It's MAY time to say goodbye

The girl he grew up with. Of course, he knew you. 

He couldn’t even remember the number of times you two would go off and explore an arena wherever the Rangers were playing. Even when someone would catch the pair of you somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, no one could ever say anything against the pout that you would pull out when you were kids. It helped that you were the Rangers’ head coach’s granddaughter. 

Your families have been connected since before both of you were born. His father met yours when he first made the team at 18. Your father was 20 and determined to prove that he deserved to be on the team, not just because his father was the coach. Both felt like they had something to prove and became a fierce pair on the ice. 

Your mothers bonded quickly when they were first introduced. It wasn’t easy with husbands who were always in the limelight. 

They marveled when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Garrett was born exactly one month before you. Which was something you never heard the end of during your childhood. He would always claim that it was his job to make sure you were safe.

They would always gush when you two were together as children. Garrett was always trailing behind or beside you like a protector, and he was always the first one to help you up when you stumbled over your feet. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you better than he knew himself. 

Garrett remembered all the family vacations that you guys shared. The way that his father would put on an act and pretend that they were this picture-perfect family, but you didn’t buy it. 

You’ve hated Phil Graham from the moment you overheard an argument between Garrett’s parents when you were 8 years old. You were staying over for a couple of days as your parents were away traveling. Garrett had begged you to ask your parents if you could just stay with his family instead of staying with your grandparents. 

It didn’t take much convincing for your parents to let you stay with the Graham family. Granted, they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors.  

A memory flashed in Garrett’s mind of the first Halloween without his mom and the first time his father laid hands on him.

“Gare, you don’t have to be brave with me.” You were inspecting his bloodied knuckles. The first aid kit sat next to you on the bed. “This is going to burn a bit.”

“Petal, just do it already.” he tried to squirm away, but you kept a firm grip of his hand in your lap.

Garrett redirected his focus from the pain to you. He watched as you took care of his hand, making sure it was clean before putting ointment over the split knuckles and wrapping it with such care. He looked at you like you were the only thing that brought light to his life. 

“Okay, all done,” you muttered quietly while you started putting all the stuff from the kit away. You walked over to his closet to put it back in the corner where you first stashed it when you saw bruises on his mother’s wrists years ago.  

“I hate him.” 

“I know you do.”

“He’s a monster. He’s cruel. He never treated my mom right, even before she got sick. He’s always been so mean,” Garrett sniffled. He looked down at his wrapped hand and clenched his other fist tightly. “I never want to be like him.”

His words caught your attention, and you sat back over to him. You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your heart. “You, Garrett, are nothing like your father. You are nothing but kind and caring. You always look out for me even when you don’t need to. You are so special, and I never want you to think otherwise.” You told him with fierce invigoration.

Even at 12 years old, Garrett knew then that he would never love someone as much as he loved you at that moment. 

“G? You all good there?” Logan snapped his fingers in front of Garrett’s face, hoping to pull him out of his daze.

Garrett shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts that scrambled through his mind about you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” His eyes flickered over to Logan, but he still seemed distracted. 

“I was telling you about that girl. I heard from a couple of the guys that it hasn’t even been confirmed that she’s transferred officially.” Logan explained to him.

Garrett let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. That news made him feel better that it was just rumors. His chest felt tight at the thought that you wouldn’t share such big information with him. Especially considering he last talked to you a week ago, and you didn’t mention anything about the possibility of transferring to Briar U.

“Hey, G? Do you know her? With your dad being a former Ranger,” Tucker speculated, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Maybe a connection?”

Dean joined the rest of the group. “If you do, can you put in a good word for me?” 

“Not a chance,” Garrett snorted. “I’m leaving this conversation.” He started to walk away from the boys and headed for the stairs. 

“G? You didn’t answer the question!” Garrett heard Tucker yell out from the kitchen. Ignoring him, Garrett made quick work of taking out his phone and pulling up your contact.

His thumb hovered above the call button until he got to his room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, bub! What’s up?” you answered. Just from hearing your voice, Garrett’s body relaxed. He felt the tension that he held in his shoulders melting away while listening to you. “I actually have some news for you!” 

Garrett shook his head. He flopped back against his bed, softly laughing to himself, “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Love, we just talked last week. Did something happen?” The concern in your voice was obvious. “You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter what.”

“I know, Petal.” A warm smile crept onto Garrett’s face. “Is it a crime to just want to hear your voice?”

“You’re such a sap.” Your laugh came through the phone, and Garrett almost forgot the reason why he called you. 

“You said you had something to share with me?” Garrett turned the conversation back to you.

“You know how I’ve been telling you I want a change of pace? I feel stuck here, and I love my family, but I need some space to breathe without someone asking me for Rangers tickets or if I’ve ever wanted to hook up with any of them,” you rambled, beating around the bush of the actual news. “I just want to feel like I’m on my own for once. Wow, I sound entitled. I am so sorry for that–”

“Don’t apologize. I’m always here to listen to you.” Garrett cut you off, knowing that if he didn’t, you would continue apologizing for something you never had to be sorry for. “And I get it. Trust me, I do.”

“I miss you, Garrett.” You admitted it so softly that he almost missed it. 

“I miss you, Petal.”

“You’ll be sick of me when I transfer to Briar U.” You snuck the surprise in. “I’m serious, you’re never going to get a moment alone again.”

The moment he comprehended what you said, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening. “Petal, don’t play with my heart like that if you’re not serious.”

“Garrett Graham, did you hear what I just said? I am serious.” You mockingly defended your words. “Love, I mean this. I already submitted the paperwork. I’m waiting on my credits to transfer over, so I can get my new schedule.”

“When will you be here?” The urgency in Garrett’s voice and the question got a giggle out of you. 

“Maybe a week or two. I’m still trying to solidify my official housing situation. They offered me a suite on campus, but I’m considering looking for a place off campus,” you explained the small conundrum. “Gramps said he would pitch in if I find a place because he says that he knows the ‘kind of boys that could live on the same floor’ as me. Which is verbatim to what he said, by the way,” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the conversation with your grandfather.

“I one hundred percent agree with Gramps. Don’t even worry about finding a place. Just stay with me, Petal,” Garrett offered without a single thought or hesitation. “I’d know you’re safe. Gramps would feel better knowing that you’ve got four giant hockey players to protect you. Your dad might not be the biggest fan of it cause he hasn’t met the other guys, but he’ll trust me with you.” Garrett was reasoning with you.

“Love, I couldn’t intrude on you or the rest of your housemates. This is a big thing, and I’m a big girl. I can figure this out…” You trailed off. You had to admit to yourself that what Garrett offered sounded nice. From your search, most places close to campus were already filled since it was midway through a semester. You saw a few that caught your eye, but the drive was 25 minutes away from campus.

“Petal, this isn’t up for discussion.”

“Yes, it is. Especially considering I’m almost positive that when you were moving in, you told me that there were only four rooms.”

“I’ve got the master bedroom, Petal. It’s plenty of room for you and me. There’s an ensuite bathroom. Honestly, it’d just be how it was when we were little and used to go on vacation,” Garrett countered you. “Baby, please just stay with me.”

The softness of his voice almost made you cave at the spot. “You have to ask your housemates.”

“Done. They won’t have a problem with it.”

“You ask them now, Garrett. Go downstairs and throw the idea out there for them. Keep me on call, so I can hear their reactions,” you instructed him.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Garrett shot out of bed and headed for the door. “Boys! I got a question for you!” Garrett yelled out to them, hoping they could hear him over the TV blasting the sounds from their video game.

“Bub, that was straight in my ear,” you pointed out, reminding him you were still right next to the speaker.

“Oh shit, sorry, Petal,” Garrett muttered as he hurried down the stairs. 

Dean was the only one to catch what Garrett had said. He pointed it out to Logan. “Petal?” 

Logan looked up from the screen. He twisted his head to glance at Garrett. “What’s up, G?” 

“Who are you talking to?” Dean quipped at the same time as Logan.

The exchange took Tucker out of the game and left him watching the people around him. He muted the TV, leaving the house quiet. 

Garrett’s posture gave away his nervousness about finally bringing you up to them. He never purposely tried to avoid any topics that could relate to you, but that also meant he chose to never bring it up. He got enough questioning about his ‘legendary’ dad and what it must have been like to grow up in that environment. That’s all anyone ever cared about anyway. 

“The granddaughter you were asking about?” Garrett answered, hoping his tone was enough to signal to them to be cool about it. 

“What do you mean ‘the granddaughter,’ G?” Logan questioned. His eyes widened by the moment. 

“How do you guys feel about getting another roommate?” Garrett blurted out. He never thought it would be nerve-wracking to mention you to the guys. He felt like he had to share a part of you that he only ever wanted to keep to himself.

“We only have four bedrooms,” Dean pointed out the obvious. 

Tucker gave him an up slap against the back of his head, “He knows that, dingus.”

Garrett ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the guys for their reactions. “What’d they say, Bub?” You weren’t even on speakerphone, but it was loud enough in the silent house that the others could hear you clearly. 

“You’ve known who I was talking about this whole time? You just pretended to be stupid or something?” Logan's thoughts gathered quickly to make the connections. “Let me sound like some idiot going on about it.”

“Yeah. She’s transferring from Columbia.” Garrett swept over Logan’s realization. 

“G, I don’t know any girl that would want four guys as their roommates,” Tucker claimed, because it seemed laughable that a girl would ever want to live with guys who eat, breathe, sleep hockey. 

“She’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to give up any of your rooms. Mine will be fine. I don’t want her to be in the dorms. You know how the guys over there are. I’d feel better knowing she’d be close,” Garrett explained with a rare softness in him that no one ever really heard other than you.

“She’d be more than close,” Dean muttered under his breath. Logan nudged him in the side with his elbow. 

“Are you sure she even wants to move in?” Logan asked him honestly. 

“Gare, put me on speaker, please?” You requested politely. Garrett abided and shoved the phone more in the guys’ direction. “Can they hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” All three of the guys affirmed for her. 

“Unbelievable.” Garrett guffawed at the three in front of him. 

“Garrett’s just being overdramatic about this. I don’t want to force myself into your guys’ space–”

“Petal.” Garrett cut you off with a tone that didn’t leave room for much argument.

“Love, you can’t just ask them something like that and expect them to be completely okay with it.”

“Petal, I will call Gramps. Please don’t make this more complicated.”

“Garrett Graham! Don’t you dare!” You yelped on the phone. 

Garrett’s mind was only focused on the sound of your voice, as if the rest of the world melted away from him. Logan, Tucker, and Dean all raised eyebrows at each other because of the pair of you. They had never heard Garrett be like that with a girl. Hell, they never saw him interact with many girls unless it was for a night, and they were always quick to leave. 

“Petal, all you have to do is say yes.” Garrett implored. 

“Would you guys be okay with it? If not, I’ll work something else out, don’t worry about me.” You asked them, uncertain about Garrett’s plea. 

“If you’re important to Garrett, you’re important to us. You’re welcome here anytime,” Tucker answered for the three. 

Dean raised a finger in the air to signal he was about to chime in. “Get ready for some serious game nights,” he joked.

Logan added, “What’s your drink of choice?”

“A cosmo,” you answered simply, with humor lacing your voice. 

“Bullshit, it’s always a strawberry mojito,” Garrett called out to counter.

“Besides the point,” you brushed off.

“Honey, we have to go attend the fundraiser.” Your dad’s call from the hallway broke you away from the conversation. He knocked against your door softly.

“Come in,” you told him.

 “You talking to someone, Sweetie?” He said from the door. 

“Just Gare, Dad,” you announced to him as he started to enter your room. 

“Hey, son! I saw a clip from your last game, and you’re looking real good out there. With this one transferring over, I’m going to have to attend some games in person finally,” your dad happily spoke to Garrett. Who had made his way to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter while he searched for a drink. 

The other three scrambled from the couch to the counter to continue to listen to the phone call. All of them actively started to slowly get more and more geeked out at the mere presence of your dad’s voice. 

“Hey, Pop! Thanks, it’s been quite a season out there, but our next home game is in two weeks. Will you be in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ll get the lot to come out since it’ll be Petal’s first home game because she originally chose a school with no hockey!” Your dad bellowed out in a laugh. “We have to cheer for you while we can.”

“Gramps, still mad at me for Boston?” Garrett queried.

“Like Gramps could say mad at you, Bub,” you snorted. 

Logan, Dean, and Tucker were in utter disbelief at what they were witnessing. They had never seen Garrett at peace and content, talking to people on the phone. He was never like this when he was on the phone with his dad. 

They started to question the relationship that Garrett had with you and, presumably, the rest of your family. It was evident that he was close with your family, but it seemed deeper than that. A casualness that only came around when you were talking to family, but they assumed he was somehow also romantically linked to you. Maybe it was both, but the scene in front of them was creating bounds of confusion. 

“He’ll get over it once he sees you on ice,” your dad assured him. “Anyways, Garrett. Petal and I have to seriously head out now before the Missus has both of our heads.”

“It was good talking to you, Pop.”

“Bye, bub. I’ll let you know when I get back later. I love you!” 

“I love you too, Petal.” Garrett grinned to himself, and the boys officially thought they had lost the Garrett Graham that they knew. The call ended, and Garrett turned back to the boys. “You shitheads are actually okay with this, right?” 

And just like that, Garrett Graham was back the way they knew him to be. “G, what the hell was that?” Logan was baffled.

“The former Rangers’ head coach is going to attend our next game,” Dean said in a daze.

“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” Tucker said, exasperated by no explanation. 

It was clear that Garrett didn’t even know where to start. His mouth opened and closed exactly three times before he even let anything out. “What do you guys want to know?” He thought it was a great question to gauge where the guys’ heads were at. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been with her this whole time, and you’re still with bunnies,” Logan chastised him. “That’s not cool, man.”

“No. No, we’re not dating,” Garrett responded, putting his hands up to somehow show his innocence. “We grew up together.”

“No way there’s nothing there, G,” Tucker protested. 

“So you wouldn’t mind?” Dean gave Garrett a look that explained what he had meant.

“Dean, you’re not getting with her. Don’t even think about trying anything,” Garrett warned. 

“Oh, you’re in love with her.” Logan snapped his fingers at Garrett.

“Dude, I thought we already knew that,” Tucker said to Logan.

“Wait, how is it going to work with her moving in here? This is not exactly a five-star hotel.” Dean gestured to the slight mess around them. While it was cluttered, the house wasn’t too bad at its current state. It looked lived in. “I mean, if you’re not dating her, but she’s going to share your room with you. I’m just trying to understand this, man. Because that means no more bunnies for you like ever.”

“There’s not going to be another bunny,” Garrett said as if it were the most simple thing.

“He’s a changed man, Dean,” Tucker whooped as he made his way over to Garrett and gave him a good slap on the shoulder. “G, this girl means a lot to you, and if you want her to live here. We’re seriously cool about it.”

“Thanks, Tuck.”

After much discussion, your family thought it was best if you had a week to settle in. Since you weren’t moving into your own place, you didn’t need to bring much other than clothes and necessities. You and Garrett had talked about what he had and what you still needed to buy, but agreed that you could just go shopping together rather than getting anything beforehand. Everything you needed to bring was able to fit in your G-Wagon. 

While you didn’t officially start until next Monday, you were finally at Briar to pick up your schedule and really take in the new campus without the rush of trying to figure out where your classes were. 

It was Friday, and students were still scattered around campus for those who still had classes. You were walking around aimlessly, trying to find a cafe that Garrett recommended that you might like. 

Meanwhile, the guys were finishing grabbing lunch on campus after their practice. They headed out of the dining hall together. Garrett was looking down at his phone as he checked your location, knowing you would be at Briar already. 

Garrett cocked his head to the side because, according to the phone, you were in his vicinity. “Holy shit, look at her. She’s like an angel,” Dean guffawed as he stopped the guys in their tracks. 

“She’s beautiful,” Logan commented.

“Out of your league, dude,” Tucker added on.

Garrett tilted his head back up to see what Dean was going on about. There you were, about 20 feet away. He had half a mind to tell Dean off, but he agreed with him. 

You hadn’t noticed the group staring at you. They watched as you pulled your phone out as if you were making a call. You held the phone to your ear while still looking around, but not fully catching the four boys.

Garrett’s phone rang in his hand, the other three’s heads snapped to look at his phone. He accepted the call. “Hey, Petal.”

“Bub, I think I’m lost,” you told him.

“You look so cute, though. Like a lost little duck,” he continued to admire you from afar. 

He watched the realization dawn on your face after his words. You scanned your surroundings and finally saw them. Your face lit up at the sight of Garrett. He did just the same when he saw you start to head in his direction. You hung up the call and slid your phone back into your purse. Garrett slid his to his pocket to free up his hands. 

The three guys stayed back as Garrett walked to meet you. They watched as your grin spread across your face. It was so bright that it could make anyone melt if they knew it was directed at them. 

The sight of you starting to jog towards Garrett in pure joy was something to behold. You met each other halfway and practically crashed into one another. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically. Your arms locked around his neck. Neither of you was particularly interested in letting go. 

“You’re actually here,” Garrett mumbled into your hair. His grip tightened even as he pulled back to look at your face. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the way he was smiling in genuine delight. “I’m never letting you go anywhere without me again,” he chuckled as he picked you off your feet and spun you around.

Your laugh was blissful. Students flowed around you both while they pointed out Garrett and the ‘mystery girl’ he was with. But in the moment between you and Garrett, all of them were forgotten, like the rest of the world. 

“Gare, let me down!” you yelped, laughing. Garrett missed that laugh. More than he’d realized.

Garrett set you back down, but you stayed in his arms. You reached up to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Without any hesitation. Without any thought. Like you had done it a thousand times before. Garrett didn’t even react. He was fully occupied by admiring you. 

Back to the Dean, Logan, and Tucker. The three guys nearly choked when they saw that. “I thought he said they aren’t dating?” Dean pointed to you two. “She fixed his hair.”

“I was not expecting them to run into each other’s arms,” Logan quipped.

“What is happening?” Dean was utterly confused by the scene in front of him. 

“I don’t know.” Logan shook his head. 

“I’ve never seen him smile that much.”

“Neither have I, Dean.”

“They have to be dating,” Dean declared.

“If they’re not now, I hate to see them when they are,” Tucker cackled, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, let’s introduce ourselves to our new roommate.”

You tore your eyes away from Garrett’s and glanced over to where the guys were. “Your friends?”

Garrett turned back and saw them walking toward you two. He sighed, “Unfortunately.” He watched as Dean cheesed and happily waved to you. “Oh, my God.” Dean was mortifyingly enthusiastic.

You broke an arm away to wave back. “Are they on something?”

“Worse.”

“Perfect.”

You dropped your arms down and attempted to pull away from Garrett to get ready to greet them. Which Garrett’s response was laughable. Instead, he moved to stand behind you and keep his arms around you. The guys caught how Garrett’s stare stayed on the side of your face. The kind of smile plastered on his face was something his friends had never seen before. It was warm. He looked hopelessly gone.

“Let me guess, the one leading the pack is Tucker, Dean is obviously the blond, which leaves Logan, who has that brooding brunette look to him.” You humored him. 

“The second they get over here and meet you. They’re never going to leave us alone,” Garrett said, exasperated. You laughed and moved one hand to lightly grip his forearm while you waited for the three to make their way over. 

