it, wear it.”
She nodded and folded it into the bag.
A few minutes passed quietly.
Then:
“And I’m allowed to go to the club part too, right?”
Everything in Garett went still.
Allowed.
The word slammed into him so hard it almost felt physical.
Suddenly he was twelve years old again listening to his father tell his mother what she was “allowed” to wear. Where she was “allowed” to go. Who she was “allowed” to see.
Allowed.
Allowed.
Allowed.
“Stop saying that.”
The words came out sharper than he intended.
Y/N froze immediately. Her hands stilled over the zipper of the bag as she looked up at him, startled.
“What?”
“You keep saying stuff like that.”
Her brows pinched together.
“Like what?”
“Allowed.” Garett stood abruptly, shoving a hand through his hair. “Permission. Asking me if things are okay every five seconds like I’m supposed to control what you do.”
Confusion spread across her face first.
Then hurt.
“I was just asking…”
“But why?” he interrupted, frustration bleeding through despite trying to hold it back. “Why do you think you need my approval to go out with your friends? Or wear something? Or talk to another guy in class?”
Y/N stared at him now like she genuinely didn’t understand why he was upset.
And somehow that made it worse.
“I’m trying to be respectful,” she said quietly.
“There’s a difference between respect and asking me to run your life.”
“I’m not asking you to run my life.”
“You literally just asked if you were allowed to go to a club.”
Her expression crumpled slightly at his tone.
“Well… yeah.”
Garett let out a disbelieving laugh, turning away before immediately regretting it.
“Jesus Christ.”
The apartment went painfully quiet.
When he looked back at her, she looked small.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Just confused.
And that killed his irritation instantly.
“Why are you upset?” she asked softly.
The question cracked something open in him, because she really didn’t know. She had no idea why hearing those words made him feel sick. No idea why every conversation lately had been clawing at old memories he spent years trying to bury.
Garett swallowed hard and sat back down on the couch, suddenly exhausted.
“My dad was controlling,” he admitted quietly.
The words hung heavy between them.
Y/N blinked.
“What?”
“He controlled everything.” Garett stared at the floor while speaking, jaw tight. “What my mom wore. Where she went. Who she talked to. She used to ask permission for every little thing because it was easier than fighting with him.”
He laughed bitterly.
“And lately every time you ask me if you can do something, I feel like I’m turning into him.”
Y/N’s face fell instantly.
“Garett…”
“I know you don’t mean anything by it,” he said quickly. “I know you’re not doing it on purpose but….” He dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t want that. I never want you feeling like you need my permission to exist.”
The silence afterward felt fragile.
Then quietly:
“My dad was like that too.”
Garett looked up sharply.
Y/N sat curled in on herself on the floor, fingers twisting together nervously.
“In my house,” she said slowly, “that was just… normal.”
Her voice sounded embarrassingly small now, like she was suddenly hearing it herself for the first time.
“If I wanted to wear something my dad didn’t like, he’d tell me no. If my mom wanted to go somewhere, she asked first.” She shrugged weakly. “They always said when I got older my boyfriend or husband would decide those things instead.”
Garett felt his chest ache.
“Oh, baby.”
“I thought that’s what girlfriends were supposed to do,” she admitted. “Like… checking in. Making sure your boyfriend’s comfortable. I thought that meant you respected him.”
Garett stared at her for a long moment before standing and walking over.
The second he crouched in front of her, her eyes dropped automatically like she was bracing for criticism.
That alone nearly broke him.
He tilted her chin up gently.
“You never have to earn being loved by obeying me.”
The tears gathering in her eyes spilled instantly.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she whispered shakily.
“I know.” His voice softened immediately. “I know you didn’t.”
She looked devastated anyway.
“I just thought… if someone loves you, they’re supposed to care what you do.”
“I care,” Garett said carefully. “But caring isn’t controlling you.”
Y/N looked at him uncertainly, like the concept itself felt unfamiliar.
And honestly?
That hurt more than anything else.
Garett pulled her into his lap before she could protest, wrapping both arms around her tightly.
“You know what I want?” he murmured against her hair.
“What?”
“I want you to do things because they make you happy. Not because you think some guy has to approve them first.”
Her fingers curled weakly into his hoodie.
“That’s hard to unlearn.”
“I know.”
His hand rubbed slowly up and down her back while rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
For the first time all night, the tension finally began easing from his chest.
Because now he understood.
And now she did too.
After a long silence, Y/N mumbled quietly into his shoulder,
“So… I can wear the black dress?”
Garett barked out a surprised laugh, tightening his arms around her.
“Baby,” he said, kissing the top of her head, “you can wear literally whatever you want.”
And when she smiled against him this time, it felt a little less like relief and a little more like freedom.
Summary: Y/n doesn’t meet Phil’s expectations during an ice skating competition, which results in an unleashed fury and Garett discovering more about y/n’s hidden bruises.
TW: abûse, Phil Graham
Word Count: 2.5K
The arena still smelled like cold metal and sharpened blades.
Even after the crowd had thinned and the bright competition lights dimmed to a softer glow, the scent lingered in Y/N’s lungs as she unlaced her skates in the locker room. Her thighs burned from the routine. Her right ankle pulsed with every movement. And somewhere beneath the adrenaline and exhaustion sat the same heavy feeling she’d carried since the moment her blade hit the ice wrong during the quad attempt.
Not enough rotation.
She already knew before the judges flashed the scores.
Third place.
Respectable to everyone else. A failure to Phil Graham.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she shoved her guards onto her skates. Around her, girls laughed and hugged coaches while cameras flashed outside the room. Someone told her she skated beautifully. Another complimented her performance.
Y/N smiled politely through all of it.
Because none of those people mattered.
Not when Phil Graham was waiting outside with disapproval on his face.
Y/n was sitting in the stands and staring at the ice, replaying her performance in her mind and hating herself for the mistake. She could not bring herself to face Phil.
Even if she had an off-campus studio apartment, she still drove home every weekend for practice and sometimes during the week as well. Y/n spent more time with Phil and trainers than anyone else, which meant escaping his wrath was unavoidable.
Ice skating is not an easy sport, she had fallen on the ice several times, bruising her body. Even now as she was better, her body was still covered in bruises, some of which were because of Phil.
She hadn’t dared tell anyone. Of course Garett knew about Phil’s abuse, but as they got older and Phil stopped hitting Garett, he thought the same applied to y/n as well. But y/n wasn’t strong enough to fight her father, so she just stayed silent and decided not to drag Garett into it.
Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Thought you’d still be hiding in here.”
Garrett leaned against the frame in his dark Briar hockey hoodie, one shoulder carrying that effortless confidence people always noticed first. But Y/N knew him too well. Knew the tightness around his mouth meant he was watching her carefully.
“Hi” she mumbled tiredly.
He snorted. “Come on, stop hiding, let’s go. I’ll take you home.”
A tiny smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
Garrett pushed off the doorway and walked over, grabbing one of her skate bags before she could protest.
“You got third at nationals,” he said. “That’s insane.”
“I was supposed to land the quad.”
“You were also supposed to not look half dead afterward.”
“Had too much training the day before, was too tired.”
The sentence had too many things hidden inside. Too much training was a given, but it never exhausted y/n, it was Phil’s hits from yesterday that left her body aching and struggling to comply during the competition.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “You spend too much time around figure skaters.”
For a second, things felt normal.
Back before hockey practices and competitions and separate apartments and college schedules stretched the distance between them.
Garrett had always been the shield between her and their father.
Until he left for Briar.