“Can’t believe he waited a week before she transferred to tell us that he knows her,” You heard Dean tell the guys.

“Hey, you guys! Garrett, you remember we exist, right?” Logan greeted,d joking. 

Dean was the first one to offer you a hand. You moved your hand from Garrett’s arm and shook Dean’s waiting hand. “Hi, Angel.”

“Angel?” you whispered to Garrett in question as you pulled away from the handshake. 

Garrett just scoffed, but luckily Dean was there to explain, “You look like an Angel, unless I can call you Petal?” 

“You’re pushing it,” Garrett warned. Dean smirked and raised his hands to motion to back off. 

“Okay, but Angel, if things don’t work out with him, let me know. I’ll only be a few doors away.” Dean winked at you playfully, signalling he was really only saying it to mess with Garrett.

Garrett looked about a second away from committing a felony. You felt his arms tighten around you and pull you to press against him. Logan noticed and burst out laughing. You nearly choked. “You’re a fun one, Dean.”

“Call me Six Flags,” Dean nodded at you.

“I hate you,” Garrett told him.

“No, you don’t, Graham.” Dean smiled.

“Don’t mind him,” Tucker pushed Dean out of the way. “I’m Tucker, well, John, but Logan is also John,” Tucker introduced himself. He opened his arms slightly, and you tapped on Garrett’s arms to let you go. You giggled and accepted the hug. “We cleaned the house for you, Ma’am,” he whispered as you guys parted. 

“Oh, how very kind of you all,” you told him. 

Logan watched with a grin on his face that reflected genuine. Like he’d decided within the past few minutes that you belonged with them. “We’ve heard nothing but your name for the past week, and honestly, I’m just happy you’re here.”

Your expression softened. “That’s really sweet. And seriously, thanks for being so cool about this. I really appreciate you guys.”

“Any time, Angel,” Logan replied. Dean snorted at the use of the name.

“Not you too, Logan.” Garrett rubbed at his temples. He reached an arm out to you, and you naturally wrapped your arms around him. “Do you have everything with you already?” 

“Yeah, my car is packed to the brim right now,” you answered. “Are you guys done for the day?”

“We cleared the schedule, so we can help the Missus move in,” Dean claimed. 

“Perfect! Would any of you mind if you drove my car to the house?” You reached into your purse to grab your keys and dangled them in front of the guys. Dean nodded and opened the palm of his hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, dropping the keys into his waiting hand. “I parked it in the lot near admissions! It won’t be hard to miss.”

Dean finger-saluted you. “I’ll see you all at home?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you back there.” Tucker motioned to himself and Logan before breaking away from the group with Dean.

“See you in a bit,” Garrett responded, waving goodbye to the three.

When Garrett pulled up to the house, it was bigger than you expected, but at the same time, it made complete sense for the four hockey players. 

Well.

Four college hockey players, and apparently you know. 

Even after Garrett had parked the car, you knew better than to try to just get out yourself. You waited patiently while Garrett rushed over to your side to open the passenger door and offer a hand to you.

With your hand laced with his, you guys made your way to the porch. The front door swung open. Dean stepped outside, twirling your car keys around one finger. “Your car is officially here.”

“My hero,” you pretended to gush. “Thanks, Dean.”

“No problem, Angel.”

Dean tossed the keys in your direction, but Garrett intercepted and caught them. He kept hold of them and pointed them to pop open the trunk. The movement was so familiar that neither of you really reacted. Unfortunately, Dean did, and so did Logan and Tucker, who were right behind him. 

Immediately. They exchanged a look. You pretended not to notice. Garrett definitely noticed. 

“Alright,” Garrett announced. “Let’s move this circus inside.”

You all turned to look at your car and the full trunk. Silence. You cleared your thoughts. “What?”

Logan pointed to the mountain of boxes. “You know you’re sharing a space with G, right?”

“We’ll make it work.” You shrugged. 

Tucker went to pick up one of the boxes, and he immediately regretted it. “What is in this?”

“Just books.”

“All of them?”

You nodded proudly, “I like reading.”

“Nobody likes reading that much,” Dean retorted.

You pulled your hand away from Garrett to snatch the box away from Tucker. “Give me my children.”

Garrett laughed, and the sound made you smile before you could stop yourself. “Come on,” he said, taking the box from your arms before you could protest. 

“Hey!” 

“No, Petal.”

“I can carry it,” you defended. 

“I know.” He said, heading into the house.

Instead of arguing, you sighed, picked up another box, and followed him inside. Dean, Logan, and Tucker were standing still, which, in passing, you told them, “I thought you guys were going to help?”  

“Yes, Ma’am.” The three all got a box of their own to carry in. 

The inside of the house was exactly what you expected. A little chaotic, but you could tell that they made an effort to tidy up the house for your arrival. It was comfortable. The kitchen looked surprisingly clean. 

“I’m a mean cook, Angel. Just you wait,” Tucker boasted before going up the stairs to drop off the box in Garrett’s room. Well, now your shared room. 

Any nerves that you had about transferring to Briar and moving in with the guys disappeared. This didn’t feel like walking into a house of strangers. It felt like walking into a place you’ve somehow already been a hundred times.

Maybe because Garrett was here, or that his friends welcomed you without hesitation. Everyone kept making room for you without even realizing they were doing it. 

By the time the second trip down to the car was made, you were already helping Dean and Logan make fun of Garrett’s habit of neatly folding laundry. 

By the third trip, Tucker is asking you what your favorite meal is, so he can try to make it. Then Logan explained the house’s completely unnecessary ranking system for takeout restaurants, and somehow you’re laughing through all of it. 

Dean placed the final box onto the floor. “Important question.”

“Which is?” you asked back while looking through a box full of shoes in dust bags. 

“You’re completely okay with just moving into his room,” Dean gestured around Garrett’s master bedroom.

“He offered,” you shrugged, “And it’s not like we haven’t shared rooms before. Growing up on summer vacations, our parents always figured that we would sneak into each other’s rooms anyway, so they just started putting us together by the time we were seven.”

“That clarification should’ve come when we first called last week,” Logan said. 

“I hate living here.” Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.

“No, you don’t, G,” Tucker mumbled. 

By midnight, only a few boxes were left to unpack, and you guys gathered in the living room for some late-night pizza. The kitchen light was off, the room was illuminated by the TV, and six pizza boxes had taken over the coffee table. 

Dean was on his fifth slice and in full interrogation mode. “Okay,” he said, pointing at you and Garrett. “We have questions,” he said, pointing to Logan, Tucker, and himself.

“Yup, we all do,” Logan added, leaning back against the couch.

Tucker nodded. “Especially because he’s acted weird for an entire week.”

“I haven’t acted weird,” Garrett tried to pass off. All three of the roommates stared at him.

You laughed into your drink. Garrett looked betrayed. 

Dean pointed dramatically, “First question: how long have you two known each other?”

You and Garrett answered at the same time, “Since birth.”

No response. 

“Literally?” Logan blinked. “He neglected to mention that he had a childhood best friend.”

“Literally,” you repeated. “Our moms were best friends before we were born.”

“How?” Dean gaped. 

“Buddy, I think you all know who our dads are.” You gently parented him. 

“And your grandfather?” Logan asked.

“Former head Rangers coach, as you guys know. Only stepped down after my dad retired from hockey,” you told him while reaching for another slice. Before you had to get up from your place next to Garrett, Tucker plopped another slice on your place. “Thanks, Tuck.”

“Who’s older?” Dean went.

You rolled your eyes at the question, knowing what was coming. 

“Me,” Garrett claimed proudly.

“By one month,” you scoffed. “You guys would never believe how many times he pulled that out in an argument.”

“I’m older,” Garrett dismissed.

“By thirty-one days.” You deadpanned. 

“Still older.”

“You brought it up constantly.”

“Because it’s true.”

Logan looked delighted. “This explains so much.”

“What does it explain?” Garrett questioned.

“Why you two act like a married couple.” Logan’s words had you choking on your drink. Garrett nearly did the same, but he was quick to rub your back in soothing motions. The action really didn’t help your case. Dean howled in laughter after catching it. Logan and Tucker snickered to themselves. 

After calming down, Dean moved on to his next question. “How have we never heard of you before?”

The room went a little quieter. Garrett mumbled, “You guys know I don’t really talk about home.”

No one pushed. They all knew that much.

The boys knew Garrett didn’t like interacting with his dad and that his mom had passed away when he was younger. What they didn’t know was that you had been there through it all. 

You nudged his knee with yours, and he glanced at you briefly. Just for a moment, but his shoulders loosened a little. 

“There was never a reason to bring me up. I was away in New York, and god knows that Columbia kept me busy enough to have any downtime,” you explained. “And you guys were always away when I would visit during the summer.”

“Wait, a damn minute.” Dean paused mid-bite. 

“What’d you just say?” Logan was taken aback.

“What do you mean by that?” Tucker probed. 

Garrett shook his head and poked you in the side. “They didn’t know that, Petal.”

“Well, now they do.” You finished the last bit of your slice and put your plate on the coffee table. You leaned back against the couch and tucked your feet under you. Garrett lifted his arm, and you scooted closer to his side.

His arm came behind your waist, and his hand landed on your hip. He tugged you to be snug against his side. 

“Now, a serious question,” Dean remarked, even though he felt like he was interrupting something. 

“Dangerous start.” Your laugh was airy, with tiredness starting to dawn on you.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Straight for the kill,” Logan snorted. 

“Oh god,” Tucker mumbled into his drink.

“So help me, god.” You heard Garrett mutter under his breath. You turned your head to look at Garrett and found him already facing you. “We’re not answering that,” Garrett scoffed.

“There was a first time!” Dean gasped. 

“Everyone has a first time,” Garrett attempted to brush him off, but he replied too quickly to seem casual.

“That is not helping your case, G.” Logan chuckled.

Dean sat back, feeling victorious. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” you asked.

“That whatever this is–” Dean gestured between you and Garrett, “–has been happening for years.”

Garrett groaned. 

Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally showed up. He’s been unbearable this week.”

“I have not.”

You laughed again, and before you could think about stopping yourself, you leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder. 

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was, and Garrett didn’t even hesitate before leaning back.

Dean, Logan, and Tucker exchanged identical looks like before. None of them said a word. They didn’t need to. The answer to every question was sitting right there on the couch for them to see. 

The next morning, you woke up to Dean banging against the bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. You turned slightly and felt your cheek brushing against Garrett’s bare skin. The bed was a sight of tangled limbs and Garrett’s head tucked into the crook of your neck. 

The persistent knocking caused him to shift in his sleep, an arm instinctively tightening around you. 

“Gare, I cannot breathe.” You attempted to pull yourself away from his grasp.

“Baby, it’s too early,” Garrett murmured in your ear, not aware of the knocking yet.

“Guys, wake up, we want to go to breakfast!” Dean yelled from the other side of the door. 

“Dean, just come in,” you permitted him. 

The door creaked softly, and Dean entered the room with a hand covering his eyes. “Angel, are you guys decent?”

“You wish I wasn’t.” You chucked a pillow at him, which he annoyingly caught.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Garrett grumbled, realizing Dean was in the room. 

“The guys and I want to get breakfast at Malone’s, and Angel hasn’t been yet, so it’s perfect.” Dean begun. “We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”

“That sounds great. We’ll be ready,” you told him. 

“Okay, okay, now get out,” Garrett shooed Dean away. 

“Angel, you see what we’ve had to deal with?”

“Try dealing with him for your entire life,” you countered.

“You’re a strong woman.”

“The best. Now, seriously, man, out.” Garrett pointed an arm to the door. 

“Fine, but you guys better be downstairs soon!” Dean said as he shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Finally,” Garrett mumbled, tucking his head back into your neck.

“Bub, we have to get up.” You ran a hand through his hair. You felt him smile against your skin. “Come on, let me up,” your hand continuing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Baby, I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for months. You’re breaking my heart here.” Garrett expressed, trying to be serious, but the whisper of a smile played at the edges of his lips. 

“You are being dramatic.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fortunate for me.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and finally loosened his grasp around you. 

You rose from the bed and stretched. You looked out the window. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Garrett replied. You turned back to face him. 

You found him already staring at you. 

The drive to Malone’s was chatterful. Your car was chosen, but the designated driver was Garrett. You were seated in the passenger seat, holding Garrett’s hand in your lap. The backseat arrangement was laughable. Dean, Tucker, and Logan, in that order, were squeezed into your back seats, which you always felt like were spacious when driving with your friends. But with three hockey players in place, they were like a tin of sardines. 

When Garrett finally parked, Logan was the first out of the car and almost tripped over his own legs, with Tucker trying to push him to get out faster. 

Logan beat Garrett to opening your door. “Angel,” he said, a smirk pinching at his cheeks while he offered his hand to you. 

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You stifled a laugh as you peeked at Garrett, who was five steps short of your door. 

“Let me have this one?” Logan whispered. You took his hand and got out of the car. Rather than letting go of your hand, he wrapped your arms together and guided you to the entrance of Malone’s. “You are going to love this place, Angel.”

“Petal.”

You heard him say from behind you, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Gare?” 

Garrett Graham would never admit to pouting, but lo and behold, a sliver of a pout was edging his lips. “You’re just leaving me behind?” he gaped. Instead of responding, you let Logan lead you guys in. 

“Snubbed by your own girl, that’s got to be tough.” Dean clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder. 

“G, stop moping and let’s go. I’m hungry, man,” Tucker told him, heading in after you and Logan. 

Inside, you and Logan were waiting by a booth. Logan slid into one side, and you to the other. Tucker sat next to Logan. Dean dragged over a spare chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the booth. Garrett stopped at the edge of the booth. “Oh, now you want to be next to me?”

Ignoring his dramatics, you looked up from the menu. “What do you guys usually get?”

Garrett sighed pitifully. He slid next to you and snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You automatically put the menu in front of both of you. “You’ll like the berry waffles.”

“Sounds yummy.” You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’d think they didn’t wake up next to each other,” Dean teased. “Garrett, get a grip, dude.”

Even with the teasing, Logan, Tucker, and Dean enjoyed seeing Garrett like this. A kind of softness that he never really displayed to people besides you. The tenderness as he whispered to you as if no one else existed. The way the menu was shared, and Garrett was pointing out all the things he thought you would like to try at some point. 

A waitress came by with coffee. Without asking, Garrett reached over and slid a mug in front of him before adding two sugar packets. Then a splash of cream. He stirred it once before pushing it toward you. “There.”

“Thanks, baby.” You took a sip. “Perfect.” You pressed a kiss against his jaw. 

“You didn’t even watch him make it,” Logan commented.

“I don’t have to?” Your eyebrows pulled together, showing your slight confusion. 

“You just trusted whatever he put in it?”

“He’s made my coffee since I first started drinking coffee.”

Logan blinked. “They’ve killed me.”

“God, I forgot that you guys have been married for years,” Dean joked.

Tucker ignored the rest of the group and got to ordering. The rest of you followed suit. 

Around the diner, people had definitely started noticing. Mostly because four starting hockey players were difficult to ignore, especially when one of those players is the captain, Garrett Graham. What really stuck out was you, the unfamiliar girl who leaned into his side as if you belonged there.

Whispers bounced between tables. 

“Who is she?”

“Is that the new transfer girl people have been talking about?”

“How does she have Graham bringing her with the guys?”

“I thought he said he doesn’t do girlfriends.”

Two girls near the counter glanced over one too many times. One leaned toward the other. “I’ve literally never seen him with a girl before.”

“Maybe she’s his sister.”

You happened to laugh at something Garrett said, but the smile that was plastered across his face said it all. 

One of the girls frowned. “Definitely not his sister.”

Dean noticed before anyone else. Without turning around, he spoke just loudly enough for it to reach anyone sitting at the counter. “Man.” The others looked at him. “It’s amazing how people forget that minding their own business is free.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tucker said bluntly. The whispering behind him immediately quieted. 

Logan casually leaned back in the booth. “It’s almost like we have our own lives.”

There was a softness that came over your features. It radiated such appreciative affection for such new, devoted friends. The guys defended you as if you were their own, without a second thought or hesitation. 

Dean caught your eye and winked at you. “We’ve got your back, Angel.”

“Always,” Logan added.

“You’ve got us for life, Angel,” Tucker finished.

“You guys are going to make me cry.” You teared up a bit, and your face flushed with heat at the gesture. Garrett rubbed at your side soothingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Angel, we’re practically family already,” Logan reasoned, sending you a sweet smile.

“I am going to be the best uncle ever,” Tucker claimed, nodding his head. 

“But I get to be the Godfather,” Dean asserted in full seriousness, but the act dropped quickly with a grin spreading across his face. 

“We’ll play rock, paper, scissors for it.” Logan contended, waving a hand at Dean.

Garrett snorted, shifting the attention to him. “Unlikely,” he scoffed jokingly under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for the guys not to catch it, and especially not for you. 

You pressed a hand against the one he had on your side. Your thumb rubbed circles against his knuckles. 

“Listen, buddy, we never said you had to be the dad,” Logan tutted at Garrett. 

You felt Garrett stiff beside you. “That’s not even funny, man.”

“Oh, this is gold.” Tucker snickered at Garrett’s obvious displeasure at the mere idea of you creating a life with someone else. 

“I’m fine.” You all caught on to Garrett’s voice and how defensive he sounded. 

Dean wasn’t ready to end Garrett’s suffering just yet. “You want blond babies, Angel?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “They’d be beautiful.”

Your whole body shook with laughter at Dean’s insinuation. You didn’t see Garrett’s face, but the guys did. The way his brow wrinkled into a deep frown.  His right eye twitched while he was glaring down at Dean. “Godfather, typically means you’d have to be alive for the role.” 

Dean paled slightly. Instead of replying, he took a long sip from his water, gulping awkwardly. 

Tucker had put his hand to muzzle his laugh that was threatening to spill out. 

Logan was suddenly very interested in a ketchup bottle. “These ingredients are so funny.”

The waitress came up to the table with breakfast, unaware of the scene she was walking into. “Hope you all enjoy,” she said, setting plates in front of each of you. She refilled your waters before finally walking away from the booth. 

Garrett’s frown dropped just like that. Before you could reach for the syrup, Garrett poured it perfectly on your waffles. You grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. You took a bite of about half of it before you offered it up to Garrett’s mouth. He ate the rest without questioning.

Neither of you looked exactly at each other, but the way you moved with ease and avoided bumping into one another said it all. 

Neither of you broke the conversation either. Garrett asked if you liked the waffles. You nodded sweetly, taking another bite. He hummed, satisfied in response. It happened so naturally that it was obvious that neither of you even processed how you guys were. 

Across the table, Logan stared. 

Then at Tucker.

Then at Dean.

“I think we’ve been upgraded from roommates,” Logan muttered to the two.

“We’re just watching these two domesticate each other in real time.” Tucker looked a bit in awe at how evidently you both were in tune with one another. 

Dean nodded solemnly, “I think we’re witnessing a thirty-year marriage before the first date.” He took another bite of the pancakes. “They’re hopeless.”

You and Garrett looked over. “What?” you both asked at the same time.

The three roommates burst into laughter. You and Garrett looked at each other, and despite having no idea what was so funny. You both started laughing, too.