Not intentionally. Life had simply happened. Hockey consumed him. Figure skating consumed her. Calls became texts. Texts became occasional check-ins. Even now that y/n got accepted to Briar and continued her studies there, the distance between those two remained. There was just not enough time in the day, and even if it were, Phil would force y/n to practice more.
And Phil—
Phil got worse when nobody was watching.
“You see Dad?” Garrett asked casually.
The question stiffened her spine instantly.
“Mm.” She shoved a sweatshirt over her bruised shoulders. “He left after scores.”
If Phil was here he would have approached y/n with fury a long time ago. Not encountering him, meant he left and was most likely waiting to unleash his disappointment later, in private.
Garrett frowned but didn’t look concerned. Why would he? Phil always iced them out after losses. Silent treatment was practically tradition in the Graham household.
“He’ll get over it,” Garrett said.
Y/N forced another smile.
Sure.
Eventually.
Outside the arena, freezing wind whipped against her face. Reporters still lingered near the entrance barriers while athletes hauled luggage through slush-covered sidewalks. Garrett tossed her bag into the backseat of his Jeep before climbing in beside her.
“You hungry?”
“Too tired to eat.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She leaned her head against the cold window. “Maybe.”
“Perfect. Then I’ll stop by Malone’s and get us something.”
Garett went to drop y/n off before heading to get take out. The drive back to her apartment was mostly quiet. Garrett filled the silence with random complaints about his coach and teammates while she listened with half-closed eyes. It felt strangely comforting. Familiar.
Safe.
When they pulled up outside her building, Y/N made a move for the door.
“You go rest,” Garrett ordered. “I’ll get takeout and be right back.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. That’s why it’s called being nice.”
She rolled her eyes weakly.
“There’s leftover pasta upstairs.”
“Tragic. I’m still getting burgers.”
Y/N laughed softly under her breath as she climbed out.
Inside the apartment, warmth replaced the icy bite of the night air. She dropped her skate bag beside the couch.
Silence flooded the apartment.
Y/N exhaled shakily.
Her body ached now that the adrenaline wore off completely. She moved slowly around the kitchen, setting out plates mostly to keep her hands busy. The apartment lights were dim, casting soft shadows across the counters.
Then—
The front door unlocked.
Her stomach dropped instantly.
Garrett never knocked, but he also never came back that fast.
Slowly, Y/N turned around.
Phil Graham stood in the doorway.
Still in his dark coat from the competition.
Still wearing that expression.
The one that made her feel eight years old again.
Disappointment.
Cold. Sharp. Controlled.
“You embarrassed me tonight.”
Y/N swallowed hard. “Dad—”
“A triple?”
His voice stayed dangerously calm as he stepped inside.
“A fucking triple.”
“I lost the landing edge—”
“You played safe.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Every instinct in her body screamed.
Y/N took a careful step backward. “I still placed.”
Phil laughed once under his breath.
“Third.”
The word sounded filthy coming from him.
“You think third matters? You think sponsors care about third? You think coaches remember third?”
Her pulse pounded violently now.
“Dad, please—”
“You got scared.”
“I was injured—”
His hand slammed against the counter beside her hard enough to make her flinch.
“Don’t make excuses.”
Y/N’s breathing shortened.
She knew this version of him.
The dangerous one wasn’t the yelling.
It was the quiet.
“I trained you better than that,” Phil said. “Do you understand how much money I’ve spent on your skating?”
She stared at the floor.
Wrong move.
His fingers caught her jaw instantly, forcing her head upward painfully.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Fear crawled cold beneath her skin.
“I said I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“That’s your problem. Sorry is all you ever are.”
Then he shoved her.
Hard.
Y/N stumbled backward into the edge of the kitchen island, pain exploding through her hip. Before she could recover, Phil grabbed her arm and yanked her upright again.
“You had one job tonight.”
“Dad—stop—”
His grip tightened.
“You’re weak.”
The words hit almost harder than the shove.
Weak.
Too emotional.
Too soft.
Too fragile.
All the things he’d called her since childhood.
Phil’s hand struck her across the face so fast her vision blurred sideways.
The ringing in her ears came first.
Then pain.
Y/N gasped, stumbling into the dining chair.
“Stand up.”
Her body froze instead.
Wrong choice again.
Phil moved toward her—
And the apartment door suddenly opened.
Garrett walked in holding a paper takeout bag and two drinks balanced in one hand.
For one single second, nobody moved.
Garrett looked from Y/N clutching the side of her face—
To Phil towering over her—
To the terror on her expression.
The takeout bag slipped from Garrett’s fingers.
Fries scattered across the floor.
And Garrett froze completely.
Like every buried memory had just ripped itself back open.
Like his body had stopped functioning before his brain could catch up.
The sound of the takeout bag hitting the floor echoed through the apartment, but it felt distant. Muffled. All Garrett could hear was blood rushing violently in his ears as he stared at Y/N.
Her hand pressed against her cheek.
Fear in her eyes.
Phil standing over her.
And suddenly he was back in his house again.
Standing in the kitchen while his father slammed him against cabinets after a bad hockey game.
He was a child, hearing Y/N crying quietly through the bathroom door while she insisted she’d “just fallen during practice.”
He was back in his childhood room, promising himself that once he left for Briar, things would finally stop.
Because Phil didn’t touch him anymore.
Because Garrett got bigger.
Stronger.
Because eventually he learned how to shove back.
But Y/N—
Oh God.
Garrett’s stomach twisted violently.
Phil turned first. His expression barely shifted, like getting caught meant nothing.
“Garrett.”
That calm voice snapped something inside him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Garrett’s voice came out low. Dangerous.
Y/N flinched at the tone automatically.
Garrett noticed immediately.
And that hurt almost worse.
Phil straightened slowly. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Garrett laughed once. Sharp and disbelieving.
“You hit her.”
“She needs discipline.”
Before the last word fully left his mouth, Garrett crossed the room.
Fast.
He shoved Phil backward hard enough that the older man stumbled into the counter.
“Don’t touch her,” Garrett snapped.
Phil’s face darkened instantly. “Watch your fucking tone.”
“No,” Garrett barked. “You watch yours.”
Y/N’s pulse thundered painfully as both men squared up in the middle of her kitchen.
For a terrifying second, they looked identical.
Same broad shoulders.
Same furious eyes.
Except Garrett looked horrified beneath the anger.
Phil recovered quickly, sneering. “She blew the competition.”
“She got third in nationals!”
“She failed.”
Garrett looked like he might actually swing at him.
Y/N pushed herself upright immediately despite the sharp ache in her ribs. “Garrett.”
He ignored her.
“All this time you’ve been acting like some proud fucking parent while you’re doing this?”
Phil scoffed. “You think you know anything about pressure? About what it takes to make champions?”
“No,” Garrett said coldly. “I know what it takes to make your kids terrified of you.”
Silence cracked through the room.
Phil’s jaw clenched.
Then his eyes slid toward Y/N.
Disgust.
Blame.
Like this was somehow her fault.
“You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” he muttered.
Garrett stepped directly between them.
“Get out.”
Phil laughed quietly. “Or what?”
Garrett took one step closer.
And suddenly it was obvious.
He wasn’t a scared teenager anymore.
Phil saw it too.
Something uncertain flickered across his face for the first time all night.
“Get,” Garrett said again, voice shaking with rage, “the fuck out.”
The silence stretched heavily.
Then Phil grabbed his coat.
“You’re both unbelievable,” he muttered before heading for the door.
The apartment slammed silent the second he left.
Garrett stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen.
Breathing hard.
Still staring at the door like he couldn’t fully process what had just happened.
Y/N slowly lowered herself into one of the dining chairs, pressing an ice pack from the freezer against her ribs with trembling fingers.
Neither of them spoke.