Della, from behind the counter, watched the way the five of you fit together. She had never seen the boys the way they are right at this moment. She immediately decided that you were a missing piece in a very chaotic puzzle of hockey players. You belonged at that table. 

Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been cleared. 

The conversation drifted from hockey to classes, then somehow to the time that Dean accidentally set the kitchen toaster on fire. “It was defective,” Dean insisted. 

“It exploded because you put a Pop-Tart in sideways,” Tucker replied. 

“That’s a design flaw.”

“More like user error.”

You laughed at the pair, shaking your head. You tapped against Garrett’s thigh. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bathroom?” Garrett slid out of the booth to let you out.

“Mhm.” He helped you out like a gentleman and kissed your hand before you walked away from the table. 

You did head toward the hallway for exactly seven steps. Then you quietly veered toward the register, looking over your shoulder, and the guys were busy talking about the next home game coming up in a week. 

The waitress looked up with a smile. “Everything okay, honey?”

“Perfect, actually.” You pulled out your card that you had sneaked into your pocket before you left earlier. “I’d like to pay for our table.”

She glanced toward the booth. “The hockey boys?”

“Yeah.” You smiled.

“They’re usually fighting over who pays.”

“I figured.” 

“You sure? Honey, I’m positive that none of those boys would want you to pay.”

You looked over your shoulder again. The four of them were full of laughter. Logan was dramatically reenacting whatever play he was retelling. Tucker looked like he regretted encouraging him. Dean was adding in parts that Logan was leaving out. And Garrett. He was watching the conversation with that quiet little smile he’d worn almost all morning. 

It tugged at something in your chest. “They’ve been really good to me.”

The waitress followed your gaze. “You’ve known them for a long time?” She wondered. 

“Just the one I was sitting next to.”

She rang up the bill. You tipped her generously when signing off the receipt. When she handed your copy, you tucked it into your pocket along with your card before anyone could notice. 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sweetie.”

When you returned, Dean looked up. “That was fast.”

“I think we’re ready to finish up here,” Tucker said. 

“I physically cannot move.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his stomach. 

“You had seven pancakes,” Logan reminded him. 

“I regret nothing.”

Garrett politely signalled for the waitress’s attention. She placed the check holder at the edge of the table. “Huh,” Garrett muttered when he reached for it. 

“What?” Logan asked. 

“It’s empty.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean it’s empty?”

“The bill.” 

“You guys already paid?” Tucker questioned. 

Garrett looked at the others. “I didn’t.”

“I was waiting for him,” Dean said, pointing to Garrett. 

“So was I,” Tucker admitted. 

The waitress walked by carrying another tray to pick up the empty plates off the table. “You boys are all set.”

Four heads turned. You busied yourself with applying some lip balm. “What?” 

Logan shook his head. 

“It was taken care of already.” The booth fell completely silent. 

Four pairs of eyes turned toward you. 

“Petal,” Garrett said. 

“No.” You stopped. 

“You paid?” He scoffed. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely paid,” Logan retorted. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Angel,” Dean said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you shrugged. 

“Bullshit,” Garrett muttered. 

“Breakfast seemed like a pretty cheap way to say thank you for letting me into your lives so easily.”

The table was quiet for another moment. Then Dean stood up. “Oh.”

“What?” You glanced at him. Tucker and Logan slid out of the booth to stand as well. Garrett did the same. Your eyes flickered to each of them. They all shared a look and nodded. In a blink, you were bombarded by the four. They hugged, keeping you in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.”

“Too late,” Logan mumbled.

“Petal, we don’t need that.”

You were holding up two different colored fluffy throw blankets. “Do you like the dark blue better or the gray?” ignoring Garrett’s statement. 

“You’re not going to use it, and it’ll end up on the floor.”

“I can use it in the living room.” You brushed him off. 

“Okay, fine, just get both. One for the living room and the other for the bed.” Garrett gave in.

You hummed to yourself triumphantly. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.” You brushed a faint kiss against the left side of his jawline before you put the blankets in the cart.

A husband who was in the same aisle with his wife had watched the short interaction between you and Garrett. He had a fond expression written across his face. “Son, happy wife, happy life.” He simply said before following his wife out of the aisle. 

“Are you planning a proposal I don’t know about yet?” You teased Garrett, grinning at him. Your faces were inches apart. 

Garrett brought a hand to your face with his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His face carried a relaxed smile. His gaze was locked into your eyes. “Not yet. But eventually.”

You wished his words would surprise you, but in reality, it was more of a confirmation than anything else. “I think we’re skipping a few steps.” You placed a hand on his chest, and you could feel the beating of his heart. 

“Like there would be anyone for me other than you,” Garrett murmured. 

You could tell he was holding himself back. The way he brought himself closer to you and tilted his face to yours. His pupils dilated, and you could feel his heartbeat start to quicken. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it.” 

“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

“Who said you had to?” 

His lips brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to test the waters. Your hand slid from his chest to his jaw. The hand on your cheek pulled you in even closer, if that was possible. His lips smiled against yours. 

The gap finally closed. The way his lips parted against your own so gently. The kiss was chaste since you both were standing in a store. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said, pulling away to look back into your dazed eyes. 

You pecked his lips again. “We never stood a chance.” 

“Against what?”

“Us.”

“It’s you and me forever, Petal.”

The next week breezed past you before you knew it. The transition to classes was easier than you were expecting. Another thing you thought was going to be difficult was you and Garrett, but really, other than stolen kisses in hidden hallways or late nights in the kitchen. The pair of you hardly had to change anything. 

Sure, Garrett was even more affectionate than usual, but it wasn’t overly done where the guys caught on to you two. It kind of felt fun keeping it between you and Garrett. Not that either of you meant to keep a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and anyone who had been around lately either assumed you were already dating or, like the guys, just got used to the fact that you and Garrett were suspiciously close.

Plenty of people on campus just thought that the new transfer student finally locked down the infamous Garrett Graham. Not many knew or cared to find out that you guys knew each other prior. No one found that you had moved in either, not that it was any of their business.

As much as you tried not to let it get to you, the puck bunnies were hard to ignore. Especially with the Briar Hawks having a home game soon, everyone was buzzing around you. From the guys’ endless practices and workout sessions to students’ nonstop chatter about the game and after-parties. 

Garrett was quick to assure you that the minute he found out that you were coming to Briar. He hadn’t even thought about another girl since. Not that mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you were a saint in New York. You had your fair share of dates that Garrett, over the years, pretended didn’t bother him when you would call him excitedly to prepare for one.

You could hold your own, but that didn’t stop the irk you would get overhearing the bunnies talk about “whatever” you and Garrett had would never last long before he got bored. 

You didn’t doubt your new relationship with Garrett. Even your mothers were rooting for you two to end up together, the second they found out about each other’s pregnancies. Garrett was yours just as much as you were his. It’s been like that since the two of you could walk. 

“Baby, I’ll see you and the family later at the game, I got to run to meet with coach. I love you.” was the last thing you heard from Garrett at seven in the morning before he hurriedly pressed a kiss against your forehead before heading out the room. You weren’t even fully coherent enough to reply. Just hummed happily before dozing back off. 

You decided that around nine it was time to get up for the day. You had the house empty to yourself. The first time since you moved in. Even with everyone’s hectic schedules, there was usually at least one or two other people home. Not that you minded the company, it let you know the guys better and their habits, which some were admittedly messier than others. 

Your feet padded down against the staircase. You found yourself looking for something in the fridge to make for lunch. With the game being later into the night, you had plenty of time to get ready for it. Right now, you chose to make lunch for the guys. You had bought a huge slab of salmon the other day and decided that it was the perfect thing to pair with some rice and steamed vegetables for the guys. Just like your dad’s game day lunch.

Music blasted in the house while you cooked. You set out individual meal prep containers that you hadn’t had the chance to use since you bought them. You portioned out a slice of salmon, rice mixed with quinoa, along with steamed broccoli and cauliflower to each container. It was close to noon, and you knew by the time you got to the arena, it would be perfect timing for lunch. 

You hadn’t told anyone that you were planning to stop by to drop off the food. The players were still on the ice when you entered the arena. You stopped to sit down a few rows behind the players’ bench while you waited for them to finish their drills. No one had noticed you yet, except for Coach Jensen.

His brows drew together as he tried to figure out if he recognized you. At first, he assumed you were a bunny trying to sneak into watching practice, but his eyes landed on what seemed to be a thermal food bag. 

“Definitely a girlfriend.” He thought to himself.

He saw how you watched the boys with trained eyes. It was as if he could see you mentally noting what some of them could work on. That piqued his interest. “Okay. Let’s head to lunch!” He called out to the players on the ice. “I thought I said no girlfriends during practice.” He threw in right after, causing you to snap your head in his direction and see him already looking back at you.

“I’m just dropping off lunch!” You sheepishly called out. You made your way down, and Garrett was quick on the ice to make it over to you. “Hey, bub.” You smiled, watching him take off his helmet. 

“That’s the missus, coach!” Logan hollered from across the ice. 

“Angel!” Dean’s voice boomed with the sound of his skates coming to a stop near you and Garrett. 

Tucker was the only one out of the four to catch what you told Coach Jensen. “I heard lunch?”

“I hope that’s for us too and not just, G!” Logan called out, making his way over.

“Missus?” Coach Jensen questioned to himself more than anyone in particular. 

“Is that the transfer from New York?”

“I want lunch, too.”

“She’s the one G was with when we saw him at Malone’s the other day.”

“I didn’t know bunnies made lunches.”

That was the chatter that was amongst some of the other players. 

Garrett tuned them out and honed his attention to just focus on you. “You didn’t have to bring lunch for me, Petal.”

“Great! Because I didn’t make it just for you.” Your voice was loud enough for Logan to hear, resulting in him whooping out a cheer. You brought the bag to your front and shook it ever so slightly at the four. “If your coach is okay with me bringing food to feed some of his players…” You trailed off, glancing back at Coach Jensen, who simply was amused by this whole interaction. Never in his life had he seen his star player/captain turn so soft in a matter of seconds, or give any girl the time of day on a game day. 

“Whatcha got to feed these hooligans?” He walked over. You opened the bag for him to take a peek in. He could see the stack of meals you prepared for the guys. His eyes spotted how you made sure to take into account protein and grains along with the vegetables. “Not too bad.”

“Approved?” you said hopefully. 

“Just make sure they get back to me after lunch is over.” He winked at you in approval before making his way to the locker room. 

“Give us a bit, Petal. We’re going to take off the gear, and we’ll come back out. Make yourself comfy on the bench.” Garrett pressed a kiss against your cheek before skating off the ice.

The other three saluted you as they passed by, following Garrett to the locker room. It didn’t take them long to find their way back to you. By the time they returned. They noticed the four containers neatly laid out with a fork sitting on top of each lid, with a napkin placed underneath it. 

Dean whistled out, “Angel, you’re my favorite.” He started to pass around a container, so each one of them had one. 

Tucker had been the first to open it and see what you made. “Smells delicious, Angel. Is that rice mixed with quinoa? Oh, you’re good.” He complimented, blowing you a kiss.

“Our savior,” Logan greeted you with a side hug and a kiss against the top of your head. Before grabbing a container of his own and taking a seat. “Oh, TIGS.”

“Dude, what does that even mean?” Dean questioned him. “This is good shit?”

“No. This is god sent.” 

“Thanks, baby,” Garrett murmured to you in appreciation. He had found his place at your side. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s dad’s game day lunch.” You two were sat pressed next to one another. Your eyes scanned over to the other guys. A satisfied smile wreathed your lips.

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh as he swallowed. “G, you’re evil for not introducing us to Angel sooner.” 

Tucker paused to chew, pointing his fork at the salmon. “This is delectable. Thank you, Angel.”

Logan mumbled, his mouth still half-full. “Angel, where were you the past three years on game days? This is so good.”

Garrett just laughed at the three’s antics. “And this is why you didn’t meet them until now.”

“We heard that,” Dean called out. 

“How are you guys feeling about tonight?” you asked them, shifting the conversation. 

“We got to make sure we win your first Briar hockey game,” Logan affirmed.

“Not her first Briar game,” Garrett corrected before taking another bite of the food. The remark made the other three pause mid-bite/chew. 

“She’s been to one before?” Logan raised a brow at him

“Angel, we could’ve known each other much sooner!” Dean yelped dramatically. 

“Not the first hockey game, but my first official home game,” you explained. 

“When did you see one?” Tucker asked you.

“I’ve been to a few,” you admitted. “My first one was Garrett’s first game playing because how could I ever miss that? Then I’ve been to a couple away games you guys had when it was close to New York. Most recently before the transfer, I went to Garrett’s first game as captain.”

“Hold on a minute,” Dean said. “You’ve been to all these games, and we never knew?”

“Never needed to bring it up,” Garrett shrugged.

“Wait, is that you got so weird at some of the away games? I always thought you were nervous or some shit,” Logan said in an epiphany. He snapped at Garrett’s direction, “I knew it was weird when you didn’t come out with us after.”

“Like that Clovers game! I just figured you were meeting up with a bunny–” Dean was cut off.

“No, I took Petal to dinner after the game.”

“Oh, that was the nice Italian place!” You recalled it in your memory. 

“We don’t get taken to dinners after games,” Logan scoffed playfully. 

“We’ll take you to dinner tonight, Angel,” Dean offered with a grin.

“Even better, I’ll cook you dinner, Angel.” Tucker winked. 

“Sorry, boys. Not tonight. Gare’s got the family coming in to see this game. I’m sure Gramps will want dinner together tonight.”

“Your family is coming tonight? Like actually? I thought that was just like a joke your dad was making.” Logan gaped. “And your grandfather wants dinner?”

“Not with you shitheads,” Garrett snickered. 

You smacked his arm lightly. “Be nice. They can come if they want to.”

“Family dinner with hockey royalty,” Dean said, a bit starstruck.

“G, how are you not shitting in your pants?” Tucker said, baffled.

“Her dad is okay with her living with us, right?” Logan brought up.

“More importantly, he knows that you guys are sharing a bed?” Dean added.

Garrett put down the now empty container. “Guys.”

“Yes, my dad is perfectly fine with my living situation. He knows that we’re together, and he trusts Garrett. Well, I think the entire family has had a bet going on since we were conceived.”

“Ma, definitely had one with Mom. You remember when we went to Vancouver for vacation?”

“That was what? When we were ten?”

“Yeah, Ma slid over twenty bucks to Mom during dinner when I was cutting your steak–”

“YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER?” Dean yelled out the second it clicked in his head.

“Honestly, quicker than I expected,” Tucker claimed.

“Let’s not kid ourselves. They were always together.” Logan retorted.

You tore your eyes from Garrett’s and looked back at the guys. You felt heat flush your face, realizing what you casually said. “Yeah, we’re together.” You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. 

“Since when?” Tucker questioned.

“The day we brought back the blue blanket from the couch.”

“Oh, I love that blanket,” Logan noted. 

“I know, it’s so soft!” You happily clapped your hands together. 

“It’s really warm, too,” Logan added. 

“You didn’t tell us sooner?” Dean wondered.

Garrett kept his eyes on you. How you animatedly expressed your love of the blanket. The way your eyes lit up when you talked. “Honestly, just slipped my mind. I mean, it’s just so natural being with her.”

“You talking about little old me?” You playfully fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I love being with you, too, love.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away with a gentle smile. 

By the time warm-ups began, the arena was already loud. Student sections were filling with painted faces and homemade signs. Lots of 44 were seen around the arena. The pep band was halfway through the fight song.

Garrett tapped his stick against the boards before skating another lap, absently scanning the stands. He always looked. Even when there wasn’t anyone to find. 

But tonight was different. Halfway up behind the home bench sat you, your parents, and grandparents. Your dad had a custom Garrett 44 hat, with your mom sporting 44 on her cheek. You spotted him almost immediately and stood, waving both hands over your head. 

Garrett couldn’t help but smile. You were wearing his jersey. His actual jersey. Not one you’d buy from a gift shop. One he’d given you the second you started talking about wanting to plan your outfit. 

You gestured to your parents excitedly. Garrett came to a stop, and he scanned the seats next to you. His pause was noticed by Logan. He lifted his stick toward the stands. 

“What a night,” Logan looked over in its direction.

Dean nearly skated into Logan. “Man, what are you looking at?” Then he saw them too.

Tucker answered before anyone else. “That’s the family.” His eyes looked over two seats next to you, and rest assured, your grandfather sat there with the quiet confidence of someone who’d once stood behind an NHL bench for nearly twenty seasons. 

Dean examined your grandfather. He looked older now compared to clips from his coaching days. The former head coach of the New York Rangers. A living legend. Not to mention your father, who sat next to you. Dean looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “They came for him.”

Your grandfather looked down toward the ice. He spotted Garrett and raised one hand. Garrett’s smile widened even more. He lifted his glove and waved back. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Logan stared. 

You laughed from the stands and leaned over to say something to your dad. He smiled, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “ATTABOY, SON!” The words echoed faintly across the ice. Garrett let out a laugh, then tapped his stick twice against the glass in front of them.

The announcer interrupted, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Warm-ups were over.

The game was fast and physical. Two teams were fighting to lead the conference. By the end of the first period, it was tied one to one. 

Logan threw a huge hit that brought the crowd to its feet. Dean blocked a shot that probably should’ve gone in. Garrett had two chances and saved both. Every time he returned to the bench, his eyes drifted toward your section.

To the same five people who always cheered him on and like how they always would.

Late in the third period, it was still a tie game with only three minutes left. The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Coach Jensen leaned over the boards. “One more shift.”

Garrett nodded, and the puck dropped. Tucker won it clean, and it was back to Dean, then across Logan, who’d carried through center before slipping it wide. Garrett caught it in a stride. There was one defender. Garrett cut inside and the defender bit. Open lane. For the smallest fraction of a second, everything went quiet. He had snapped the puck. 

Top corner. Bar down. Ping. The sound rang through the arena. The red light exploded with the building erupting. Goal.

Students leapt to their feet, and the bench emptied over the boards. Logan tackled Garrett first. Dean nearly knocked both of them over. Tucker arrived a heartbeat later. The arena shook with applause. You were already screaming with both hands over your mouth and tears filling your eyes. 

Your dad was on his feet, clapping so hard that his palms had turned visibly red. Your grandfather stood beside him, grinning with unmistakable pride. The television camera caught them easily. “Hockey royalty celebrating that goal,” one commentator laughed. “Looks like they approve.”

The final horn sounded moments later. Briar Hawks won.

When Garrett stepped off the ice, an arena attendant waved him over. “They’re waiting.” He didn’t need to ask who. The family entrance hallway smelled faintly of popcorn and fresh ice.

The moment that Garret rounded the corner, “There he is!” you ran to him. He caught you before you even reached full speed, lifting you clean off the floor as you wrapped yourself around him. “I almost lost my voice!”

He laughed into your hair. “I heard.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss him. Like it belonged there with such ease. When you stepped aside, your dad opened his arms. “Come over here, son.” Garrett didn’t hesitate and hugged him tightly. 

“Good game, Pop.”

“You kidding?” Your dad squeezed his shoulder. “That release would’ve beaten me.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Garrett attempted to be modest. 

“I know,” your dad brushed Garrett’s hair back from his face. “But I mean it.”

Next came your mom. She cupped his face in both hands before pulling him into a hug. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” Garrett admitted.

“You eating enough?” Your mom tapped his cheek.

“Ma.”

“I asked a question.” She persisted.

“Yes, Ma.” Your grandfather stood, waiting with his hand tucked into his coat pocket. Garrett stopped in front of him. “Hey, Gramps.”

The older man looked over him for a long second and nodded, “I’m proud of you.” 

Garrett swallowed hard, “Thanks.”

“You earned that one.” The former coach clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Now stop standing around me and go stand next to Petal.” You immediately slid back to Garrett’s side. Your grandfather pointed between you two, “Took you long enough.”

Your mom laughed. “I was beginning to think I should’ve agreed to a betrothal that your mom and I talked about once.”

Your dad shrugged, “I would have given them another year.”

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “It was obvious?” Every member of the family stared at him. He sighed, “Never mind?”

“Hey!” Another familiar voice echoed down the hallway. Dean, Logan, and Tucker rounded the corner, still carrying pieces of their gear. They stopped the second they saw your family. Every single one of the three stood a little straighter. 

Dean whispered, “Oh my God.”

Logan elbowed him, “Be normal.”

“I’m trying,” Dean told him.

Tucker quietly failed to hide his awe.

You laughed, “You guys! Come over here!” You motioned them over. “This is Dean, Logan, and Tucker,” you introduced them to your family. The three hockey players suddenly looked like nervous freshmen again. 

Your father smiled first and shook each of their hands, “Good game, boys.”

Dean looked as though he might frame the handshake. “Sir, I watched your highlights growing up.” 

Your father laughed. “Now I feel old.”

“You are old,” Your grandfather commented. 

“I walked right into that one,” Your dad admitted. 

The former head Rangers coach shook hands with each of them too. “I like watching your line.” The three roommates collectively forgot how words worked. 

“Thank you, sir,” Logan managed. 

“That means a lot,” Tucker remarked.

Your grandfather smiled, “You boys play the game the right way.”

Dean quietly leaned toward Garrett and you, “I’m never washing this hand.”

Garrett snorted, and you laughed, leaning into his side, “I figured.”

Your mom looked around the group. “So, who’s hungry?” Every hand went up, and she laughed, “Perfect, go get changed and let’s head out.”

The players immediately obeyed. Garrett kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be back out.”

As the guys started walking together, Dean drifted beside Garrett. “So…”

“What?” Garrett glanced over at him. 

“They really are your family.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked back to the group waiting for them. At the people that had supported him through everything. Then looked back at the guys, the friends who had become brothers. Then back to you, watching as you shooed him to hurry along.

Buck wakes up on a Saturday, content and relaxed. He's spooning you, his arm on your stomach under your sleep shirt, and his downstairs neighbour is very happy behind you.

Buck presses a kiss onto your cheek, and feels you smile awake under his lips. You turn around to face him fully on your side, pressing your mouths fully together.

Mouths still attached, Buck tugs you towards him, hands caressing your back. Those very hands dip underneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear, when you detach from Buck's face.

"Nuh-uh." You shake your head and shuffle away from Buck.

Buck who had been fixated on your glistening, pink mouth, doesn't understand. "Huh? What nuh-uh?"

"There's still two weeks. No hanky-panky until then."

"Who says hanky-panky anymore?"

"Your future wife." You grin cheekily.

Buck groan-laughs and watches you get up for the day, completely smitten and fond. His neighbour downstairs was still very much awake and excited. Poor guy needed to prepare to be blue for a little while longer.

"Can we just do hanky without the panky?" He calls out as you enter the bathroom.

Your resounding laughter is the only response he gets.

One week remains until the wedding, and Buck was barely hanging on. It has gotten to the point where he was getting hard just breathing the same air as you. Which, to be fair, is pretty much Buck's baseline around you.

For example, right now, you were inconspicuously drinking a strawberry smoothie, scrolling on TikTok. However, your lips were wrapped around the straw in a way that had Buck obsessed, drooling from his place across the kitchen.

"One more week." You say matter-of-factly, eyes not lifting from your phone.

Buck huffs an amused laugh. Seven days couldn't pass quick enough.

Until finally, it was the night. Your wedding day was exceptional, no notes. Buck had teared up watching you walk down the aisle to him. The two of you had laughed and sobbed through wedding speeches, fed each other an amazing wedding cake that Eddie had ordered through his connections (Linda was most clearly his connection) and danced with every member of the 118. Every one of your guests were now straggling home, stomachs full of food and champagne and good memories.

The two of you sat in the backseat of a nice, vintage car that was taking you both to a fancy hotel near the wedding venue that Athena kindly sprung for.

You rest your head on Buck's shoulder, fingers with a newly adorned wedding band tangling with his. "How was your first wedding day?"

"10 out of 10. Looking forward to the finale." Buck waggles his eyebrows.

You throw your head back in laughter, but tug him out of the car once it's parked in front of the hotel.

The elevator ride to your floor is charged, the tension thick and heavy in the metal box. You and Buck stand at opposite ends, staring at each other with something like wonder - that this day had finally come, that the two of you have joined lives officially in the eyes of the law - but also hunger. Buck looked ready to eat you alive, and you couldn't wait to be served to him on a silver platter.

The elevator dings to signal that the two of you had arrived to the floor, and before you can step forward, you're scooped into Buck's arms, one arm under your legs, and one to support your back. A bridal carry.

You giggle, giddy that you now share this beautiful man's last name, as Buck fumbles with the key card while still trying to hold you upright with one arm. You take the card from him, and scan it flawlessly in one-go. The two of you stumble into the room, and Buck gently drops you onto the middle of the mattress while he hovers over you.

"Hi." He smiles broadly.

"Hi." You grin, just as brightly.

"I'm glad I married you."

"Likewise."

Buck captures your lips again, and his hands start roaming gently. His fingers still under your wedding dress, tracing lettering on your underwear.

He ducks underneath your dress to see - and sure enough, on white satin underwear, was "just married" in tasteful black lettering. Buck's eyes darken possessively, only a sliver of blue visible in blown out pupils.

The two of you only let up for air hours later.

“So,” Tasha says, two hours into the shift, while restocking gauze like this is casual and not the fifth time she has circled back to the topic since Tuesday. “The curly-haired one from the other day.”

She doesn’t look up from the chart she’s pretending to understand on the computer. “Logan?”

Renee snorts. “Baby, don’t insult me. The other curly-haired one.”

She clicks into the wrong tab and immediately has to back out. “Garrett.”

“Mhm.” Tasha’s voice goes warm with victory. “Garrett.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Renee leans one hip against the counter, unimpressed in a way that makes her feel twelve years old and badly prepared for a spelling test. “Nobody asked.”

“You were about to.”

“I was about to ask if he always looks at you like that.”

Her face heats fast, crawling up from the collar of her scrub top into her cheeks in a way that makes the whole nurses station feel suddenly overlit. “He doesn’t look at me like anything.”

Tasha hums. “Oh, sweetie.”

“Don’t oh, sweetie me in an emergency department.”

Before Tasha can answer, the automatic doors sigh open near triage, and the morning rush shifts around the sound. A kid crying into his mother’s shoulder. Someone coughing behind a mask. The steady slap of sneakers on linoleum. She glances over because movement has become part of her peripheral nervous system now, and then her whole body does something stupid and bright before her brain catches up.

Garrett’s standing just past the triage desk in a Briar hoodie and athletic shorts, hair still damp at the ends from morning skate, one hand wrapped around the handle of her enormous cream Stanley tumbler like it’s evidence in a crime scene. He scans the department once, all broad shoulders and easy posture, and then spots her behind the nurses station.

His grin arrives first.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Renee says quietly.

She ignores that with every ounce of dignity she has left, which isn’t much, because Garrett’s already walking over with that loose athlete confidence like hospitals are just another place he can move through if he smiles politely enough.

“Hey,” he says, stopping on the public side of the desk. He lifts the cup a little. “You left this in my car.”

“Oh.” She looks at it, then at him, and the ridiculous rush of relief in her chest is so embarrassing she wants to smack herself with a clipboard. “That’s okay. Thank you. It’s been kinda crazy this morning, I hadn’t even noticed I didn’t have it.”

“Yeah, I figured.” His eyes move over her face, quick but not casual. Like he’s checking the placement of all her pieces. Hair coming loose near one ear, badge twisted sideways, pen mark on the inside of her wrist, the faint tightness between her brows she didn’t know was there until his gaze softens at it. “Didn’t notice until I got back in the car after skate.”

“You drove all the way back here for my water bottle?”

“It’s a big water bottle,” he says, like this is a normal defence. Then his mouth tips. “Didn’t want you getting thirsty.”

Behind her, Tasha makes a sound so small it barely counts as a sound. It still makes her want to dissolve into the floor.

She reaches for the tumbler, and Garrett’s fingers brush hers around the handle, warm and familiar and devastatingly nothing. “Thanks, Garrett.”

He doesn’t leave right away. He stands there for one second too long, chewing at his bottom lip like there’s something else sitting behind his teeth. The grin thins into something almost nervous, which is absurd on his face and somehow worse than the flirting.

“I, uh…” His eyes flick briefly past her, toward Renee and Tasha, then back. “Am I still coming over tonight?”

Her stomach dips, enough to make the noise of the department blur at the edges. “Yeah. Yeah, around eight?”

Garrett nods, the relief in him tucked down quickly but not quickly enough. “Sounds good.” His smile comes back softer this time, aimed right at her mouth before he remembers himself. “Bye, baby.”

“Bye,” she says, because her body has decided to betray every defence she’s ever built.

He leaves grinning.

The second the doors close behind him, Renee turns very slowly to look at her. Tasha already has one hand pressed to her chest like she’s just witnessed a proposal in curtain three.

She points at both of them. “Stop.”

“That’s your boyfriend,” Tasha says.

“He’s not.”

“That man brought you a forty-ounce hydration appliance before noon.”

“We just sleep together.”

Renee blinks at her. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“Baby,” Tasha says, far too gently. “I have been married twice and divorced once and I’m telling you right now, men do not drive across campus with a Stanley cup unless they’re in love or being held at gunpoint.”

“He had morning skate nearby.”

Renee lifts her brows. “Was the morning skate in your cupholder?”

She opens her mouth, finds absolutely nothing useful, and closes it again.

Tasha pats the counter once, deeply pleased. “Not your boyfriend. Of course.”

Renee nods, already walking away. “Real casual. Very low stakes. Hydration-based situationship.”

She looks down at the Stanley in her hands, at the little smear of Garrett’s thumbprint on the lid, and hates that she’s smiling before she can stop it.

to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for garrett fics.

“Lewis, obviously,” she said immediately, like she had it locked and loaded.

“Then… mmh. Depends. Let me check my ‘well-behaved list’ of the week.”

Cue chaos.

WEEK ONE — PEACE IN THE PADDOCK

No one’s crashed into her. No dumb tweets. No teammate sabotage.

When the same question comes up again in Monaco, she flashes a smug smile.

“Lewis. Charles. George.”

Charles fist-pumps when he hears it replayed in the hospitality. George posts it on his story with a sparkly filter and a “she has taste” caption.

Lewis, of course, doesn’t acknowledge it publicly. Just gives her a wink when they pass in the paddock. She pretends she’s not grinning.

WEEK TWO — Oscar cuts her off at Turn 5

There’s video evidence. She’s mid-overtake. Oscar shuts the door with the emotional detachment of a tax collector.

The next day, the media ask the question again. YN raises an eyebrow.

“Lewis.” “Alex.” She pauses, “…Fernando.”

Fernando, hears about it via Twitter and smirks.

Oscar hears about it from Lando, who is howling with laughter.

“Bro, she sent you to the shadow realm,” he says between wheezes.

“Fernando? She put Fernando above you??”

Oscar shrugs, deadpan. “At least I wasn’t replaced by Esteban again.”

WEEK THREE — Carlos steals her last protein bar

It’s not even a full-on fight. Just her walking into the Ferrari motorhome ready to spill gossip and finding him mid-chew, mouth full, eyes guilty. He tries to claim it was his.

It absolutely wasn’t.

She says nothing. Until the media asks the question again.

“Lewis.” “Pierre.” “Zhou.”

Carlos watches the clip on his phone, jaw slack.

“You’re joking,” he mutters. Charles is in the corner wheezing.

“She put Pierre and Zhou over me. Over me.”

“Maybe don’t steal food, man.”

WEEK FOUR — Lando throws her into the pool post-podium

She’s dripping, still in her race suit, as she storms into the Mercedes hospitality swearing vengeance.

The next day?

“Lewis.” “Esteban.” “Hülkenberg.”

Everyone is stunned.

Esteban blushes like it’s his first day of school.

Hülkenberg fist-bumps her in the paddock like it’s a victory.

Lando? Just stands there with his arms crossed and the most offended “I was there when you need me” face imaginable.

“Oh, come on.”

“Should’ve thought about that before you launched me into chlorine, Norris.”

WEEK FIVE — George breathes wrong during press

She’s asked a serious question. George interrupts to mansplain tire degradation like she’s new here.

She turns to him slowly. “You done?”

He stammers. She smiles. The internet eats it alive.

Next day:

“Lewis.” “Alex again, because he hasn’t annoyed me once.” “Yuki. Just to make George nervous.”

George sees the clip and immediately texts her:

You’re insufferable.

Through it all — Lewis stays at 1.

Always. No matter the week. No matter the drama.

One journalist finally asks why. On air.

YN blinks, slow and smug.

“Because he is the most handsome. And the rest of you should be grateful you’re even ranked.”

Lewis, watching from the sidelines, just smiles. Doesn’t say a word. But later that day, he walks past her in the paddock, leans in, and whispers:

“You’ve got good taste.”

She just smirks. “Obviously.”

user: she uses the handsome list as a threat. queen behavior

user: notice how lewis is always number one? girl’s in love and in denial

user: lando falling off the list after one pool push and esteban ascending into the top three is SENDING ME

He noticed when Logan’s cup went from beer to something stronger. Not his problem. He noticed Dean talking with both hands while Allie stood tucked under his arm, laughing like she knew whatever came out of his mouth next was going to be either stupid or actionable. Also not his problem.

He noticed Tucker quietly moving somebody’s drink away from the edge of the counter before it got knocked onto the floor, because Tucker had always possessed the exhausting dignity of a man born already tired of everyone’s shit.

And he noticed the exact second his girlfriend put one hand on the kitchen bench again. That was his problem.

He’d already stopped this exact mission twice in the last ten minutes, which felt excessive for a girl who kept insisting she was literally fine while blinking a little too slowly and smiling at him like the lights had all gone soft around the edges.

The first time, he’d caught her by the waist and set her back on the floor with a calm, captainly, “Nope,” said close to her ear. The second time, he’d stepped between her and the counter like a very attractive barricade while she pouted at him like he'd personally cancelled fun.

Now she was trying again, because, apparently, the second a vodka cranberry and an Ariana Grande song got into the same room, her ability to retain recent history collapsed entirely.

Her skirt was too short for climbing. It was probably too short for several forms of normal standing, if Garrett was being honest, but that was between him, God, and the part of his brain currently doing threat assessment on behalf of her underwear.

Her heels were tall enough that Allie had called them hot but fucking dangerous when they arrived, and now one of them scraped against the cabinet front as she lifted her knee with absolutely no concern for balance, modesty, or Garrett’s long-term cardiovascular health.

Dean, from the other side of the kitchen, had been waiting for this. Garrett could feel it in the air. The man had made three separate comments about keeping her away from elevated surfaces and then looked personally enriched every time Garrett told him to shut the fuck up.

Garrett moved before the room really had time to understand what was happening. One second he was beside Logan, cup loose in his hand. The next he was behind her, cup abandoned somewhere near the sink, palm landing firm and warm against the back of her thigh as he tugged the hem of her skirt down with the grim focus of a man handling something highly flammable.

“Yeah, nope,” he said, low against her shoulder, his voice amused even as his hand stayed where it was. “Not doin’ that.”

She turned around like she'd been caught doing something cute instead of deeply stupid, her face bright with that pleased, unfocused warmth she got when the room had started moving a little faster than she could keep up with and Garrett was suddenly close enough to touch.

Her hands went straight to his chest, fingers sliding up the front of his shirt with drunken affection and absolutely no subtlety, and she beamed at him like she hadn't seen him in months. “Baby!”

Garrett looked down at her hands, then back at her face, his mouth twitching. “Hi.”

“Where were you?”

“Right there.” He nodded vaguely over his shoulder, where Logan had turned to watch them with the exact expression of a man who would rather die than become useful. “Saw you, like, ten seconds ago.”

“Oh.” She seemed to consider this very seriously, brows knitting for one whole beat before her face opened again, delighted by the rediscovery. “Hi.”

“Yeah, we did that part.”

She smiled anyway, her hands still sitting flat against his chest like she had every right to keep them there. Which she did. That was becoming a problem, actually. The newness of it. The fact that they were together enough now for people to know, for her to touch him without pretending it was accidental, for him to stand in a crowded kitchen the night before a game with one beer in his system and her skirt in his hand like this was a normal responsibility a man could acquire through dating.

She swayed into him. A small tilt of her weight, the kind someone else might have missed if they were drunker or less embarrassingly tuned to her. Garrett’s hand tightened at her waist before she seemed to notice she’d moved at all.

“Okay,” he said, dragging the word out in warning. “Bar stool. Right now.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, suspicious and visibly pleased. “That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it worked better.” He turned her neatly by the hips before she could decide the counter still had unfinished business with her. “Sit.”

She made a noise of offence, but she let him guide her onto the stool, mostly because it was already there and because Garrett’s hands were warm and annoyingly sure and doing that thing where they seemed to make decisions for her body a full second before her brain managed to file an objection.

The room tilted pleasantly when she sat. The bass pushed through the kitchen floor and up into the bones of her legs. Someone had spilled beer near the fridge and the tile caught lightly under the heel she kept tapping against the stool rung. Across the room, Allie was tucked into Dean’s side, laughing at something Tucker said while Dean looked over her head with the bright, vicious joy of someone watching Garrett suffer a romantic inconvenience in real time.

Garrett went to the sink and filled a plastic cup with water. He came back holding it out like evidence.

She reached for it.

He lifted it just out of range.

She blinked at him.

His face went blank in that innocent way that always meant he was about to become deeply irritating. “What?”

“Gimme.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m trying.”

She pouted. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m providing medical care.”

“You’re making me work for water, Garrett.”

His laugh came out before he could stop it, quick and real, his head ducking for half a second as if he was genuinely annoyed with himself for enjoying her this much. He lowered the cup again. She reached. He moved it left. Her fingers closed around absolutely nothing.

“Garrett.”

“Reflexes are a little rough tonight, huh?”

“I will break up with you.”

“No, you won’t.” He brought the cup close again, then jerked it back when she lunged, and she burst into giggles so hard her knee knocked against his thigh.

“Baby, this is bleak. This is like watching a kitten lose a fight with a shoelace.”

“I hate you.”

He finally let her take it, but only after wrapping his hand around hers to steady the cup because she came in too fast and almost sent half of it down her front. “Slow. Drink it like you’ve used a mouth before.”