The room felt unbearably quiet now.
Garrett finally turned around.
And the second he really looked at her, the anger on his face cracked apart.
Her cheek was already bruising.
There were fingerprints forming on her wrist.
And she wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
“Y/N…”
His voice broke slightly.
She swallowed hard.
“I’m okay.”
Garrett actually looked offended by the words.
“No,” he said immediately. “No, don’t do that.”
She stared down at the ice pack.
He dragged both hands through his hair, pacing once through the kitchen before stopping again.
His breathing still sounded uneven.
“How long?” he asked finally.
Y/N’s grip tightened around the ice pack.
Garrett’s eyes searched her face desperately.
“How long has this been happening?”
Silence.
The kind that answered everything before words ever could.
Garrett’s expression slowly changed.
Confusion first.
Then realization.
Then horror.
“No,” he whispered.
Y/N blinked quickly, eyes burning.
“Y/N.”
She stayed quiet.
Garrett stepped closer. “Did he—” His voice failed entirely. He swallowed hard. “Did he keep doing this after I left?”
Still nothing.
And Garrett looked like he was falling apart standing there.
“Please answer me.”
Y/N’s chest tightened painfully.
Because she knew what the truth would do to him.
“I didn’t want you distracted,” she whispered weakly.
Garrett stared at her.
Like he physically couldn’t understand the sentence.
“What?”
“You finally got away from him in a way, not completely but enough to just not worry all the time you know,” she said quietly. “You had hockey and Briar and your team and—”
“So you let him hurt you instead?”
The words came out harsher than he meant them to.
Y/N flinched instantly.
Garrett closed his eyes like he hated himself for it.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, stepping back. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Don’t say that.”
His voice cracked completely this time.
Y/N finally looked at him.
And Garrett looked wrecked.
Actually wrecked.
“I should’ve known,” he whispered.
“You couldn’t have.”
“How?” he snapped suddenly. “How could I not know?”
His eyes darted over her face again like he was trying to replay every interaction from the past few years.
“The bruises…”
“I skate, Garrett.”
“Excuses.”
Garrett turned away sharply, pressing both hands against the back of his neck while breathing unevenly.
“Jesus Christ…”
His voice sounded sick.
“He stopped hitting me and I thought…” Garrett laughed bitterly to himself. “I thought maybe he was done.”
Y/N stayed quiet.
Because what could she even say to that?
Garrett suddenly looked back at her, eyes glassy with anger and guilt.
“All those times you said you were sore after training.”
She looked down.
“All those times you canceled plans.”
Silence.
Garrett’s jaw tightened violently.
“And I just believed you.”
Garrett just stared at her.
Part of him had wanted to believe everything was fine.
Because the alternative was this.
His little sister sitting in front of him bruised and shaking while holding an ice pack against broken trust and probably broken ribs.
Garrett crouched down in front of her suddenly.
Carefully.
Like he thought touching her wrong might break her further.
“Hey.”
Y/N finally met his eyes again.
And Garrett looked devastated.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology sounded torn out of him.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I left you with him.”
“You had to go to Briar.”
The tears Y/N had been holding back finally burned over.
Garrett noticed instantly.
“Oh, y/n,” he said softly before he could stop himself.
That did it.
Y/N broke.
Just silent tears sliding down her face as years of fear and exhaustion finally cracked open.
And Garrett…. Garrett looked like watching her cry was killing him.
Summary: The morning after Halloween, where Michael discovers the truth behind y/n’s bruises.
Word Count: 1016
Part one can be found here
Michael didn’t remember how he decided to stay.
One moment he had been sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the bruises on Y/N’s arms, his mind spinning with a hundred different possibilities. The next he was still there, hours later, the house silent and dark.
At some point the music downstairs had stopped.
Everyone else had gone to bed.
But Michael hadn’t moved.
He sat with his back against the headboard, one leg stretched out across the mattress, watching the slow rise and fall of Y/N’s breathing.
The bruises were still there.
Even in the dim light coming through the window he could see them—dark shadows against her skin. One along her cheekbone. Faint marks on her wrist where her sleeve had ridden up.
His jaw tightened.
Who did this to you?
The thought circled in his head over and over again.
Michael wasn’t good at sitting still with emotions. Usually he joked his way through them, or drank enough to make them blur at the edges.
But tonight there was nothing funny about this.
Eventually exhaustion dragged at him.
He shifted slightly on the mattress, careful not to wake her, and leaned back against the headboard. His eyes stayed on her for a long time.
Somewhere in the early hours of the morning, Michael finally fell asleep.
—
When Y/N woke up, the first thing she noticed was the pounding in her head.
The second thing she noticed was Michael, especially his hand resting on her in a half-hug. He was asleep beside her.
He was definitely on her bed, still fully dressed from the night before, his other arm resting loosely across the blanket.
For a long second Y/N just stared at him.
“What the hell…” she muttered under her breath.
Her mind scrambled through possible explanations, none of them making sense.
Had she dragged him in here?
Had he passed out?
Slowly, carefully, she slid out of the bed.
Michael didn’t move.
Relief washed through her.
She crossed the room quickly and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind her.
The mirror lights flicked on.
And suddenly the truth was staring back at her.
The bruises looked worse in the morning.
The one along her cheekbone had darkened overnight. The marks on her wrists were clearer now, the shape of fingers faintly visible beneath the skin.
Y/N inhaled slowly.
Okay.
She could fix this.
She reached for her makeup bag and started quickly, brushing concealer over the bruise on her cheek.
If she covered them before anyone else woke up—
“Y/N.”
Her hand froze.
Michael was leaning against the bathroom doorframe.
She hadn’t even heard the door open.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Y/N forced a casual expression and turned back toward the mirror.
“Morning,” she said lightly. “You sleep here often or was I just lucky?”
Michael didn’t smile.
He crossed his arms slowly.
“I know.”
The brush in her hand paused.
“Know what?” she asked.
Michael’s eyes flicked to the mirror.
To the makeup.
To the bruise she was trying to cover.
“I know about the bruises.”
The room went very still.
For a moment Y/N said nothing.
Then she set the brush down with deliberate calm.
“They’re part of the costume.”
Michael didn’t even blink.
“Try again.”
Silence stretched between them.
Y/N’s shoulders tensed slightly.
“Michael—”
“Tell me who hurt you,” Michael said quietly.
Y/N shook her head.
“Michael—”
“No.” His voice sharpened instantly. “Because if someone did this to you, I need to know.”
Y/N looked away.
“It’s nothing.”
Michael pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped into the bathroom.
“Nothing?” he repeated.
He gestured toward her arms.
“Y/N, those aren’t fake. I tried to wipe them off last night.”
Her breath caught slightly.
Michael noticed.
Of course he did.
He studied her face carefully, his eyes narrowing just a little.
“Come on,” he said more quietly now. “I can see the fear on your face.”
Y/N stayed silent.
Michael exhaled.
“Even a non-emotion reader could tell,” he added.
After a few seconds if silent tension Michael added, “Someone did this to you.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big—” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair.
“Y/N.”
She grabbed the makeup brush again, focusing on the mirror.
“It’s just… family stuff,” she said finally.
The words were quiet.
Michael’s expression shifted instantly.
“Family?”
Y/N shrugged like it didn’t matter.
“It’s complicated.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said quickly, “that I’m fine and I don’t want to talk about it.”
She turned toward the door.
Michael stepped in front of her before she could leave.
“Move,” she said softly.
He didn’t.
“Y/N—”
“I said it’s fine.”
Michael’s voice dropped lower.
“You’re lying.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Lia’s the lie detector,” she snapped. “Not you.”