She glared at him over the rim while she drank, which would have worked better if he hadn’t still been holding the cup with her. The water was cold enough to make her teeth ache, cutting through the sugary film of whatever Allie had mixed earlier and landing hard in the warm, spinning centre of her stomach.

Garrett watched her with his head tipped slightly, all amused mouth and attentive eyes, and she hated, immediately and deeply, how much she liked it. Not the fussing, she would deny enjoying the fussing until the end of time. But the way he did it. Like he could tease her without making her feel stupid. Like the joke was never that she was embarrassing him. Like he had simply accepted that she was drunk, pretty, badly behaved, and his to keep upright for the next hour.

His hand settled on her thigh while she drank, thumb resting just under the edge of her skirt, not doing anything much except being there. The contact was casual enough to look like nothing from the outside. From inside her body, it had weight. A small, steady point in a room full of noise.

Someone yelled his name from the living room. “Graham!”

Garrett turned his head. “What?”

A couple of hockey guys were waving him over, one of them yelling something about the line changes tomorrow and another immediately shouting over him that they were not talking strategy at a party because some of us actually know how to live.

Garrett’s attention shifted for barely two seconds. Barely. His hand left her knee. His shoulders angled away. And then the opening presented itself. It wasn't her fault. It really wasn’t. Because Ariana came on.

The song that reached into the middle of her chest and hit whatever drunk, glittery emergency button existed in girls at parties. The one that made Allie gasp from across the room and point at her because Allie understood. Allie knew. This was not about Garrett and his very boring anti-countertop agenda anymore. This was bigger than him. This was practically civic duty.

She set the water down very carefully, which felt mature enough to balance the scales of whatever happened next, and slid off the stool.

Dean noticed first. Dean noticed anything with potential for either nudity or injury, especially if both were being offered at once.

His whole face lit up. “Wooo!” he shouted, lifting his cup. “Get up there!”

Allie smacked him in the stomach, laughing even as she did it. “Don't encourage her.”

“What? I’m supporting women.”

“You’re supporting Garrett committing murder.”

Dean’s grin widened.

Garrett turned.

The timing was, unfortunately, beautiful. Her knee was already on the counter. One hand braced against the surface. Her skirt was doing its absolute best in conditions no garment that short should ever have been expected to survive.

She looked back over her shoulder at the exact moment Garrett’s expression shifted from distracted amusement to flat, immediate disbelief.

His cup was gone again. Nobody knew where he kept putting them. One second his hands were empty; the next they were on her waist.

“Alright,” he said, hauling her backward before the second knee could get involved. “We’re done here.”

She made a sound that was half laugh, half protest, her feet finding the floor with such minimal commitment to the task that he had to catch more of her weight.

“We’re done.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You were halfway to a public incident.”

She furrowed her brow, glaring up at him. “I was dancing.”

“You were climbing furniture.”

“For art.”

“For urgent care.” He bent a little to look into her face, and fuck, he was so annoying like this. So sure of himself. So warm around the edges of his authority that it made arguing with him feel less like resistance and more like foreplay’s better-behaved cousin. “Up we go.”

Her eyes widened. “Where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t this kitchen.”

“Garrett, no–”

But she was already laughing, because he had that look. The one that said he had made a decision and her role in the next thirty seconds was mostly decorative. His arm slid around the backs of her thighs, the other braced firm at her waist, and before she could do anything more strategic than clutch at his shirt, the whole kitchen flipped.

Light, ceiling, cabinets, Logan’s deeply entertained face, Dean’s open-mouthed delight. All of it went upside down in one warm, dizzy rush as Garrett threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing and he had reached the end of negotiations.

She shrieked.

Everyone cheered.

“Garrett!”

“Yup.” He adjusted his hold like this was a normal thing to be doing in somebody’s kitchen, one hand firm across the backs of her thighs, the other keeping her skirt decent. “That’s my name.”

She smacked his back, badly, mostly because she was laughing too hard to aim. “Put me down!”

“No.”

“I’m serious!”

“You’re drunk and upside down. You’re not serious.”

Dean was losing his mind across the room, bent halfway over Allie’s shoulder while she tried and failed to look disapproving. Logan lifted his cup with solemn respect. Tucker, because he had chosen betrayal, called, “Honestly, I think this is the safest option available.”

“I hate all of you,” she announced to the kitchen, though it came out wobbly with laughter because Garrett had started walking and every step made her bounce lightly against his shoulder.

Garrett paused in the doorway and turned just enough for the room to see her dangling there, hair falling toward the floor, cheeks hot, both hands planted uselessly against his back while her skirt remained under the firm jurisdiction of his palm.

“Say goodnight, everyone,” he said.

She lifted her head with great effort, spotted Allie first, then Dean, then Logan, then the blurry, bright collection of cups and boys and bad decisions behind them, and waved with both hands like she was leaving a pageant. “Goodnight, everyone!”

The kitchen erupted again. Dean actually clapped. Allie blew her a kiss. Logan yelled, “Hydrate!” with the confidence of a man who had not had water since Thursday.

Garrett carried her through the house, past the crush of bodies in the hallway, past two people making out badly against the wall by the stairs, past somebody’s abandoned jacket and an open front door letting in a thin slice of cold night air.

The music followed them out in pieces, bass first, then voices, then the muffled whole of the party dropping behind them as Garrett stepped onto the porch and the night came up around her bare legs.

The air sharpened everything at the edges. Damp grass. Car exhaust. The metallic bite of early spring. Garrett’s cologne caught in the cotton of his shirt where her cheek had ended up pressed against his back.

For a few seconds she kept wriggling on principle, because it seemed important for the record that she hadn't gone quietly. Then the path dipped slightly and the world swung with it, and she decided stillness had a lot going for it.

Halfway down the walk, she stopped struggling altogether and just hung there, arms loose, one heel slipping lower on her foot.

“Babe,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“You have a nice butt.”

Garrett did not miss a step. “Thanks, baby.”

“Like, really nice.”

“I know.”

She gasped, offended despite having introduced the subject herself. “You’re so cocky.”

“You’re upside down staring at my ass and giving live commentary. I feel like the confidence is evidence-based.”

She giggled again, softer this time, the sound spilling out into the cold. Garrett’s hand shifted against the backs of her thighs, careful with her balance, careful with the hem of her skirt, careful in a way that shouldn't have been noticeable when she was upside down and full of vodka and openly objectifying him, but was.

He could have made a thing of it. Could have rolled his eyes harder. Could have acted like taking care of his drunk girlfriend was some massive inconvenience being inflicted on him by the universe and Ariana Grande.

But Garrett just carried her like it was easy. Like she was funny. Like she was his problem, and he was, privately and embarrassingly, kind of pleased about it.

At his car, he set her down slowly, both hands at her waist until her heels found pavement and stayed there. The world rushed upright too fast, porch light blurring behind his shoulder, and she grabbed his forearms while her stomach took a second to remember where it lived.

Garrett watched her face, his smile fading into something more focused. “Good?”

She nodded, then immediately leaned forward until her forehead touched his chest because nodding had been a little ambitious. “Mhm.”

“That was wildly convincing.”

“I’m graceful.”

“You tried to climb a kitchen counter because Ariana Grande told you to.”

“She did.”

“She didn't personally tell you shit.”

She pointed one finger up at him. “You don’t know our relationship.”

His mouth curved again, and he brushed her hair back from her face, knuckles grazing her cheek in a touch so light it made her eyes want to close. “Your relationship with gravity is a little unstable right now.”

She looked up at him. The kitchen light was still on him somehow, caught in the angles of his face, in the dark sweep of his lashes, in the small amused pull at the corner of his mouth. He was close enough that she could see the faint scrape near his jaw from shaving, the tiredness tucked under his eyes from practice, the way his attention kept moving over her in pieces. Eyes. Mouth. Balance. Mood.

He was still teasing her, still Garrett, still unfairly pleased with himself, but under it sat the thing he did without announcing it. The checking. The steadiness. The hand already there before the fall happened.

She slid her hands up his chest again because it was the easiest place to put them, fingers curling loosely in his shirt. “Are you mad?”

Garrett looked genuinely insulted by the question. “At you?”

“Mm.”

“For trying to flash half the hockey team and die on a countertop?” He pretended to consider it. “Nah.”

Her mouth turned down. “That sounded judgy.”

“That was the edited version.”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m driving you home, giving you water, and preventing you from becoming a cautionary tale. I’m a hero.” His hands settled at her hips again, thumbs warm through the thin fabric at her waist. “A hot one, apparently. Nice butt. Heard that somewhere.”

She groaned and dropped her forehead back against his chest, and his laugh moved under her ear, low and pleased.

For a few seconds they just stood there beside his car while the party carried on without them, muffled and distant now, her body still buzzing with music and alcohol and the delayed embarrassment of nearly becoming a story Dean would tell until graduation. Garrett’s hand moved once down her back, then up again.

When she tipped her face up, he was already looking.

“What?” she asked, suspicious.

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing a face.”

“That's because I have a face.”

“A smug one.”

“Yeah, that’s genetic.” He opened the passenger door and guided her toward it, one hand hovering near her head so she didn’t knock it against the frame. “In.”

She sat with less dignity than she would have preferred, knees bumping together, one heel catching awkwardly on the floor mat. Garrett crouched before she could fully process the problem, fingers closing gently around her ankle as he straightened the shoe and set her foot flat. The intimacy of it caught weirdly in her stomach.

“There,” he said. “Both shoes accounted for. Huge night for us.”

She stared down at him. “You’re really pretty from this angle.”

He looked up, one brow lifting. “From the floor?”

“Mhm.”

“Good to know.” He reached across her for the seatbelt, and she took the opportunity to press a messy kiss to his cheek, catching more jaw than anything else. Garrett paused with the belt pulled across her lap, mouth twitching like he was trying very hard not to smile too obviously. “You missed.”

“I didn’t.”

“That was my jaw.”

“I know what I did.”

“Terrifying sentence.” He clicked the belt into place and tugged once to check it, then braced one hand on the roof of the car and looked down at her. “You gonna puke in my car?”

She considered lying, then made a face. “No.”

“Very long pause.”

“I was thinking.”

“That’s what scared me.”

She laughed, head falling back against the seat, and Garrett’s smile went helpless for half a second. There and then mostly gone, swallowed back under the usual cocky tilt of his mouth before she could do anything devastating with it, like point it out.

But she saw it. The fondness. The stupid, pleased little crease near his eye, like this – her drunk and difficult and half-asleep in his passenger seat, mascara probably doing something unfortunate, skirt riding high enough on her thighs that he reached in and tugged it down again with a muttered, “Jesus, baby,” – was somehow not a nuisance to him.

Somehow, it was worth smiling about.

He shut the door and walked around the front of the car, and through the windshield she watched him shake his head to himself, still grinning.

When he got in, the party disappeared almost completely. Door closed. Engine on. The car filled with the low blue glow of the dashboard and the clean, familiar smell of Garrett’s hoodie thrown in the backseat.

He handed her a half-full water bottle from the backseat. “Drink.”

She took it with both hands. “You’re bossy.”

“You like it.”

She hummed into the rim, then looked over at him with her cheek pressed against the seat. “Maybe.”

Garrett pulled away from the curb with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over without looking to settle warm over her bare knee.

“Next party,” he said, “we’re putting you in pants.”

She made a horrified noise. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Longer skirt.”

“No.”

“Flats?”

She turned her head very slowly, giving him the full weight of her disappointment. “Garrett.”

He glanced over, and the grin came back. “Yeah, okay. That was too far.”

“Thank you.”

“But no counters.”

She sighed like he had asked her to give up art. “You’re ruining my brand.”

“Your brand almost gave Tucker a full view of your underwear.”

“Was he impressed?”

Garrett’s hand tightened on her knee. Enough that she felt the shift before she saw the look he kept aimed at the road. “Careful.”

Garrett Graham, competitive down to the bone. Still warm, still amused, but with that little edge in his voice that made her grin against the side of the water bottle because he was so easy sometimes. Pretty and cocky and gone for her in ways he kept trying to disguise as confidence.

She reached over and covered his hand with hers, fingers slipping between his. “I’m kidding.”

“I know.”

“You’re my favourite.”

His mouth softened before he could stop it. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Her eyes were getting heavy now, the night stretching into something blurred and honey-warm around the edges. “Even when you’re mean and anti-Ariana.”

“I’m pro-Ariana. I’m anti-head injury.”

She hummed again, sinking lower in the seat, her thumb moving lazily over his knuckles. The car rolled through the quiet streets around Briar, past porch lights and parked cars and the occasional burst of noise from other parties spilling out over lawns.

Garrett drove slower than usual, glancing over every so often like she might attempt to climb something inside the car if left unsupervised.

Maybe she loved that. Just a little.

Maybe that was the problem with him. The dangerous part wasn’t the grin, or the body, or the fact that half the girls at every party seemed to know where he was without looking directly at him.

It was this. His hand steady under hers. His hoodie in the backseat. His voice still teasing because he knew she would hate being fussed over too seriously, even while he kept watch like it mattered.

She turned her face toward him, smiling sleepily. “Garrett?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Next time she plays that song, I’m getting on the bench.”

He laughed under his breath, eyes on the road, thumb brushing once over the side of her hand.

“Mm,” he said. “We’ll see about that.”

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: World famous fashion designer and CEO of SolureCouture, is in the paddock today! welcome Y/N to the F1 world

———————————————————————————

user: this is a bit much for a race no?

^user: she’s a famous designer, girl get a grip no

^user: yeah this is actually considered casual for her

user: oh she’s putting the other wags and drivers to literal SHAMBLES

user: served, chewed, ate, plate licked, no crumbs

user: first race and out dresses everybody

^user: out dressed everyone in history

user: why is she there

^user either pr or she has a show there soon

^user orrrr maybe she’s genuinely interested

user: she might be dating a driver?

^user: no one is worthy of this

user: hmmm this is how it always starts out

𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

lewishamilton: My loves new collection Adatrix now completed. it’s been an honor to work beside the woman I love and to see behind the scenes of her beautiful work.

she the absolutely most talented, dedicated hardworking person I know and to see her consistently meeting her goal and raising the bar for herself is such an incredible thing to witness. she is such in inspiration and she cares so much about the fashion industry, I owe my latest looks and wisdom to this goddess.

———————————————————————————

user: WOAH? HES DATING THE Y/N

user: lewis i was not familiar with your game

^user: hmmmm i feel like you should be. this is not shocking he’s dating a designer

user: the fashion industry just won today like actually

user: oh i just know the magazines will be fighting over them

user: i just threw my phone i’m actually shaking

user: OF COURSE IT WOULD BE HER

^user: if anyoneee is going to date her, lewis is genuinely the perfect person

user: yall keep it cute now

user: anyone being disrespectful WILL be reported

^user: me too because i don’t play

user: AWWWW he finally has someone

^user: she better not break this man’s heart because I swear. he needs a good relationship

^user: only thing you have to worry about her breaking is fashion standards and these people’s necks

^user: TRUEST THING I’VE HEARD ALL DAY

yourusername: my favorite mannequin of all time <3

lewishamilton: honored to have that title

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: Lewis hamilton and his newly announced girlfriend y/n today at the 2025 Miami Grand Prix. The pair are wearing custom coordinated outfits designed and made by y/n herself, source is from Lewis

———————————————————————————

user: haters are throwing up right now

user: outing myself right now but i was so mad hes dating someone but she actually pulled through

^user: now why would you even admit that

^user: oh girl they’re coming for you

user: unmatched aura

user: serving this hard already, oh she’s ready

user: THE MIRRORS?? HOLY

user: her matching him is making me melt

user: hard launch final boss

user: yayyyy a new couple to obsess over

^user: if you’re a new fan of y/n prepare to see looks like this every single race

^user: might as well glue the jaw shut now too

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

yourusername: now presenting the Adatrix 2026 collection for SolureCouture

thank you to everyone for supporting my art and for being the vision. my designs tell the stories of the ones who made this possible, you the fans. the goal is for everyone to see themselves at the top, and feel the success building within them everyday

the sky is the limit, become the new trend by today

——————————————————————————

user: i’ve seen enough, make her a co chair in the MET

^user: THAT WOULD BE SO GOOD

^user: ohh girl i like the way you’re thinking….

user: adatrix is such a cool name

user: the concept of her whole brand is actually groundbreaking

user: i’m crying so hard at the caption

user: hi, i’ve recently just started following you and your work, who makes your designs, genuinely asking?

^yourusername: hi my love, all pieces are made directly by hand and i make around 60% of the clothing myself. i like to think i can do it all but unfortunately i need to eat and sleep :( so I do have an amazing team of 6 incredibly hard working people who handmake the rest of the pieces that i’m not able to!

alexandrasaintmleux: you are such a visionary

eglehulkenburg: your growth is unreal, congrats angel

lilymhe: you are absolutely a talent to watch

^yourusername: thank you. it means the world to me for your support, custom fits for all coming soon!

user: we need more designers like you

user: this collection is true fashion

carmenmundt: ugh my darling i hope you know how unique you truly are. one of a kind

lilyzneimer: what a beautifully done collection!

flavybarla: you’re unstoppable

^yourusername: omg you all are too sweet. thank you for welcoming me with open arms and for your support

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: Lewis and Y/N’s custom outfits from today’s race at Silverstone, once again made by Y/N

———————————————————————————

user: I’M OBSESSEDDDD

user: not me giggling at my phone cuz their so hot

user: face cards never decline

^user: heavy on the neverrrr

user: icons doing and wearing iconic things

user: THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR ME

user: this is why designers deserve their flowers NOW

user: she made this from scratch btw

^user: hard to tell who outfit I’m more impressed by

user: lewis give me your game card

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: custom fits once again for the couple at the Singapore Grand Prix today, this might be my favorite look of theirs so far

———————————————————————————

user: and THIS is why i pay that phone bill

user: fashion girlies are screaming

^user: it’s me, i’m fashion girlies

user: oh she stays employed

user: girly is forever working, when does she sleep

user: this is better than any race this season

^user: lowkey only look forward to race weekends to see the matching fits

user: i fear i will never be normal about them

user: she can truly make anything. any material on her looks absolutely exceptional

^user: did you know she actually buys from local businesses in the area she in for a race, which means she’s make their outfits in only 2-3 days

^user: WHAT? OMG I DID NOT KNOW THAT

^user: this makes me even more impressed with her

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: they love a good red moment. Lewis and y/n at the Vegas Grand Prix in custom SolureCouture

———————————————————————————

user: she understands the assignment for both of them every single time

user: they do rich the right way

user: SICK AND TWISTED ( in a good way )

user: ugh nobody is doing it like her

user: this is actually making me hot and bothered

user: paddock walk? more like runway walk

^user: I WANT YOU TO STRUT, STRUT!!!

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

yourusername: my turn outfitsoff1 abu dhabi 2025 💋

——————————————————————————

outfitsoff1: OUHH IM GAGGED

^yourusername: lewis and i love uuuu! <3

user: not a single bad outfit between them

^user: or angle

user: HOW is she real

user: not one miss from her this whole season

user yes, she made this one too. and the next one, and the next and the next!!

lewishamilton: i’m just lucky she lets me wear her art

^yourusername: you’re the inspiration my love <3

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: oh they did not come to play tonight, Lewis and Y/N at the FIA end of the year Gala. I think we know what brand they’re both wearing….!