“No,” Michael said. “But I read emotions.”
He looked directly at her.
“And right now you’re terrified.”
That hit harder than anything else he’d said.
For a moment her expression cracked.
Just a little.
Michael saw it.
Of course he did.
“Did someone in your family do this?” he asked quietly.
Y/N didn’t answer.
The silence told him enough.
Michael’s hands curled slightly at his sides.
“Y/N…”
She looked away again.
“I shouldn’t have come back,” she muttered.
The words surprised both of them.
Michael frowned.
“What?”
“I thought I could just pretend everything was normal,” she said softly. “Just for one night.”
Her eyes flicked toward him briefly.
“I didn’t think you’d notice.”
Michael let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Yeah,” he said. “Big mistake.”
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then Y/N stepped past him.
“I’m going downstairs,” she said quietly. “Before everyone else wakes up.”
Michael watched her reach for the door.
Then he spoke again.
“Y/N.”
She paused.
“If someone hurt you,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “you don’t have to deal with it alone.”
She didn’t turn around.
But she didn’t leave right away either.
For the first time since waking up, the fear in her shoulders eased just slightly.
Summary: Y/n’s Halloween costume is too realistic to be fake.
Word Count: 1039
The house felt different when it was just them.
No adults. No extra people. Just the Naturals and Lia’s overly enthusiastic Halloween decorations.
Fake cobwebs stretched across the corners of the living room. A plastic skeleton hung crookedly from the stair railing. Pumpkins with messy carved faces flickered on the coffee table, casting orange shadows across the walls.
Lia stood proudly in the middle of the room, hands on her hips as she admired her work.
“I would just like to say,” she announced dramatically, “this is the best Halloween party this house has ever seen.”
Dean looked around the room slowly.
“There are not even ten people here.”
“That’s not the point.”
On the couch, Cassie laughed softly while reaching for a bowl of candy.
“Honestly, it’s still impressive.”
Across the room, Michael leaned against the wall with a faint smirk, holding two red cups.
“Also,” he added casually, “our party just got a lot better.”
Lia squinted at him suspiciously.
“What did you do?”
Michael raised one of the cups slightly.
“Nothing illegal.”
Dean walked over, sniffed the drink, and snorted.
“You brought alcohol.”
“Allegedly.”
Lia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue further.
The music was low, the lights dim, and the group had already gone through two rounds of Halloween trivia and a painfully competitive pumpkin carving contest when the front door finally opened.
Cold October air drifted into the hallway.
Everyone turned.
Y/N stepped inside, pushing the door shut behind her.
She had returned from spending the week with her family. She returned in costume ready for Lia’s party.
Her outfit was simple but striking. Dark clothes, slightly torn fabric, boots, and makeup that made it look like she had just survived a fight. Smudges of dirt streaked across her cheekbones and jaw, and dark bruises colored parts of her face and neck.
Michael straightened a little without realizing it.
Cassie rushed forward immediately.
“You made it!” she said, grabbing Y/N in a quick hug.
“Barely,” Y/N laughed. “My ride was late.”
Dean gestured dramatically toward the living room.
“Welcome to the lamest but most exclusive Halloween party ever.”
Sloane smiled warmly. “We waited for you.”
Y/N relaxed a little as she stepped into the room, setting her bag aside.
For a moment everyone just looked at her costume. But then they went to hang out and play cards.
Y/n was at the kitchen getting snacks with Sloane. Sloane tilted her head thoughtfully.
“Those bruises are extremely realistic.”
Y/N blinked.
“What?”
Sloane stepped closer, studying the dark mark along Y/N’s cheekbone with open fascination.
“The color variation is very accurate,” Sloane continued. “And the placement suggests blunt force trauma rather than—”
She reached out, fingers lifting slightly like she meant to touch it.
Y/N quickly caught her wrist and gently pushed her hand away.
“Careful,” she said lightly. “You’ll ruin the makeup.”
Sloane paused.
“Oh.”
Y/N smiled casually.
“A friend back home did them. She’s really good at special effects makeup.”
Sloane nodded slowly, accepting the explanation.
“Interesting.”
In the living room, Lia had already turned away to adjust the music playlist, completely missing the conversation.
The night quickly slipped into chaos after that.
They played stupid Halloween games Lia had prepared: guessing horror movie scenes and arguing about which costume was the best.
Michael kept refilling drinks.
Dean kept losing games.
Cassie laughed more than usual.
And Y/N—
Y/N kept drinking.
Normally, Michael would have been the one pushing the limit. But tonight he noticed something strange.
She was already tipsy.
By the time Lia finally clapped her hands and turned the music up louder, Y/N was leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, smiling lazily at something Cassie had said.
“Dance time!” Lia declared.
Dean groaned.
“No.”
“Yes.”
The music blasted through the speakers, echoing through the house.
Michael pushed away from the wall.
He walked over to where Y/N stood and gave a small exaggerated bow.
“Miss Y/N,” he said casually, holding out his hand. “May I have this extremely chaotic dance?”
She blinked at him, clearly a little drunk.
Then she laughed.
“That was the worst invitation I’ve ever heard.”
“Still worked.”
She placed her hand in his.
They moved into the middle of the living room while the others laughed and cheered sarcastically.
Y/N spun once, nearly losing her balance before grabbing Michael’s arm.
“Whoa,” she muttered.
“Careful,” Michael said, steadying her.
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
She absolutely wasn’t.
A few minutes later she leaned heavily against him, her words starting to blur together.
Michael sighed quietly.
“Okay,” he said.
He turned toward the others.
“I think we’re calling it a night.”
Lia raised an eyebrow.
“Already?”
Michael nodded toward Y/N, who was clearly struggling to stay upright.
“Someone can’t handle their alcohol.”
“I can too,” Y/N mumbled.
Cassie smiled knowingly.
“Goodnight, you two.”
Michael slid an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and guided her toward the stairs.
She barely protested.
By the time they reached her room, she was half-asleep.
Michael pushed the door open and helped her sit on the bed before she collapsed back onto the pillows.
Within seconds she was asleep.
Michael stayed there for a moment, catching his breath.
Her makeup had smudged slightly during the night.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“If that gets all over your pillow you’re going to blame me,” he muttered.
So he grabbed a tissue from the nightstand.
Carefully, he brushed it across the bruise on her cheek.
Nothing happened.
Michael frowned.
He tried again, rubbing slightly harder.
Still nothing.
“…What?”
A strange feeling settled in his stomach.
Slowly, he leaned closer and touched the bruise with his fingers.
The skin was slightly swollen.
Warm.
Real.
Michael froze.
“No way.”
He pushed up the sleeve of her costume.
Dark marks circled her wrist.
His stomach dropped.
He checked the other arm.
More bruises.
His heart started pounding.
He pulled the blanket back slightly.
Even more bruises scattered across her leg.
All real.
Michael stared at them, his mind suddenly racing.
“What the hell…” he whispered under his breath.
Downstairs, faint music still echoed through the house.
But Michael barely heard it anymore.
He sat frozen beside her bed, staring at the bruises, completely lost.
Summary: JJ needs to survive another talk with y/n’s dad. This time a good impression is needed more than ever before because Y/n’s father requested a meeting with JJ before he drives y/n to a date an hour away.
Word Count: 738
Part 1 can be found here
@shayyaps
The weekend plan had sounded simple enough when Y/N first mentioned it — a small concert an hour away, nothing dramatic. But then she added, far too casually, “Oh, by the way, my dad wants to talk to you before we leave.”
JJ had laughed at first, thinking she was joking.
She wasn’t.
And that’s when the panic started simmering in his chest again, slow and miserable.
By the time Saturday rolled around, he had worked himself into a full internal disaster. He stood in Y/N’s driveway leaning against his bike, trying to breathe like a normal person. It wasn’t working.
Inside the house, Y/N watched from the window, shaking her head. “He’s rehearsing again,” she muttered before going to open the door.
JJ straightened the second he saw her, shoulders snapping upright like someone had yanked a string. “Okay, quick run-through,” he said, words already too fast. “I say ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ not ‘Hey.’ ‘Hey’ sounds disrespectful. Too casual. Casual equals dead.”
She stared at him, unimpressed. “You sound like you’re about to introduce yourself to the Queen.”
He ran a hand through his hair for the tenth time. “Your dad is scarier than the Queen.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Maybe not to you,” he hissed.
Before she could reply, her dad’s voice carried from the living room. “Y/N? He’s here?”
JJ flinched like a gun had gone off.
“Yeah!” Y/N called back. Then she nudged JJ forward. “Come on. Stop acting like he’s waiting with a chainsaw.”
“Dramatic,” he muttered, following her reluctantly inside. “He’d use something quieter.”
She gave him a look but didn’t bother arguing.
Her dad was sitting in his usual armchair — not looming, not glaring, just… watching. Too calmly. JJ hated the calm. It felt like the pause before a storm.
Y/N sat on the couch. JJ hovered beside her like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch furniture in this house.
“JJ,” her dad said, acknowledging him with a nod.
“Goodafternoonsir,” JJ blurted.
Y/N shoved her fist against her mouth to stop a laugh. JJ pretended not to notice.
Her dad raised one eyebrow, but his expression didn’t shift into anything hostile. “So… you’re driving today.”
“Yes, sir,” JJ said, way too stiff. “I checked the tires last night. And the brakes. And the lights. And—” He cut himself off before he admitted he’d also cleaned every smudge off the mirrors.
Y/N’s dad nodded slowly. “Good. I appreciate that.”
JJ blinked. That didn’t sound like the beginning of an interrogation.
The older man leaned back. “I’m not going to give you a long speech. I just want to know she’s safe. That’s all I care about.”
JJ swallowed, and for once, his nerves didn’t twist into something useless. Instead, there was something steadier behind them — the part of him that actually gave a damn.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said quietly. “I’d never let anything happen to her.”
Y/N’s dad held his gaze for a beat too long, as if weighing the sentence. JJ forced himself not to look away.
Finally, the man nodded once. “Good enough for me.”
JJ felt the tension loosen in his chest, enough that he actually breathed again.
Y/N stood, grabbing her bag. “We better head out if we want good seats.”
Her dad rose too, giving JJ one last sizing look — not threatening, just a silent warning carried in a father’s eyes.
“You bring her back on time.”
“Absolutely,” JJ answered, voice cracking just a little.
Y/N dragged him toward the door before he could embarrass himself further. As soon as they stepped outside, JJ exhaled so hard it was almost a collapse.
“Well?” she asked, amused.
He ran a hand over his face. “I think I blacked out for half of that.”
“You did fine.”
“Did I?” he said, wide-eyed. “Because I’m pretty sure I sounded like a malfunctioning robot.”
She laughed, linking her arm through his as they walked toward the bike. “Relax. He actually likes you.”
JJ scoffed. “No he doesn’t. He tolerated me. Big difference.”
She smiled. “Either way, you survived.”
He put on his helmet, shaking his head. “Barely.”
But even as he said it, there was a small, genuine smile tugging at his mouth — the kind that only showed up when he realized something new:
He hadn’t just survived.
He’d actually earned her dad’s trust.
And, somehow, that mattered more than he expected.
Summary: JJ and y/n were hanging out in y/n’a room when y/n’s dad came home. Unprepared JJ has to meet her dad and leave a good impression.
Word Count: 598
JJ had been to Y/N’s house before — always when her mom was home, never when her dad was. That was the unspoken rule. Her mom was strict but fair, the kind of person who wanted to know who her daughter was with. Her dad, though? He was a different story.
So when the front door opened unexpectedly that afternoon, JJ froze mid-laugh. They’d been sitting on her bed, half-watching a movie, half-talking about everything and nothing. And then the unmistakable sound of a man’s voice floated down the hallway.
“Y/N? You home?”
JJ’s heart stopped.
He looked at her like he’d just been told the cops were downstairs. “Was that—”
“My dad,” she whispered, already getting up.
“Oh my God.” He stood too, instantly panicking. “Okay, okay, I’ll just— I’ll go out the window.”
She blinked at him. “JJ, no. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine! I’m literally in your room. That’s, like— every dad’s worst nightmare. You think he’s gonna shake my hand? He’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna bury me.”
“Stop being dramatic,” she said, trying not to laugh at the absolute terror on his face.
“I’m not being dramatic.”
But she was already out of the room, walking toward the living room to greet her dad. JJ stood frozen by her bed, mind racing. He tried to straighten his shirt, fix his hair, make himself look less like a guy who had been casually leaning against his girlfriend’s headboard. None of it helped.
From the hallway, he could hear Y/n’s dad’s voice again — calm, casual. “Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?”
“Good,” she said, giving him a hug. “I, um… have someone over.”
“Someone?” he repeated, suspiciously calm.
“Yeah. My boyfriend. JJ. The guy I told you about.”
That was it.
JJ stood frozen, every muscle in his body tense, as he heard footsteps approaching. He thought about running — window still looked like an option — but then she appeared again in the doorway, giving him the “don’t even think about it” look.
So he followed her out into the hallway, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to remember how to walk like a normal human being. Her dad was standing there, tall, expression unreadable.
“Uh… hi, sir,” JJ managed, voice an octave higher than usual. “I’m JJ.”
Her dad looked at him for a moment — long enough for JJ to consider confessing to something he never did— then finally said, “Nice to meet you, JJ.”
JJ nodded too fast. “Nice to meet you too. I was, uh, just about to leave actually, didn’t wanna— you know— overstay or anything—”
Her dad raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to rush off. I’m just grabbing a shower before dinner.”
“Oh,” JJ said, caught between relief and confusion. “Right. Cool. Great.”
When her dad disappeared down the hall, JJ let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He turned to Y/N, wide-eyed. “You set me up.”
She grinned. “I introduced you.”
“That was warfare.”
“Oh, please. He liked you.”
JJ looked at her like she’d just said gravity was optional. “He said three words.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t say ‘get out,’ did he?”
That made him laugh, finally, the tension cracking a little. “You’re evil,” he said.
“Maybe,” she teased, looping her arm through his. “But now my dad knows you exist. So, congrats. You survived.”
JJ smiled, still a little pale, but the relief was starting to settle in. He’d done it — met the dad, unplanned, unprepared, unwindow-escaped. And somehow, he wasn’t dead.
Summary: Clay catches Justin and his sister together.
Word count: 578
It was a normal afternoon at the Jensen house, which meant quiet—until it wasn’t.
In the backhouse, Justin and Y/N were supposed to be studying. For about ten minutes, they actually were. But math had turned into laughter, laughter had turned into teasing, and teasing had turned into the kind of kissing that made time disappear.
They were so caught up they didn’t notice Clay walking up the path outside. He’d forgotten his notebook and figured he’d grab it before heading back out. As he rounded the corner, he glanced toward the window—then stopped dead.
Inside, someone was definitely making out. Again.
Clay groaned under his breath. “Seriously, Justin? Again?”
He couldn’t see who the girl was—just Justin, clearly on top of someone, shirt a little wrinkled, hair completely ruined. Clay rolled his eyes, muttering, “Unbelievable.” Then he knocked loudly on the door.