———————————————————————————

user: the inverted matching outfits, IM SICKKK

user: not even posing and still ate

user: went there to serve cunt and leave

user: he may have had the worst year of his career this season but he won in every other aspect

user: she outdid herself with these

^user: best looks fr

user: THE SCREAM I JUST SCRUMPT

user: they look so so good i need to get a grip

user: oh so everyone else is just supposed to pack it up now huh

^user: yeah everybody go home for me now

𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

lewishamilton: now that the season is over i want to thank my everything for being with me this season

there’s been ups and down of my career but i’ve never lost sight of myself, because of her. her mission and impact is one i feel everyday and it brings me to tears even thinking about what she’s done for every community she’s been apart of yourusername

———————————————————————————

user: every time he posts her my standards get higher and higher

user: this relationship feel so balanced

^user: they are so in love and authentic as a couple

user: MY POWER COUPLEEE

user: i only believe in love because of them

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

New York Times: History has been made as a new director of the Met Gala has just confirmed. After 40 years, the current director and woman who started it all, Anna Wintour, has officially retired her role. With Anna Wintour stepping down, luxury fashion designer of SolureCouture, Y/N L/N has been hand selected by Anna herself to be new director.

Y/N will be the second person to ever hold this title, and is the first black women, and youngest women to ever hold such position. She is now the head chair and her husband, Lewis Hamilton is to be a permanent co chair, with other co chairs switching every year

———————————————————————————

user: HUSBAND???

user: somewhere in the world someone just fell to their knees seeing the word husband

^user: i think we found that someone…

user: one step closer to y/n world domination

^user: inching forward everyday

user: THE WORLD IS HEALING

user: seeing her win makes me emotional omg

𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐞

NEWLYWEDS LEWIS AND Y/N HAMILTON EXCEED EXCELLENCE IN FASHION AND LOVE

January 2026 Issue

Y/N and Lewis Hamilton open up about their recent wedding in our first print of the new year. The couple are both known for their very expressive choices in clothing and are all about rewriting boundaries.

Lewis, 41 is a Formula One driver and has been in the sport professionally for over 18 years. His unique outfits at the time in F1 caused a whirlwind of criticism for breaking the boundaries back in 2015.

Y/N, 31, has been interested in fashion sinxe she was 8 years old and has been designing since she was 20. She’s quickly rose to the top of the industry with her distinctive and eccentric designs, becoming the most requested designer in demand. In 2020 she created her own fashion called SolureCouture.

The pair began dating in 2023 and announced their relationship earlier this year, and sealing it with rings in November 2025. Inside are more and exclusive details from the couple about their private wedding, what the future holds for them and what it means to be a black couple redefining the culture of expressive dressing, together.

——————————————————————————

𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Vogue: Y/N and Lewis Hamilton, January 2026 issue

Big congrats to the newlyweds and the new Head and Co chairs of the Met Gala.

——————————————————————————

user: why am i crying like i know them personally

user: she doesn’t miss. ever.

user: deserves of every bit of recognition

lawroach: you’ve come so far my sweetheart!

christiansirano: love working with you, so proud

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 + 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

lewishamilton & yourusername: our first collection together, and it’s as husband and wife!!!

working on our 2026 Madella collection with lewis has been the best experience of my life. as you know i do all the designs myself and work hands on with making a majority of pieces by hand. my team is very small, but just got expanded to one more.

thank you lewis for becoming a permanent part of my brand and mission in rewriting what the word fashion means. we have both worked worked endlessly together to create this and he is so talented. get you a man who is so invested in your career he will learn how to sketch and sew!!

release is next week, love the hamiltons <3

SIREN:

Truth be told, you didn’t hate Hangman. You wish you did though.

You had heard of Jake and his reputation at Top Gun. He was in the graduating class the year before and you prayed that you’d be fortunate enough to never meet the man.

No such luck.

With everything you heard: how he was a prick with an ego higher than Everest, how he left his wingmen to fend for themselves, how he could get any woman with a cocky grin and a wink; you just knew that you’d hate him. And you tried your best, you really did. He had a way of getting under your skin, and he annoyed the hell out of you, but underneath it all, you actually liked him. Though you’d never give him the satisfaction of that knowledge.

Really, the worst thing about Jake was the flirting. He was persistent. From the day you met him, he’d been all over you. You dismissed it, of course, a man like Hangman flirted with anything with a heartbeat. The only way to deal with the dreadful feeling of your affection for him was to make it clear that you weren’t interested.

JAKE:

Jake started planning his wedding just mere moments upon meeting Siren. Which shocked him far more than anything else he’s ever experienced in his lifetime.

Of course, he’d heard of her before, though all he really knew was how she got her callsign.

And he saw it as a challenge.

Jake was sipping a beer at the Hard Deck, chatting with his buddies in the squadron when one of them brought up a new graduate from Top Gun:

Siren.

His ears perk up at the mention of her callsign. He's never heard of her before, but the way they were talking about her piqued his interest. Fritz goes on to say that they call her Siren because of the way she lures men to their demise. Sure, it was a compliment to her skills as a pilot, but it had a bitter double meaning since every pilot and navy man that ever made a move on her was swiftly rejected.

Jake internalizes this, and by the time he leaves the Hard Deck, he was determined to meet her and find out for himself what the fuss was all about.

As luck would have it, a couple of years later, she was transferred into his unit. There was a buzz of excitement the day of her arrival, and Jake took extra precautions to make sure that he made a good impression (Javy told him he overdid it on the cologne; Jake said there was no such thing as “over-doing it”).

The moment she walked in through the door, he felt his heart skip a beat. Siren were breathtaking, carrying herself with an air of confidence that made her oh-so captivating.

He was about to make a remark, try to get into Siren's good graces, but he didn’t miss the way her nose scrunched slightly when she passed him by, letting out a huff. It was then that he realized he probably should’ve listened to Javy.

Siren continued past him, shoulders squared back, head held high, until she reached the front of the briefing room and stood side by side the squadron leader as he introduced her to the rest of the group.

“Lieutenant Morales—callsign Siren—graduated Top Five of her Top Gun class,” Cyclone announced, pacing in front of the assembled pilots. “Highest marks in air combat maneuvering, exceptional tactical instincts, and one of the best reaction times we’ve ever recorded. She’s logged over eight hundred flight hours across Super Hornets and Growlers, and she led a two-ship during a live intercept last year that earned her a Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal.”

Jake blinked.

That alone would’ve impressed him. But the commander wasn’t done.

“She also completed an advanced electronic warfare course at Whidbey, cross-trained as a backup WSO, and received command commendation for a successful emergency recovery under low-visibility conditions.”

Phoenix let out a low whistle. Bob muttered, “Holy crap.”

Jake’s interest—a spark when he first heard her callsign at the Hard Deck—now roared into a fire.

But the squad leader continued.

“And finally,” he said, turning slightly toward her, “Siren is known for her discipline. She does not tolerate nonsense, does not indulge distractions, and maintains a professional record clean enough to frame. I expect you to treat her with the same respect she’s earned. Lord knows she has earned mine.” He ends with a curt nod in Siren’s direction, an air of admiration hanging between the two.

“Thank you, Admiral,” She returned his nod before turning to face the squad, “I look forward to serving with all of you.” She added, looking across the room with a barely perceptible twitch as her gaze crossed over Hangman.

Siren took her seat beside whom Jake can only assume is her WSO.

By the time the briefing wrapped, he wasn’t just intrigued. He was captivated.

SIREN:

As the briefing ended, you barely had time to blink before your assigned WSO turned to face you and introduce himself.

“Lieutenant Marc Spector —Callsign Oracle,” The dark curled man extended his hand out to yours, “It’s an honor to be flying with you.”

You took his hand in yours, grip firm, “Oracle,” you paused for a moment, the gears turning and clicking, “You were at the academy a few years before me, right? You’re a legend in the WSO world, your accuracy rating is unbeatable, the honor’s all mine.” You can’t help but beam at him, your hard-shell cracking in show of your admiration.

He flushes slightly under your praise, withdrawing his hand from yours and your eyes don’t miss the silver band that flashes under the fluorescent lights.

Married, noted. Too bad, he’s handsome. You think to yourself, shunning any thoughts you had earlier in respect of his spouse.

“Well shoot, thanks. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always been a sharpshooter.” He jokes with you as he gathers his things, prompting you to do the same.

A laugh bubble up from your chest, your eyes shining, enjoying the company of your WSO and knowing it’ll be the start of a great partnership.

The moment is quickly soured by that overpowering cologne you had the misfortune of passing by earlier. Your eyes shoot up, noticing that tall blonde with an immovable smirk. He looks like he came straight out of a Cowboys Monthly catalogue instead of the Naval Academy.

“Hey darlin’”, you hear a southern drawl in his voice, “name’s Hangman, best pilot ‘round these parts, even better than you believe it or not.” His smirk widens at his words, toothpick shifting to the other side of his mouth.

You shoot a sideways glance to Oracle, not believing what you’re hearing. He gives you a look that says that this is just the type of man he is. An arrogant jaggoff that just spews whatever nonsense falls off the top of his dome.

“Listen here Old Spice,” Your shell coming back up, gaze hard on his as you notice a slight twitch on his lips, “I’m not here to compete, I’m not here to prove anything to you, and I’m not here to entertain you. We have a duty, and I’m here to perform. You got a different agenda? Then stay out of my way.” Your words are punctuated as you move past him, adding a slight shove to his shoulder as you continue on your way, hearing a low whistle behind you, a holler in the distance from the man that you know is gonna get under your skin.

JAKE:

Jake Seresin wasn’t the kind of man who got caught off guard. Not in the air. Not in the briefing room. And definitely not in Penny Benjamin’s bar, where he practically had home-field advantage.

But then Siren walked in.

Hair down. Sundress swaying just above her knees, catching the warm San Diego breeze. Heels clicking on the old wooden floor.

He actually felt his heartbeat stutter.

Everyone else noticed too—Rooster’s pool cue paused mid-shot, Phoenix mouthed “oh boy,” and even Fanboy straightened like he’d just witnessed a civilian celebrity appearance. Siren, of course, didn’t seem to notice the ripple she sent through the room. She was taking everything in with a careful, assessing gaze, Oracle at her side like the world’s smuggest bodyguard.

Jake swallowed hard, pushing off the bar and trying to look normal. Casual. Not like his entire brain had short-circuited because apparently Siren owned silk-smooth waves and a little smirk that felt like a gut punch.

Finally letting her hair down, he thought. Maybe now she’ll give me a chance.

She caught him staring. Her brows lifted.

…And she promptly looked away.

Fantastic. Off to a great start.

Phoenix sauntered by, clapping his shoulder. “Don’t drool, Bagman. It’s embarrassing for everyone.”

“Didn’t say a damn word,” Jake muttered. “Just being friendly.”

“Yeah, friendly. That’s what we’re calling it now.” She smirked. “Try not to scare her off.”

“Oh, I’ll charm her,” Jake said confidently.

“Someday you’ll go far," Phoenix snorted, "and I really hope you stay there.”

Jake muttered something impolite and made his way toward Siren.

She stood by the jukebox, pretending to read the song list but very clearly avoiding him. Oracle noticed Jake approaching and sighed like a long-suffering parent.

“Please behave,” Oracle murmured.

“No promises,” Jake said, flashing his trademark grin.

Siren didn’t even pretend to be impressed.

“So,” Jake drawled, planting a hand against the wall beside her, “what’s Siren stand for anyway, hm? Is it because of how annoying you are? Everyone winces the second you open your mouth?”

Without hesitation, she fired back, “Y’know, Bagman, that’s a perfect explanation of you.”

Oracle tried (and failed) to hide his laugh.

Jake ignored him. “Cute.”

Turning to finally face him, she crossed her arms. “You think you’re hot stuff, huh?”

“Oh, I know I am, baby.”

Before he could double down, Phoenix reappeared with a beer, leaning against the jukebox beside Siren.

“C’mon, Jake, lay off her. I don’t want the only other woman in this unit requesting a transfer just because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“Oh dear God, has that actually happened before?” Siren gasped dramatically, hand on her chest.

Jake’s eyes flicked to her hand before he dragged them up again. …Bad idea. Very bad idea.

He threw up his hands. “I am capable of behaving around a lady.”

“Mhm, sure you are,” Phoenix said, looping her arm through Siren’s. “I just don’t think you can behave around this one.”

With that, she whisked Siren away to the pool table with Oracle, leaving Jake staring after her like a man watching the last lifeboat leave the Titanic.

He eventually retreated to darts with Javy, though his attention kept drifting back to the woman who had him so thoroughly, stupidly enamored.

Later, when the noise softened and the crowd shifted, Siren slipped past him toward the back patio. He followed...because he was a man with poor impulse control and even worse instincts where she was involved.

She caught him again, eyebrow raised. “What’s that look for?”

Jake shrugged, adjusting slightly. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous for you.”

He chuckled. God, she was quick. “You know, Siren, for someone who pretends to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time paying attention to me.”

“I don’t have to pay attention,” she replied coolly. “You’re loud enough to make it impossible to ignore you.”

She walked off again, hair swaying, sundress brushing her thighs.

Jake exhaled slowly.

Yeah.

She was definitely going to be the death of him.

And he couldn’t wait.

SIREN:

Ever since you had been assigned to the same unit as Jake months ago, every day started out the same way. He’d keep it professional during the briefings, but the moment you were dismissed to head to your respective jets, he was on your heels like a lost puppy. 

Walking down the hall towards the tarmac, Jake kept in step beside you while he bothered you with the first words of the day:

"Y’know, Siren, I think you're just afraid to admit that you secretly love me." He had that same cocky smile plastered on his face with a toothpick casually kept between his teeth. That stupid toothpick. God, you swear that Jake kept a box of them by his bed and grabbed a new one everyday just to flaunt it and flick it at you at the end of each day.

You rolled your eyes at him, "Oh please, Jake. I wouldn't love you even if you were the last man on earth." An utter lie, but you had to keep his ego in check.

With a wince he uttered, "Ouch, darlin’. That hurts." His Texan drawl was always more evident when he said that pet name.

"Good. Maybe it will finally knock some sense into that thick skull of yours." You knew it wouldn’t, but maybe if you kept this up long enough, it would knock him down just a smidge.

"Hey now, my skull is just fine. It's my heart that's the problem. It beats too fast whenever I'm around you." The wink he sent your way after that was comical, and you hated how it made you feel.

With faux concern, you added, "Well, maybe you should get that checked out. It sounds like tachycardia which I’m pretty sure could turn into a serious medical condition."

"Ha ha, very funny, Siren. You're lucky I find your sarcasm endearing." That was the problem, you’re pretty sure that your decision of being mean to him just made Hangman like you even more.

Teasing him slightly, you joked, "Yeah, I'm sure that's the only reason you like me."

"Well, that, your stunning good looks and your kind, pure heart." He smirked as he shifted his toothpick to the other side.

You scoffed at him, "Save the compliments, Bagman. I know you're just trying to butter me up, so I'll let you win in the next dogfight."

"Who, me? Never."

"Right, because you always play fair."

"’course I do sweetheart. But you know what they say, all's fair in love and war." With that he left you alone to get into his F-18. You wish you had a snide remark left because you hated it when he got the last word in. But to no avail, he had gotten in your head with that simple comment.

JAKE:

Hangman couldn't resist a challenge, especially when it came to Siren. He had been trying to win her over for a few months now, but she always seemed to be one step ahead of him, shutting down his advances with a quick retort or a dismissive wave of her hand. If he was lucky, banter would ensue, and he’d replay it in his head all day long.

But Jake was nothing if not persistent. He was determined to win Siren over, no matter how long it took or how many times he had to try.

As she walked out into the hangar, Jake couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement. He leaned casually against the nearest fighter jet; his arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he called out as she approached. "Looking good as always."

Siren rolled your eyes, but Jake could see a hint of a smile on her lips. He grinned to himself, feeling encouraged. "What do you want, Jake?" she asked, voice tinged with annoyance.

Jake shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wanted to see if you were up for grabbing a drink with me after our training session today. You know, relax a little bit."

Narrowing her eyes at him, clearly not buying his smooth talk. "No thanks, Old Spice. I've got better things to do than hang out with you."

Jake's grin didn't falter. "Oh, c’mon, sweetheart. You know you want to. We could have some fun together. Who knows what could happen?" He understands what that sounded like. In reality, the only think Jake was hoping would happen was to talk to her. A real conversation. That was something few and far between when it came to Siren, but he cherished them.

She shook her head, expression hardening. "I don't have time for games, Jake. So why don't you just leave me alone and focus on training?"

Jake's smile faded slightly, but he refused to give up. "I'm not playing games, Siren. Really wanna see ya at the Hard Deck tonight." Maybe she'd grace him by wearing a sundress like the one she had on the first day she was there. That is, if she ended up going. Most likely not.

Siren raised her brow, clearly skeptical. But there was a hint of something else in her expression, something that gave Jake hope.

As she walked away to her own jet, Jake felt a pat on his shoulder. "Good effort, bud." Oracle offered the shyest bit of comfort as he headed off, "but y'know how she is." He hollered at him with a wink as he trailed behind to follow Siren.

Jake knew that she was a tough nut to crack, but he was up for the challenge. He would win Siren's heart, no matter what it took.

SIREN:

The mess hall was unusually quiet for midday: just the low drone of conversation, the clatter of trays, and the hum of the industrial AC fighting the relentless San Diego heat. The flight tablet was open in front of you, a page of telemetry glowing against the metal table.

Were you supposed to be reviewing patterns? Technically. But it couldn’t keep your usual sharp focus, eyes kept drifting to the edge of the table.

To the stupid red packet sitting against your elbow like a smug little beacon.

Contraband. Contraband you had once mentioned, once, in casual conversation about comfort snacks. Contraband Jake Seresin had somehow procured, smuggled, and dropped off with all the ceremony of a dog delivering a trophy slipper.

You nudged it again, harder. It didn’t disappear.

Phoenix dropped her tray into the seat across from you. “Alright,” she announced, pointing her fork with all the precision of a missile lock, “what the hell was that little scene with Hangman earlier?”

You didn’t bother to lift your eyes. “Which one?”

“The one where he walked by just to leave you a snack and strutted out like he’d just delivered a baby on a commercial jet.”

Your jaw tightened.

Eyes flickering to the gummies.

Traitorous, bright red gummies.

Clearing your throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Phoenix stared at you like you’d just announced the earth was flat. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“He brought you gummies,” Phoenix emphasized slowly. “Your gummies. Your favorite gummies.”

“So?” You say, trying to shrug away the discomfort that was taking residence in your shoulders. “Maybe he brings everyone snacks.”

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix deadpanned. “Hangman. Patron saint of generosity.” She tapped your tablet like she was checking stats. “The list of living creatures he’d willingly feed is—yep—exactly one. Himself.”

“Please,” You remark, forcing your face to remain neutral and not show just how much you were burning up inside. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of me. That’s all he does.”

“No, sweetie.” Phoenix’s voice dropped. “He’s trying to impress you.”

“He is not, he’s just been… weird,” you muttered.

Phoenix perked up. “Weird how?”

“Well…” Hesitatating, because acknowledging this out loud felt it made it real. “He just...shows up.”

Phoenix’s brows shot up. “Shows up?”