“Comin’ in,” he called, voice full of warning. “Hopefully you ain’t making out with someone this time.”
Inside, Justin shot up so fast he nearly fell off the bed. “Oh, crap.”
“Act normal,” she whispered, grabbing the nearest open notebook.
Clay pushed open the door, eyebrows already raised. Justin was sitting at the desk, pencil in hand like he’d been mid-equation his entire life. Y/N sat next to him, expression innocent enough to win an Oscar.
“No making out,” Justin said quickly, voice way too chipper. “Just studying. With Y/N.”
Clay started to reply, but then his eyes caught up with his brain. He blinked once. Twice. Then it hit him.
The only girl in the room… was his sister.
His whole face changed—confusion melting into dawning horror. “Wait.” He pointed between them. “You were… you were making out with—no. No, no, no. My sister? Come on, bro!”
Justin’s mouth opened and closed, completely useless. “I—I didn’t know you were coming back!”
“That’s your excuse?” Clay demanded. “You didn’t know I’d see you swapping spit with my sister?”
Y/N groaned. “Clay, stop being dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic, I’m traumatized!”
Justin stood up fast, hands raised like he was facing a cop. “Clay, man, I’m sorry. I swear it’s not—well, okay, it is what it looked like, but it’s not some—”
“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence,” Clay warned, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t need details.”
Y/N tried not to laugh, which only made Clay look even more pained. “This is unreal,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “My best friend. My sister.”
“I really like her,” Justin blurted, desperate. “I wasn’t trying to sneak around. It just—happened.”
Clay glared at him, but there wasn’t much real anger left—just exasperation. “You two couldn’t have just said something? Saved me from walking in on that horror show?”
Justin winced. “Yeah. Not my proudest moment.”
“Understatement of the year.” Clay sighed, finally dropping onto the arm of the couch. “Whatever. You’re both adults, I guess. Just… not in front of me. Ever. Again.”
Justin nodded instantly. “Absolutely. Never again. Total agreement.”
“Good.” Clay pointed toward the table. “Now actually do some math, so the next time I see you together I don’t have to bleach my eyes.”
Y/N snorted; Justin gave a nervous laugh that sounded more like relief.
As Clay left, still muttering “my sister” under his breath, Justin exhaled and slumped back in the chair. “That could’ve been worse,” he said quietly.
Summary: Y/N hadn’t heard from Justin all day. When she goes to check on him, she finds a truth he’s been hiding.
Word Count: 1170
Y/N hadn’t heard from Justin all day.
Not a text. Not a call. Not even a lazy emoji to let her know he was alive.
She tried not to spiral—maybe he was just with Bryce or had football practice or forgot his charger. But they had made plans, and Justin never bailed without at least a dumb excuse.
But this time? Nothing.
Worried and frustrated, she asked around at school. Bryce hadn’t seen him since the day before. Zach didn’t know where he’d been either. Eventually, Zach hesitantly handed over Justin’s address, clearly unsure if he should. Y/N thanked him and headed there on instinct.
She didn’t expect the neighborhood. It wasn’t the kind of place she imagined Justin Foley living in. The sidewalks were cracked and paint peeled from the houses. This didn’t look like Justin.
Still, she walked up to the door, nerves buzzing.
She knocked.
From inside, she heard shuffling. Then Justin’s voice—hoarse and defensive—snapped, “Go away, not interested.”
She blinked, confused. Not interested? She knocked again, louder this time.
“Justin, it’s me!” she called.
A pause. Then the sound of locks clinking and the door creaked open.
Justin stood there, hair muffled, dark circles under his eyes, wearing a hoodie that looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. Behind him, the house was dim, cluttered, and smelled faintly of smoke.
“Y/N?” he muttered, voice caught between relief and panic. “What are you doing here?”
“I—I was worried. You didn’t answer your phone all day. I thought something happened.”
His eyes darted over her shoulder, scanning the street like someone might be watching. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quickly. “This isn’t—this isn’t a good place.”
She looked at him, really looked. “Can I come in?”
He hesitated. Everything in him screamed no, but her eyes were soft and worried and kind and… he couldn’t say no to that.
Reluctantly, he stepped aside. “Just for a second.”
She walked in slowly, eyes adjusting to the dark. The place was small—barely furnished, mess scattered around. Empty beer cans. Cigarette butts. Ash stains. A grimy kitchen off to the side. It was so far from what she imagined his life to be.
“Justin…” she whispered, turning back to him, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… stuff at home.”
“You could’ve just told me you weren’t feeling up for the date. I wouldn’t have cared. I was just scared.”
Before he could answer, a voice shouted from down the hall.
“Is that your little girlfriend?” a woman slurred. “You bringin’ girls here now, Justin?”
Y/N turned as a woman stumbled into view—slender, in stained clothes, mascara smudged under her eyes, a beer bottle in one hand and something suspicious-looking clutched in the other.
Justin froze.
The color drained from his face.
“Mom, go back to bed,” he muttered sharply.
She rolled her eyes. “Ain’t got no weed, if that’s what she’s after. Seth sells the strong stuff and he isn’t here right now so she should come later.”
Y/N’s breath caught. She looked from the woman to Justin. Something in her expression cracked.
“Please,” Justin said suddenly, voice barely a whisper. “Come outside with me. Please, let’s just talk outside.”
She didn’t argue.
He didn’t even grab his jacket—he just opened the door, gently placed his hand on her back, and led her out into the cool afternoon air like it might erase what she’d just seen.
They walked in silence down the cracked path until they reached the sidewalk. Justin shoved his hands deep into the front pocket of his hoodie, his shoulders tense, eyes on the pavement.
Y/N didn’t push him to talk.
She just waited.
After a minute, he muttered, “I didn’t want you to see that.”
“Justin...”
He glanced at her, quick and unsure. “I thought if I just… kept everything looking good from the outside, maybe you’d never have to know.”
Justin leaned against the streetlight pole, exhaling slowly. “That’s not even the worst of it. That guy—Seth—he’s my mom’s boyfriend. He’s a drug dealer. He’s… not great. He hits and stuff” He looked away, jaw clenched. “My mom doesn’t give a shit. As long as she gets what she wants, she’s fine letting him do whatever.”
Y/N stayed quiet, letting him talk. The words were falling out now, like a dam breaking after too long.
“I used to stay at Bryce’s a lot because it was better than there. Cleaner. Safer. But it’s not like I really belong in his world either. I messed up. I missed our date, I ignored you all day, and now you’ve seen all this shit—”
“Justin,” she interrupted gently, stepping closer. “Stop.”
He blinked at her.
“This doesn’t change anything.”
His lips parted, eyes wide with disbelief. “It doesn’t?”
She shook her head. “Your home life sucks. That’s not your fault. You’re still… you. The guy I like. The guy who holds my hand when I’m nervous, who walks me to class even if it makes us late, who always texts me goodnight even when he’s half-asleep. You’re still him.”
Justin couldn’t speak. His throat tightened, and something unfamiliar stung behind his eyes.
“I was just worried,” Y/N added. “I thought something had happened to you. I didn’t and don’t care where you live — I just needed to know you were okay.”
He looked down, his voice almost breaking. “I’m sorry about the date. I wanted to go. I just… I fell asleep. After a fight with Seth, I was so tired, I didn’t even check my phone.”
She nodded slowly, then reached into her hoodie pocket and jingled her car keys. “Come on.”
“What?”
“We’re going to get food,” she said simply. “You’ve got that ‘I skipped two meals’ look on your face.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re not,” she cut in with a small smirk. “And I’m starving, so come on.”
He followed, still in a quiet daze.
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in her car at a fast-food parking lot, windows slightly rolled down, fries between them and greasy paper bags rustling.
Y/N passed him a burger and an iced drink. “Eat.”
Justin took it slowly, almost unsure it was real.
“Thanks,” he said eventually. “For… all of this.”
She smiled. “It’s what girlfriends do, Foley.”
He chuckled lightly, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to ease. “You’re… way more chill about this than I thought you’d be.”
He scratched the back of his neck, eyes low.
“You can come to me whenever, you know. If it gets bad. If you need to crash or eat or just… not be there.”
Something flickered in Justin’s chest—some fragile, foreign mix of safety and warmth.
He reached for her hand, their fingers locking over the cup holder. “You’re kind of amazing.”
He smiled, leaning his head back against the seat, food finally in his stomach, her hand in his, and—for once—a tiny moment of peace in the chaos of his life.
Summary: JJ and Y/n have an argument, where JJ finds out about Y/n’s fears.
Word Count: 828
The sun had long dipped below the horizon. JJ paced near the fire pit, tossing a stick into the dying flames, jaw clenched, voice tight.
“I don’t get what the big deal is,” he muttered, still not looking at her.
Y/N stood across from him, arms crossed, her own expression strained. “You don’t get it? JJ, they were armed. You were throwing crap at Topper’s boat like you’re invincible.”
JJ scoffed, kicking a shell out of his path. “They started it. They’re Kooks. They deserve worse.”
“That’s not the point!” she snapped, stepping toward him. “You could’ve gotten arrested, JJ. You should’ve gotten arrested! You can’t keep doing stupid crap like this and expecting to walk away.”
He turned to her finally, eyes flashing. “So now I’m just stupid, huh? That what you think?”
Y/N flinched. “No, that’s not—God, why do you always twist my words?!”
“I don’t need a lecture from you,” JJ said, his voice rising. “I thought you got me. But here you are sounding like Pope or John B or—hell—like a damn probation officer.”
Y/N’s voice cracked from the sheer desperation behind it. “I sound like someone who gives a shit whether you end up in jail! I sound like someone who cares, JJ!”
“Well maybe stop caring if it makes you hate me this much.”
“I don’t hate you!” she yelled, stepping forward again. “I love you! And that’s why I can’t just sit and watch you spiral!”
But JJ didn’t register the confession. Not really. He was already spiraling himself.
“Bullshit,” he said, bitter now. “You don’t trust me. You don’t believe in me. You think I’m some reckless loser with no future and you’re scared to admit it.”
“That’s not true—”
They were talking over each other now—both yelling, both pleading to be heard, but neither listening.
“I’m not your damn charity project—”
“I’m trying to help—”
“Maybe you just want someone to fix.”
“Would you shut up and listen?!”
“You don’t get it, Y/N!”
“JJ—”
“Shut up!” he finally shouted, loud and sharp, pointing toward her with his whole body shaking, voice breaking. “Shut up and just listen for once!”
The air stilled.
And for a second, she did. Y/N stood frozen. Then something behind her eyes shifted—something hollow and old—and her voice dropped, sharp and wounded.
“Why don’t you just hit me and relax, huh?”
JJ’s whole body stopped moving. His breath hitched. “What?”
She didn’t say anything. The words she said didn’t even much. Not really. It wasn’t“please hit me” ask. It was the trauma speaking in the way where sarcasm hides how much pain she’s carried as a whole.
But it still landed like a slap.
JJ stepped back like she’d just thrown a punch. His face fell—completely. “You think I’d ever—” His voice cracked. “You think I’d ever touch you like that?”
Y/N turned away, wiping at her face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I was trying to make a point. You don’t listen. You yell. And I get scared.”
JJ’s chest heaved, guilt crashing into him like a wave. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell like that. I just—when I feel cornered I lash out, and it’s not your fault. That’s on me.”
She looked at him again, softer now, more fragile than before, “In my family, we yell and talk over each other, and if someone’s not listening? You hit. It gets quiet after that.”
JJ swallowed thickly. “My dad… you know. And I swore I’d never be like him. But sometimes when I yell like that, I hear him in my voice. And that terrifies me.”
Y/N stepped closer, hesitating, then slowly sat down on the sand beside the fire pit. JJ sat beside her, leaving just enough space between them that it didn’t feel too crowded.
They were quiet for a few long seconds. Only the wind and fire moved.
“I didn’t mean what I said either,” Y/N whispered. “I just—I’ve been on edge. At home, I never really learned how to argue safely. If someone raised their voice, something worse came next. And I’m always afraid that’ll happen again. Even when I know it won’t. Even with you.”
JJ reached over slowly, not to touch her, just to rest his hand near hers in the sand. “I’m scared of being the one who hurts someone.”
Their fingers didn’t quite touch. But the space between them softened.
Y/N whispered, “I don’t want us to argue like this… ”
After few seconds JJ asked, “How do we fix this?”
Y/N looked at him. “We talk. Like this. Even when it’s hard.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
She reached out finally, her fingers grazing his hand. “You don’t have to fix everything, JJ. Just stay. Be here. Be the version of you I know—the one who cares way more than he lets on.”
He laced their fingers together gently. “I’ll stay.”
Summary: JJ and Y/n are helping with a clean up, but get distracted.
Word Count: 859
The salty breeze drifted through the open door of Heyward’s Seafood, carrying the sound of seagulls and distant waves. Inside, however, things were less peaceful.
JJ and Y/N stood in the middle of chaos: half-opened boxes, dusty shelves, and Pope organizing with the intensity of someone who’d been left in charge and didn’t want anything going wrong on his watch.
Y/N wiped her forehead, her gloved hands smeared with dust. “How the hell does one seafood store gather this much crap?”
“Family-owned business,” Pope muttered, pulling a mildewed box down from a top shelf. “No one ever throws anything away. Ever.”
JJ reached into a crate and pulled something out. “Whoa—guys. Look.”
He tossed an old volleyball into the air. It was faded and dented, probably hadn’t seen daylight in years.
“You wanna?” he asked, eyebrow raised at Y/N, a mischievous grin already curling on his face.
Y/N peeled off one glove and caught the ball mid-air. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Pope groaned. “You two are literal children.”
JJ grabbed another ball, tossing it aside as Y/N challenged, “First to ten?”
“Oh, you are on.”
They cleared a space between the storage crates and empty boxes, marking an imaginary net line. What started as harmless game soon became chaos. Both of them ran around the cramped storage room with little to no coordination. JJ jumped to catch the ball, but fell onto a pile of towels, and declared himself victorious anyway.
“No way, your fell onto thr ground,” Y/N said, breathless from laughing.
“Did not,” JJ said between grins. “I landed like a ninja.”
“You landed like a shrimp.”
“Still hot though.”
Y/N snorted.
Before she could counter, JJ ducked into another corner, emerging this time with a slightly deflated basketball. “Okay. This is more my speed.”
“Oh really?”
He dribbled once. “Bet you can’t take this from me.”
“Challenge accepted.”
She lunged toward him and chased him around the shelves, both of them howling with laughter and bumping into boxes. Every time their hands brushed reaching for the ball, the air between them sparked. Close. Closer. Too close.
Y/N tried to snatch the ball from him, and in the moment she landed, her hand hit his, and they both froze just a beat longer than necessary.
JJ’s gaze flicked from her hand still on his wrist to her face.
Her breath hitched.
Then he smirked, playfully tossed the ball over her head, and shouted, “Distraction points for me!”
She chased after him, shoving him with a laugh.
By the time Pope came back from the back room, he groaned again. “Guys, this is not a playground. I leave for five minutes and you create basketball court chaos?”