“Yes. Everywhere.” Listing off fingers. “My morning run. The hangar bay. The sim hallway. The pilot lounge. He just appears with some dumb comment or” gesturing helplessly at the gummies “this.”

Phoenix let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Jake Seresin is orbiting you like a lovesick satellite.”

Your whole body rejected that statement. “He’s just being annoying.”

“No,” Phoenix corrected, “I annoy you. Rooster annoys you. Hangman makes you” she made a small circular gesture over your face “react.”

“I do not react,” Snapping at Nat, which definitely showed he does make you react.

You groaned, sliding down in the seat and pressing your palms over your face. “This is humiliating.”

“No,” Phoenix said softly, nudging your foot under the table. “This is adorable. And also prime entertainment for the squad, so thank you.”

Peeking through your fingers with a glare. “Nat—don’t.”

Phoenix grinned like a devil and pushed the gummy pack toward you. “You’re keeping them.”

Straightening, you scoffed. “Absolutely not.” just as a familiar presence brushed the edge of your awareness.

Movement in your peripheral vision.

Hangman. Walking in with that loose, arrogant stride that said he knew he looked good. Posture relaxed. Eyes scanning.

Until they found yours.

Hangman approached like he was walking out of a commercial; slow, confident, like the air itself made way for him.

You didn’t look up from your tablet. You didn’t need to. You could feel him coming like a weather change.

He stopped right at your table.

“Afternoon, ladies.” His eyes flicked to the gummy pack beside your elbow.“Treatin’ you alright, darlin’?”

You nudged the pack an inch away, gave him a flat stare that could’ve curdled milk.

“Oh, they’re perfect,” you said lightly. “I keep ’em for emergencies. Like when you start talking.”

Phoenix choked. Actually choked. She had to pound a fist over her chest.

Hangman’s smile twitched before resetting into something self-satisfied and annoyingly warm.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning against the table, “lucky for you, I’m always around if you need a refill.”

Hangman’s eyes dipped to the gummy pack, like he was pleased with himself, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and then he straightened up again.

Then he walked off.

Just like that.

Phoenix grinned and leaned in, resting her chin on her hands. “So. When’s the wedding?”

You let your forehead drop onto your tablet with all the force of a dying jet. “Never. Happening.”

“Mmhmm,” Phoenix hummed, “sure, Jan.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at her—sharp, warning, a full nuclear threat—when you felt it.

That tiny tug in your chest.

That awareness.

Against your better judgment, you looked toward the exit.

Hangman paused in the doorway. Turned. Glanced back at you.

You forced your face into neutrality immediately, but Phoenix still inhaled sharply like she’d witnessed a proposal.

“Nat,” you warned, pointing a finger at her, “if you make one more comment, I’m filling your shampoo bottle with aircraft degreaser.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, hands up. “I’m done.”

You shoved the gummy pack under your tablet, out of sight, out of mind, out of reach.

You didn't throw it out.

You told yourself it was because the trash cans were across the room.

It had nothing to do with him.

Nothing at all.

And you’d keep telling yourself that until it stuck.

JAKE:

A year had passed since Jake laid eyes on the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Many a men have told him to move on, that he’s wasting his time, that it’ll “never happen”. He paid them no mind. Jake was a man who knew what he wanted.

And he wanted Siren.

He’d make it clear this time. No jokes. No teasing. No beating around the bush.

He basically counted this date as his one year anniversary of meeting Siren and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

He was a man in love, a man who desperately wanted his woman to know how much he truly loved her.

The mess hall was depleting, the final pilots and sailors piling out after finishing their last meal.

Jake wasn’t hiding per se, he just knew Phoenix liked her privacy and chose to eat near the ending hours. So he waited, patiently, as his plan was crowning off the top of his head.

The second he saw the side of her slick back bun, he reached out, grabbing her arm.

Bad move.

He should’ve accounted for Nat’s sharp reflexes and how she finished top ten in fitness at the academy. Because pretty soon Hangman was doubled over, trying not to be so obvious that he wanted to cry out in pain.

“Jesus dude what the hell! What’re you doing out here, thought you’d be at the hard deck already.” Phoenix’s gaze is wild, still amped up from the moment of adrenaline.

Huffing out a breath, trying to regain his composure, Jake straightens back up, trying to hide the wince that wants to escape. “God, Pheonix, can’t a man just sneak up on ya in peace?”

“You know better than to ask stupid questions like that.” She bites.

“Okay, fair enough,” He breathes out sharply, getting back on track to why he was looking for her in the first place, “I need your help with something, just between us.”

SIREN:

You glance back up at the clock. It’s unlike Pheonix to be late, especially when you have your girl talk.

Your thoughts return back to Jake.

Jake.

God you wish he didn’t affect you so much. You wish you didn’t dream about him before you drifted off to sleep. You wish you didn’t hear his stupid drawl when you were all alone. You wish you weren’t so wrapped up in your thoughts about him that you didn’t even notice that Nat already made her way into your room.

“Someone’s in loveee” She croons as she makes her way into your quarters.

“I’m not in love.” You bite out, worrying she may have seen the way you were definitely lost in your thoughts of a certain blonde.

“Who says I meant you,” Phoenix raises her brow to you, “I meant Hangman is head over heels for you”

Rolling your eyes at Nat’s comment about how he’s fallen for you. "Oh please, Jake just likes the thrill of the chase. He's like a dog with a bone, he won't let it go until he gets what he wants," You retort as you put away your gear for the day.

She just shakes her head, "No, really Siren, he's into you. I mean, he doesn't do this with any other girl."

“Yeah right.”, you scoff, “It doesn’t matter anyways, nothing would ever happen between us.”

Phoenix smirks, “Keep telling yourself that. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. There’s definitely something there.”

Siren scoffs. "And you're an expert on Jake's inner feelings now?"

Phoenix shrugs. "I'm just saying, you two have chemistry. I can see it."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "Chemistry? More like oil and water." You expected a laugh, much to your disappointment you got a deadpan look.

“C’mon Siren, stop beating around the bush. I get it, he’s an ass, but Bagman actually loves you. So put your big girl pants on and do something about it because I’m tired of hearing the same thing from the both of you.”

“Both?” You perk up at that simple four letter word and the weight that it holds.

Pheonix offers no extra information except: “Just come to the Hard Deck tonight, you’ll see.”

JAKE:

When it came to Siren, it’s like Jake had a sixth sense. He was just throwing darts with Javy, and he could feel her presence without even seeing her. Turning around, he watches as Siren walks into the Hard Deck with Phoenix.

He must’ve been staring longer than he realized because Coyote nudged his side to signal it was his turn.

“Y’know man, you should just throw in the towel because you and Siren are never happening” Javy knew his words were falling on deaf ears; Jake had never been the type to give up.

Jake just grins. "Hey, you never know. Maybe the 146th time is the charm." It might be creepy that Jake has kept track of all the times he’s made a move, but he couldn’t care less.

"You say that every time," Javy chuckles. “I mean c’mon, how many times can you keep trying before it becomes pathetic?"

Jake shrugs. "I don't know, Javy. I just can't help it. I’m telling you, she’s the one for me."

SIREN:

The Hard Deck is buzzing tonight, music a little too loud, lights a little too warm, that familiar mix of salt air and stale beer wrapping around you like a well-worn jacket. You’re leaned against the bar with Nat at your side, Penny polishing a glass in front of you while you sip something that’s just shy of strong.

You’re mid-story, something about Oracle, a cue ball, and a near fistfight with a very offended pool shark, when Penny’s gaze flicks over your shoulder. She doesn’t say anything at first, just tilts her chin the slightest bit, that knowing glint in her eyes.

“Incoming,” she murmurs, like she’s calling out a traffic pattern, and her mouth curls into a wicked grin. “Oh, this I gotta see, I can’t wait to see how you shut him down this time.”

Normally, that would make you smirk. You’d already be gearing up your next insult, mentally sharpening the knives.

But tonight… you just shake your head.

You feel the start of a smile tug at your lips, small and stubborn, like it’s trying to sneak past your defenses. “I’m not gonna turn him down this time,” you say casually, taking another sip.

Silence.

You glance up to find both women staring at you.

Penny’s eyebrows shoot up, and then that slow, triumphant smirk spreads across her face. You can practically see the thought; she’s just won some long-standing bet with Mav, and he’s never going to hear the end of it.

Nat just grins wider. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you two some privacy.” She pats your shoulder and pushes off the bar, heading toward the pool table. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she calls over her shoulder.

“That leaves nothing off the table!” you shout back.

Penny snorts, turning to grab a couple of fresh glasses as another cluster of patrons approaches the bar. “I’ll, uh, give you kids some room,” she says under her breath. “Just remember—I reserve the right to throw you both out if you start making out on my bar.”

You choke. “That’s not going to happen.”

Penny just smiles, that annoyingly knowing, bartender-who’s-seen-it-all smile. “We’ll see.”

And then he’s there.

You don’t have to look to know. His presence brushes across your skin like static before you even hear him. Hangman steps up to the bar beside you, one hand braced on the edge, the other sliding into his pocket as if he’s posing for a recruitment poster.

“Evenin’, darlin',” he drawls smoothly, his eyes already locked on you. “Hard Deck’s lookin’ real good tonight.”

You don’t turn right away. You let him wait half a beat, then glance over with your best unimpressed expression. “Wow. Starting off strong with the generic line, Seresin. You try that one on everyone, or am I just special?”

He grins, that slow, familiar curve that usually makes you want to throw something at him. Tonight, it twists a little differently in your chest.

“Aw, c’mon, Morales,” he says. “You know you’re special. I even left Javy to play darts with Rooster for this. That’s sacrifice.”

“Pretty sure that just means you hate losing,” you say, turning to fully face him now, elbows on the bar. “Don’t make it sound romantic.”

He laughs, low and warm. “Depends on your definition of romance. I gave up a guaranteed win to come get rejected by you for the...” he pauses, eyes flicking upward as if actually counting, “hundred and forty-sixth time, give or take.”

You arch a brow. “You’re keeping score now?”

“Sugar, I’ve been keepin’ score since day one.”

You huff out a short laugh in spite of yourself. Of course he has.

He leans in just enough that you can hear him over the music, but not enough to crowd your space. “So,” he says, “what do you say? I buy you a drink, you insult me a little, we argue about who’s the better pilot, and I pretend I don’t like it when you roll your eyes at me.”

Normally this is the part where you’d shut it down. Quick, efficient, a precise kill shot to his ego.

Instead, you let your gaze wander over his face, too handsome for his own good, the faint sun lines near his eyes, the way his hair curls just slightly at the ends when he’s been out in the heat all day. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

Dangerous.

And yet.

“Alright,” you say lightly. “Buy me a drink.”

For once, it’s his turn to blink.

“Yeah?” he asks, almost cautiously.

You shrug, playing it off. “What? You gonna stand there and gape, or are you actually getting my drink?”

A slow, disbelieving smile spreads across his face, bright and brilliant. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, recovering fast. “What’ll it be?”

You give him your usual order and watch as he relays it to Penny, who raises a single eyebrow at you over his shoulder. You ignore her. Barely.

When he turns back, he leans an elbow on the bar, mirroring your posture. “So,” he says, “what’s the occasion? You finally realized resistance is futile?”

You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself, Old Spice. I just figured if you’re gonna keep harassing me, I might as well get a free drink out of it.”

“Oh, so I’m an investment now,” he says, smirking. “I can work with that.”

“You’re a tax write-off at best.”

He laughs, head tipping back, crinkles around his eyes, genuine, and something about it warms your chest more than the alcohol ever has. He drops his gaze to you again, softer now, like he can’t help it.

“Y’know,” he says, tone dropping just a fraction, “you’re in a surprisingly good mood tonight. I was kinda lookin’ forward to you threatening bodily harm.”

“Don’t worry,” you reply. “Night’s still young.”

“Promise?” he teases.

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he says simply.

For a moment, the noise of the bar fades. It’s just the two of you, standing too close, pretending this is still just a game.

You break eye contact first, picking up the drink Penny sets in front of you. “Careful, Hangman,” you say, bringing the glass to your lips. “Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you actually like me.”

You mean it like a joke.

It doesn’t land like one.

“Maybe I do,” he replies, too quick, too honest.

You swallow, the burn of the drink mixing with something else you refuse to name. “Tragic,” you manage. “Sounds like a you problem.”

He grins, that soft, stupidly fond one you’ve been trying not to see. “Has been for a while, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. The fact that you’re still standing here, still trading jabs, still letting him buy you drinks and look at you like that, that’s answer enough.

JAKE:

As the night wore on, the other pilots at the Hard Deck gradually began to filter out, heading back to their respective homes or barracks. Siren and Jake were the last ones left, still deep in conversation while nursing their drinks.

Finally, she stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "I think it's time to call it a night," she sighed, glancing over at Jake.

He nodded, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Sounds good to me. You want me to walk you back to your place?" It was a long shot given that you never accepted these advances in the past, but he was feeling lucky after tonight.

Siren hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Sure, why not?"

Stepping out together into the cool night air, the waves from the beach having a calming effect. Jake fell into step beside her, his hand hovering close but never quite touching.

"So," he said after a moment. "You're finally starting to come around, huh?"

Siren rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "Don't get too excited, Bagman. I still think you're an arrogant ass."

Jake chuckled. "And yet, here we are. Walking home together." Hopefully, something that he’ll get to do every night. And maybe, even more hopefully, he’ll be walking with her to a shared home.

She shoots him a sidelong glance, a faint smile gracing her face. "Don't read too much into it, Seresin."

Jake shrugged, his grin widening. "Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?" And he was dreaming. Or, more accurately, has been dreaming. He couldn’t wait to get home, call his ma and tell her that he’d made progress in his relationship with her future daughter-in-law.

For now, they walked in comfortable silence, the tension between you slowly easing. Basking in the company of each other and finally realizing just how easy it is to be side by side. Like she was his missing puzzle piece all this time. Nearing her building, Siren turned to face Jake, a sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Thanks for walking me home, Jake," she voiced softly.

Jake shrugged, his own smile matching hers. "Anytime, darlin’."

Standing by the doorway in silence, taking each other in, neither wanting to be the one who ends the night. Jake’s eyes flittered down to her lips, a question on the tip of his tongue, when he met Siren's gaze again.

Jake’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper as he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

He knew the question was a risk as he took in the way her eyes ever so slightly widened in shock, but when Jake saw her nod of confirmation, he didn’t want to waste another second.

The moment your lips touched, Jake felt himself go weak in the knees. His imagination hadn’t done her justice; she was far more intoxicating than he could’ve ever anticipated.

He also hadn’t expected her to deepen the kiss. But, by God, he was eternally grateful for it.

Wrapping a hand around her waist and the other resting gently on her cheek, he felt like he could live the rest of his life with Siren in his arms.

The moment she pressed closer to him, fingers tangled and pulling at his hair, he knew he was a goner. It took everything in him not to take it further. But he needed to be patient. Show Siren that she actually meant something to him. That he didn’t just want to use her.

With every bit of self-control he could muster, Jake pulled away, eyes immediately falling to her now swollen lips. I did that. He thought.

You two stayed separated, the moment of silence punctuated by your pants, finally taking in what just happened.

Jake kissed you. Jake actually got to kiss you. You had wanted him to kiss you. You pulled him closer. You’re not slapping him or slamming the door in his face or looking away with regret.

Hallelujah!

As much as Jake wanted to break out in song and celebrate, the only thing he could bring himself to say was:

“I guess we can’t call you Siren anymore, huh?”

With her signature eye roll and a light slap to his chest, she scoffed, “Oh, shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A/N: WHAT THE HELLLLLL THIS TOOK ME THREE YEARS IM DYINGGGG - ngl to yall i have a whole universe in my head of jake and siren so if you ever want more drabbles just say the word!! mwah hope you enjoyed these two lovebirds!

Jake grinned, leaning down so you could hear him over the noise. “Told you. It’s basically a second base for us.”

Before you could answer, the woman behind the bar turned — brunette, sharp-eyed, with an easy smile that spoke of a thousand nights like this one.

“Well, look who it is,” Penny Benjamin said, drying her hands with a towel. “I was starting to think you’d finally forgotten where I keep the good whiskey.”

Jake leaned an elbow on the counter, flashing that signature grin. “Now, Penny, you know I’d never cheat on your bar like that.”

Her eyes flicked past him — to you. “And who’s this?”

Jake didn’t hesitate. “The most important person in the world,” he said, utterly straight-faced. “My best friend.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes even as warmth bloomed in your chest. “He’s unbearable,” you said, extending a hand with a small, embarrassed smile while giving her your real name.

Penny chuckled, shaking it. “That checks out. Anyone who can put up with him this long deserves a drink on the house.”

Jake pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “See? This is why I don’t bring her anywhere. People like her better than me.”

“That’s not hard,” Penny said dryly, before glancing between you both. “What’ll it be?”

Jake nodded toward you. “Ladies first.”

You bit back a smile, scanning the menu chalked above the bar. “Something fruity,” you decided. “Surprise me.”

“And I’ll have the usual,” Jake said, sliding a few bills across the counter before she could protest.

“You never let me give you free drinks,” Penny said, amused.

“Not in front of my best friend,” he teased. “Gotta look like a gentleman.”

Penny shook her head, moving to make your drinks while Jake leaned closer to you, lowering his voice just a little. “Told you she’s the best. Owns the place, knows everyone. If you ever need a drink or a distraction, Penny’s your girl.”

“She seems lovely,” you said softly, watching the way he smiled when he said her name — a kind of fond respect there that told you Penny had seen the best and worst of him over the years.

“She is,” he agreed. “Practically adopted half the pilots here. You’ll like her.”

Penny returned a minute later, setting a bottle of beer in front of him and a tall glass of something pink and bright for you. “Enjoy, sweetheart,” she said, smiling at you before glancing back at Jake. “And try not to get kicked out this time.”

He saluted her with the bottle. “No promises.”

You laughed, clinking your glass lightly against his. The sweetness hit your tongue, tart and cool, and for a moment — just a moment — you let yourself relax.

Jake watched you over the rim of his beer, that faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but it was there — that quiet satisfaction at seeing a little bit of light back in your eyes.

What he didn’t see was the Daggers at the pool table, frozen mid-game, every one of them staring at the sight of Jake Hangman Seresin standing at the bar with a woman they’d never met, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You hadn’t noticed yet, but they’d spotted him the moment he walked through the door.

Phoenix was the first to nudge Rooster, who quickly elbowed Coyote, who elbowed Bob. By the time Jake started weaving through the crowd toward them, the entire squad was suddenly very busy pretending to mind their own business. Phoenix studied the drink menu like she hadn’t memorized it years ago, Coyote started chalking his cue for a game that wasn’t happening, and Rooster — bless him — leaned against the jukebox with a casualness so forced it was almost painful.

Jake saw right through it. So did you.

“They’re subtle,” you murmured under your breath as he led you through the tables.

“They’re terrible,” Jake corrected, smirking as he raised a hand in greeting.

“Hangman,” Phoenix called, playing it cool. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight. You told us at work you weren’t coming.”

“Changed my mind,” Jake said easily, his arm brushing against yours as he stopped by the pool table. “Figured I’d introduce someone important to me.”

The squad’s collective attention shifted immediately to you.