JJ held up his hands in surrender, though they were covered in black dust and grease from an old wheel he’d helped Pope move earlier. “Yeah, yeah. Time-out.”
Y/N peeled her gloves off, revealing clean hands, then flopped down on a dusty sofa, catching her breath.
JJ came over, patting down his pockets. “Crap. Can you grab my phone? My hands are gross.”
“Where?”
“Front right pocket.”
Y/N hesitated a second too long. JJ didn’t notice—or maybe he did and just pretended not to—because he kept talking. “Just see if I got that text about the shift tonight. I think I was supposed to cover but…”
She sighed, then stepped closer and slid her hand into his front pocket. It was awkward. JJ stiffened, just a little, eyes locked on her as she pulled the phone out.
“You okay?” she teased, sensing his silence.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Super chill. Just. Y’know...”
She smirked and held up the phone, unlocking it with a thumb swipe. “Looks like you got the schedule.”
He leaned over her shoulder to look—way too close. “Do I work?”
“Nope.” Her voice was quieter now, more breath than sound.
He was still looking at the screen, but his gaze flicked sideways. At her. She could feel the warmth of his breath near her jaw. Her pulse jumped.
He looked up, clearing his throat. “Cool. Then I guess I’ve got plans.”
“Oh yeah?” She dared to look at him straight-on.
JJ ran a hand through his sandy hair, suddenly sheepish. “I mean. I could have plans. If someone wanted to make them with me.”
Y/N blinked, her voice caught in her throat. “Like… what kind of plans?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug, trying to play it cool. “I don’t know. Maybe ice cream. That walk on the beach you keep pretending you’re too busy for.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out?”
He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
A pause.
Then: “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She put his phone back. “I’ll go wash up. You better have a flavor picked by the time I’m done.”
He watched her walk off, the corners of his mouth tugging upward into that rare, genuine JJ smile—the kind that only showed up when he was happy, really happy.
And in that moment, surrounded by dust, forgotten boxes, and crooked basketballs, JJ felt like he had just won something way more important than a game.
Summary: Y/n opens up to Jake about something that happened at school.
TW: mentions of rápe list
Word Count: 514
It was late. Jake had just finished a leftover burrito, half-watching Die Hard for the millionth time, when Y/N came out of her room, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.
“Can I tell you something without you, like, freaking out?”
Jake straightened. “Now I am freaking out.”
She hesitated. “A kid at school made a joke today. About… putting me on his rape list.”
Jake blinked. “His what list?”
She said it again, quieter.
Jake’s whole face froze. His smile dropped, like someone had pulled the floor out from under him.
“Okay, um—what the hell?! Are you okay? Where was the teacher? Did you tell anyone? What’s this kid’s name?”
Y/N shook her head. “The teacher wasn’t there. I didn’t report it. And I’m not going to.”
Jake stared at her. “You’re… not? Why not?”
She shrugged, but her voice was tighter now. “He’s a friend of a friend. Kinda weird. But he apologized. I think he thought it was funny. It wasn’t. But—I don’t know. I don’t want to make it a thing.”
Jake looked at her like she’d just said gravity stopped working. “Y/N, someone made a joke about raping you. That’s not a ‘thing,’ that’s a giant red flag waving in the middle of the damn school.”
“I don’t want to ruin everything,” she said. “We’re in the same classes. He’s… a weird kid. But I don’t think he’s dangerous.”
Jake leaned forward. “That doesn’t matter. You don’t joke about that. You don’t make people feel unsafe, period. Especially not my little sister.”
She pulled her sleeves further down. “It doesn’t matter, Jake. Stuff like this happens. You’re supposed to go through this as a girl. Every woman I know has, like, a hundred stories like this.”
Jake’s voice cracked. “That’s exactly what Amy said once. That it happens to every woman she knows.”
Y/N didn’t answer. She just looked away.
Jake’s hands were shaking in his lap. “What kind of garbage world lets that be normal? That’s… so messed up.”
“I don’t want to stress you out,” she said quietly.
Jake leaned back, pressing his hands to his face. He breathed in hard.
“Okay. Look. I’m not gonna push. I’m not gonna make you do anything. But if you ever change your mind — about reporting, or about telling someone, anything — I’ve got your back, okay?”
“I know.”
“No. Like really. I don’t care if I have to show up in full NYPD uniform and give a high school assembly on why rape jokes are literal crimes — I’ll do it.”
She laughed, tiredly. “Please don’t.”
He smiled a little. “Okay. But if I find out that idiot even looks at you wrong again—”
“You won’t.”
“…Good.”
There was a silence.
Then Jake added, “I just hate that this is your normal…. The normal for women.”
She sighed softly.
Jake looked over at her. And without another word, he scooted closer and pulled her into a hug.
Just Jake, holding his little sister like the world had crossed a line and he wasn’t going to let it happen again.
Summary: While Y/N drives Michael’s car, a small mistake shows she’s scared of being yelled at — because her dad used to yell a lot during driving lessons.
Word Count: 519
The keys felt heavier than usual in Y/N’s hand. Maybe it was the quiet weight of responsibility, or maybe it was just the surreal feeling of being behind the wheel of Michael Townsend’s car.
“Okay,” she muttered, adjusting the seat for the third time. “Tell me if I kill us.”
Michael, lounging in the passenger seat like he didn’t have a care in the world, lifted an eyebrow.
“You’ll do great. Unless you do kill us, in which case, I’ll haunt your ass forever.”
Y/N smirked and started the engine.
For the first ten minutes, everything went well. She made her turns slowly, checked her mirrors like a rulebook student. But then—
“Stop sign,” Michael said, nodding toward the intersection.
She braked — just a little too late. The car rolled forward, stopping a couple feet past the line. Not dangerous, but definitely not great.
“Mm,” Michael said. “Little far, champ. We’re now officially the people I silently judge.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “I said I’m new at this.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. I’m coaching.” He pointed out the next turn. “Also, you’re hugging the right side a bit too much. I love this car and would prefer it not be scraped by a Honda Civic.”
“I won’t,” she said quickly, trying to correct. Her voice was calm, but Michael caught it — that flash of surprise behind her eyes. Then, just underneath it, anticipation. Tension. Like she was bracing for something.
“Wait,” he said slowly, glancing at her. “You thought I was gonna yell at you.”
Y/N blinked. “No, I—”
“Yes. You did. Surprise, followed by bracing. You’re literally doing that shallow inhale thing you do when you think you’re about to get chewed out.”
She stayed silent for a second too long, then shrugged, eyes on the road.
“It’s not a big deal. My dad… he helped me practice driving when I was home for break. It was kind of a disaster.”
Michael said nothing, just waited.
Y/N sighed. “He gets angry really fast. Like, yelling over the mirror being tilted wrong, or if I touched the brake too hard. There was this one time I forgot the signal for a right turn and he just—” She gave a small, breathy laugh. “He slammed the dashboard so hard I thought the airbag would pop out.”
She didn’t say it like a big confession. Just a passing story. Like it was normal.
Michael’s hands curled into his sleeves.
“You talk about it like it’s funny.”
“It is funny. Kind of.” Another shrug. “Just… makes sense now why I’m all twitchy when someone tells me I messed up.”
Michael studied her profile — calm, focused, like she hadn’t just revealed a part of her past that made his stomach twist.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you shouldn’t have to brace for people’s reactions. Least of all mine.”
She glanced over. “I know. I just—habit.”
“Well,” he said, with that almost-smile that was never just a smile, “we’ll break that habit. One uneventful, non-traumatizing car ride at a time.”
Y/N smiled. For once, finally relaxing her nerves when driving.
origamiaround
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
2087
snowghoul
stormborns