Jake’s mouth tipped into a grin. “Everyone, this is Georgie.”

You smiled politely. “My name’s actually—” you gave your name, “—but he’s called me Georgie since we were kids, so I’ve given up fighting it.”

That earned a laugh, even from Rooster, who looked between the two of you with a mix of curiosity and something like disbelief.

“Wait,” Phoenix said, blinking. “You’ve known Hangman since you were kids?”

You nodded. “We grew up next door to each other. He used to steal my bike and I used to tattle on him.”

“Wasn’t stealing,” Jake interjected with a grin. “Borrowing without permission.”

“Right,” you deadpanned. “Because that makes it better.”

That broke the ice — Coyote laughed outright, Bob smiled into his drink, and Phoenix shook her head with an amused scoff.

Rooster leaned forward on his cue, smirking. “So the great Hangman’s got a childhood best friend. Guess there’s hope for him after all.”

Jake just shrugged, grabbing a beer off the table. “She’s been putting up with me since we were babies. Y’all don’t even come close.”

“That’s… a long time.” Bob asked, interested.

“Why Georgie, though?” Fanboy chimed in, leaning against the table.

“She got glasses when we were seven, some kids said mean things. I told her she looked gorgeous, and it stuck.” Jake said, softer now.

“Georgie stuck,” you corrected, smiling faintly.

Jake tilted his head. “Still means the same thing.”

There was a quiet pause — the kind that says everyone just picked up on something but no one’s about to call it out. Phoenix was the first to recover, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

Rooster huffed a laugh. “I was expecting more of a ‘we hated each other first’ story.”

You chuckled. “Oh, we definitely fought. Constantly. He once threw a frog at me.”

Jake pointed his bottle at you. “In my defense, you told me to catch it.”

“You threw it at me.”

“Details,” he said, shrugging.

The table broke into laughter, the tension easing into something easy and warm.

Phoenix leaned in toward Rooster, her voice low but not quiet enough. “I still think they’re dating.”

You and Jake spoke in perfect unison.

“No.” “Absolutely not.”

He glanced down at you with a crooked grin that was almost boyish. “See? Can’t even get the story straight, but we’re on the same page there.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile, and the Daggers just exchanged that look — the one that said they totally are, they just don’t know it yet.

After a few minutes of playful teasing and catching up, Coyote leaned on the edge of the pool table, eyebrows raised. “So, Georgie… uh, I mean—” He caught himself, giving you a small smile. “You’re just visiting Hangman for the weekend, right?”

Jake glanced at you, lips tugging into a faint smirk. “She’s staying with me for a little while.”

You gave him a look, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. Neither of you said why, and to your surprise, the Daggers didn’t press. They seemed satisfied with that answer for now, which made you appreciate them even more.

“Good enough,” Rooster said, spinning a pool cue in his hands. “Just don’t get him into trouble.”

“I’ll try,” you replied, and Jake snorted beside you.

Later, Jake tugged you toward the dartboard. “Alright, let’s see if all that time yelling at me in Texas translated into actual skill.”

You laughed, gripping a dart. “I doubt it.”

“Only one way to find out.” He demonstrated first, tossing a dart that landed in the bullseye. “See? Beginner’s luck.”

You rolled your eyes and took your turn. You hit a decent number, and he let out an approving whistle. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

A couple of the Daggers, lingering near the bar and pretending to be absorbed in a pool game, watched the two of you with quiet amusement. They exchanged subtle glances, whispers just loud enough for each other to catch.

“Yeah,” Phoenix murmured to Bob. “They’re definitely in love with each other.”

Jake leaned close to you as you prepared your next throw, his presence warm and familiar. “Don’t let them distract you. Focus on the dart, Georgie.”

You bit back a smile, feeling a flush creep into your cheeks. “You’re way too close.”

“Am I?” he teased, grinning down at you. “Just trying to make sure you hit the board and not the wall.”

It was effortless — soft teasing and easy companionship, the kind of dynamic only years of friendship could create. And though neither of you admitted it aloud, both of you could feel it: the shift in the air, the way the space between you felt… different, charged in the quietest, most subtle way.

The Daggers didn’t have to push or pry. They could see it all, clear as day. And Jake? He just kept tossing darts and laughing with you, blissfully unaware — or maybe very aware — that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

The rest of the night passed with easy laughter and conversation. The Daggers seemed to include you in everything, pulling you into playful debates over pool shots, teasing banter about who could throw the best darts, and even the ongoing argument about the best surf spot nearby.

Rooster leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Alright, Georgie, now that you’re officially part of our group. Tomorrow, beach day with the whole squad — you in?”

You grinned, glancing at Jake, who gave a subtle shrug with that I’ll happily drag you into my world smile. “Count me in. As long as nobody’s planning to make me run into the water with them.”

Phoenix laughed. “Oh, don’t worry — we’ll ease you in. Maybe.”

On the drive back to Jake’s house, the city lights gliding past, the conversation was light and teasing. Jake asked about your first impressions of the Hard Deck, your favorite part of the night. You laughed, answering his questions, your words flowing easily as the engine hummed beneath you.

“Sounds like you had fun,” Jake said finally, glancing at you with that easy, warm smile.

“I did,” you admitted. “Thanks for… bringing me tonight. It really helped.”

Jake hummed, eyes on the road but the corner of his mouth tugged in a way that made your chest feel light. “Glad you came. I knew you’d like it. And, uh… it’s fun having you around, Georgie.”

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’m really glad I came, too.”

When you pulled into the driveway, the quiet of the house welcomed you back. You turned to him, brushing hair behind your ear. “Thank you for tonight. Seriously. I had a really good time.”

Jake’s grin softened. “Anytime. You know that.”

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, a quick, firm hug that carried more gratitude than words ever could. “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Night, Georgie,” he murmured, holding you just a moment longer than necessary, feeling the warmth of your body against his.

You stepped back, heading up the stairs, and he lingered at the bottom, just watching.

The soft glow of the hallway light caught your hair, the way you moved — easy, comfortable, completely at home here. And for a moment, his heart beat a little faster, a little harder, than it had in a long time.

He swallowed, straightening his back, and made his way up the stairs, the feeling of you — of this—staying with him long after his bedroom door clicked shut.

—

The smell of breakfast drifted through the house — warm, buttery, familiar. Jake had been up for a while, moving easily around the kitchen, bare feet on cool tile and sleeves rolled up as he flipped pancakes and scrambled eggs. The soft crackle of bacon and the faint hum of a country playlist on the speaker filled the space with a kind of easy calm that came naturally when he was thinking of you.

He’d set the table by the time he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

You appeared in the doorway, hair still a little damp from your shower, a sundress thrown over your swimsuit and sunglasses perched on your head. “Wow,” you said with a grin, eyeing the spread. “You’ve been busy.”

Jake turned from the stove, spatula in hand, that easy smile tugging at his mouth. “Told you I’d make you real breakfast eventually. Figured today was the day.”

You crossed the room, sliding into one of the stools at the counter. “This looks amazing. You didn’t have to go all out.”

He shrugged, setting down a plate in front of you — pancakes stacked high, fruit on the side, eggs still steaming. “You’re in my house. Gotta feed my guest right.”

You smiled softly, picking up your fork. “You know, you’re setting the bar kind of high here. I might never leave.”

Jake chuckled, sitting across from you with his own plate. “Guess I’ll just have to keep the pancakes coming, then.”

There was a pause then — a quiet, comfortable one — before you said, a little softer, “I didn’t cry myself to sleep last night, you know. So I’d say the evening was a success.”

Jake looked up from his plate, brows raising, that faint smile tugging at his mouth. “That’s a hell of a low bar, Georgie.”

You grinned, self-deprecating. “Hey, baby steps.”

He rolled his eyes but his tone was gentle. “You’re doing better than you think. You just needed… a little change of scenery.”

You met his gaze for a moment, warmth blooming in your chest. “And pancakes.”

“And pancakes,” he agreed, clinking his fork lightly against yours like a toast.

After breakfast, Jake helped clear the plates while you rinsed them in the sink, the quiet rhythm of it so domestic it made something small and unspoken tug in his chest. He caught himself watching you — the way your sundress shifted when you reached for the faucet, how your hair caught the sunlight — and had to glance away, clearing his throat before it got weird.

“Beach bag’s by the door,” he said casually, grabbing his keys off the counter. “You good to go?”

You turned, drying your hands on a dish towel. “Yep. Sunscreen, towel, and snacks all accounted for. Look at me being prepared.”

Jake smirked, following you to the door. “You? Prepared? Hell must’ve frozen over.”

You bumped his shoulder as you passed. “You’re just mad because I didn’t forget the snacks.”

He laughed — that low, easy sound that always made you smile — and held the door open for you.

The drive to the beach was calm, sunlight pouring in through the truck windows, the air carrying that salt-heavy warmth that clung to everything in the mornings here. You had one leg tucked up on the seat, the hem of your sundress brushing against your thigh as you scrolled through your phone, humming softly along to the song playing through the speakers.

Jake glanced over once, just briefly, and found himself smiling before he looked back at the road.

“You sure you had fun last night?” he asked.

You turned to him, grin blooming instantly. “Yeah. Your friends are awesome. I was half-expecting to be ignored while you all talked pilot stuff, but they were so nice. Invited me to the beach and everything.”

“Yeah?” He couldn’t hide the little spark of pride in his voice. “Told you they’d like you.”

“I think they just like me because I laughed at Rooster’s terrible jokes,” you teased.

Jake groaned. “God, don’t encourage him.”

You laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners, and that sound—soft, unguarded, happy—hit him right in the chest.

When you reached the beach, the Daggers were already there, their laughter and voices carrying over the crash of the surf. Umbrellas were planted, coolers half-buried in the sand, and someone—probably Fanboy—had already started tossing a football around.

“Look who decided to show up!” Payback called out as soon as he spotted you two walking down.

Jake just grinned, tossing his keys into the bag. “Told you we’d make it.”

Phoenix lifted her sunglasses to get a better look at you, her smile genuine. “Glad you came, Georgie.”

You returned the smile, setting your things down beside Jake’s. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The next few hours slipped by in easy laughter and sunshine. The Daggers folded you into every conversation without hesitation—offering you drinks, sunscreen, stories that had you laughing so hard you nearly cried. Jake mostly hung back, sunglasses hiding his eyes as he watched you fit seamlessly into his world, your laughter tangling with his friends’ in a way that felt... right.

“Hey, Seresin,” Rooster said, wandering over with a beer in hand, nodding toward you where you were sitting with Phoenix and Bob. “You sure you two aren’t together?”

Jake shot him a look, dry as ever. “Pretty damn sure.”

Rooster raised a brow, smirking. “Uh-huh. Sure thing, Hangman.”

Jake just shook his head, but when he glanced back toward you, the corners of his mouth softened anyway. You were laughing at something Phoenix said, sunlight catching in your hair, and he thought—just for a second—that maybe Rooster wasn’t entirely wrong for assuming.

By the time the sun had climbed high overhead, the Daggers had claimed a whole stretch of the beach as their own — towels sprawled in a messy semicircle, coolers half-empty, the air filled with the lazy hum of conversation and waves. Someone had music playing low from a speaker, the kind of easy summer soundtrack that felt like it could go on forever.

You sat cross-legged in the sand, your sunglasses slipping down your nose as you laughed at one of Coyote’s stories — something about Jake trying to flirt with a waitress and accidentally spilling beer all over himself.

Jake pointed at him with mock offense. “You’ve told that story like ten times, man.”

Coyote grinned. “And it gets funnier every time.”

You were still laughing, the sound bright and warm as sunlight, and Jake could only roll his eyes and shake his head. “You gonna defend me or what, Georgie?”

“Oh no,” you said, grinning up at him. “That story’s too good to ruin with the truth.”

That earned a round of laughter from the group, and Jake pressed a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “Unbelievable. My own best friend.”

Jake leaned back on his elbows, eyes squinting toward the waves. “You know,” he started, “Georgie can’t see something hurt without trying to fix it.”

You groaned softly. “Oh no, don’t start.”

He ignored you, grin tugging at his mouth. “When we were eight, she tried to rescue this baby bird that fell outta a tree in her yard. Thing was half dead, and she’s out there crying and bleeding ‘cause it kept peckin’ at her. Wouldn’t let me help, either.”

Fanboy was already laughing. “She was getting attacked by a bird?”

“It wasn’t attacking me,” you said defensively, your cheeks warming. “I was helping it.”

Jake chuckled. “You were getting your ass kicked by a bird.”

“It lived,” you countered, pointing a finger at him.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah, yeah. It lived. She had that poor thing in a shoebox for a week, feeding it with an eyedropper. Thought she was a doctor or somethin’.”

You couldn’t help laughing at the memory, shaking your head. “You were just mad I wouldn’t let you touch it.”

“I was mad because you wouldn’t stop crying,” he said, voice softening in a way only you caught. “You’ve always had this… big heart, Georgie. Even when it got you pecked to hell.”

Fanboy grinned. “Man, that’s adorable. I can’t believe you remember all that.”

Jake just shrugged, reaching for his drink. “Hard to forget the girl who tried to nurse a bird back to life in a shoe box.”

That got a chorus of laughter from the Daggers — and you, despite your embarrassment, were smiling too.

The Daggers had split into smaller groups — Payback and Bob were arguing over who made the better playlist, Fanboy was setting up a game of spikeball, and Rooster was half-asleep in his chair, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

You were sitting cross-legged on a towel, hair tossed by the ocean breeze, talking animatedly about something with Natasha — something about favorite movies, judging by the way you gestured and laughed softly when she disagreed.

Jake sat a few feet away, a beer sweating in his hand, pretending to listen to whatever Coyote was saying. But every few minutes, his gaze drifted.

It wasn’t intentional — it just happened. He’d look over, and there you were: sunlight caught in your hair, shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks, eyes bright again. You laughed at something Natasha said, tipping your head back, and Jake felt something tight in his chest ease just a little.

He told himself he was just glad to see you smiling again. That was all.

But Coyote noticed.

So did Phoenix, who hid her knowing smirk behind her sunglasses.

Bob caught it too — the way Jake’s expression softened every time you spoke, how his attention never really left you even when he was laughing along with the others. And none of them said a word.

Because it wasn’t something you called out loud. It was the kind of look that spoke for itself — one that said I know you. I’ve always known you.

You caught his eye once, mid-laugh, and for a fleeting second, Jake forgot to breathe. You smiled at him — that soft, familiar one that reached your eyes — and he could only smile back, quietly, before looking away like it didn’t mean something.

But every single one of them saw it.

And they all knew.

—

The sun was long gone by the time everyone started packing up, Jake carried most of the heavier stuff — the cooler, the umbrella — while you rolled up towels and shook the sand from your dress. The Daggers said their goodbyes with easy smiles and promises to do it again soon.

By the time you and Jake made it back to the truck, the world had settled into that sleepy kind of calm — the windows down, warm air streaming through, salt still clinging to your skin. You were halfway through telling him how much you’d missed the beach when your phone buzzed in your lap.

You froze. The name flashing on the screen turned your stomach.

Jake glanced over, catching the look on your face before his eyes flicked to the phone. “That him?”

You nodded, locking the screen before the call could go to voicemail. “Yeah.” Your voice was small, almost apologetic. “He’s called a few times this week.”

Jake’s jaw flexed, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “You gonna call him back?”

“No.” You stared out the window, the word sharp and certain, though your throat felt tight around it. “There’s nothing left to say.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable — just heavy. The kind that hummed with everything you weren’t saying out loud.

After a moment, Jake reached over and turned down the radio. “You don’t have to feel bad about ignoring him, Georgie,” he said softly. “He’s the one who made that choice, not you.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat stubborn. “It’s not that I feel bad, it’s just… I don’t get it. How do you tell someone you love them, plan a whole life together, and then just—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “It’s like none of it ever mattered.”

Jake exhaled slowly, eyes still on the road. “It mattered,” he said. “You don’t just stop meaning something to somebody overnight. And you sure as hell don’t stop being worth it because he didn’t know how to hold on to you.”

Your chest ached at the gentleness in his tone. “You always know what to say.”

“Yeah, well,” he said with a half-smile, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “you’ve always been easy to care about, Georgie.”

You blinked fast, fighting the warmth rising behind your eyes, and turned your gaze back to the window before he could see it. “You’re too good to me, Jake.”

“Maybe,” he said quietly, his fingers drumming once on the steering wheel, “but I don’t mind.”

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence — just the hum of the engine, the fading light painting the inside of the truck in gold. And when you finally pulled up to the house, Jake didn’t move to get out right away.

He just looked at you — really looked — like he was making sure you were okay before stepping inside.

The house was dim when you both stepped inside, the fading streetlight spilling through the curtains in thin gold lines. Jake locked the door behind you, his keys landing in the bowl by the entryway with a soft clatter.

Neither of you said much — there wasn’t really a need to. The weight of the day lingered in the air, but it wasn’t heavy. Just quiet.

You both drifted toward your rooms in an unspoken rhythm — Jake tugging off his shirt as he disappeared down the hall, you gathering clean clothes before slipping into the shower. The water was hot and steady against your skin, washing away the salt and sand, the last sting of that phone call.

When you emerged, the house smelled faintly of the ocean and Jake’s cologne — warm and clean, like cedar and sun. Your hair was still damp when you padded barefoot into the living room. Jake was already there, sitting on the couch in a t-shirt and sweatpants, the remote in his hand.

He looked up when he saw you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, Georgie.”

“Hey,” you murmured, curling up beside him. “What are we watching?”

He shrugged, flipping through channels until something soft and quiet filled the screen — not quite a romance, not quite a drama, something in between. The kind of movie you didn’t really have to follow, just feel.

You leaned into him gradually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head found his shoulder, and he didn’t move — just adjusted slightly so you’d be more comfortable.

The only sounds were the soft hum of the TV and the ocean outside, the waves rolling against the shore like a lullaby.

You didn’t talk. You didn’t need to.

Jake could feel your breathing even out, slow and steady against his side. He glanced down to find your eyes closed, your mouth parted slightly in sleep. A strand of damp hair clung to your cheek, and without thinking, he brushed it away gently with his thumb.

You didn’t stir.

Jake stayed still, his arm draped loosely around your shoulders, the warmth of you grounding him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

He should’ve moved — his neck was stiff, and he still smelled faintly of sunscreen and salt — but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

So Jake sat there, the movie flickering quietly across the room, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath your cheek — and he let the night hold still around you both.

—

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the sunlight filtering through the curtains — soft and warm, stretching lazily across your bedspread. The second thing you noticed was the blanket tucked neatly around you.

You blinked, frowning a little. You didn’t remember walking yourself to bed last night.

The faint hum of the ocean drifted through the window, mingling with the quiet creak of the house settling. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes as it clicked — Jake must’ve carried you. The thought made your chest tighten, a small, fond ache blooming somewhere deep inside.

The clock on your nightstand read just past nine. You stretched, tugged on a loose T-shirt and a pair of soft shorts, and padded down the hall toward the stairs.

The sound of the front door clicking shut reached you just as you hit the bottom step.

Jake was there, turning from the entryway, his face flushed and hair damp with sweat. His gray T-shirt clung to him — chest, shoulders, arms — every line defined, his dog tags sticking slightly to his skin.

You froze mid-step before catching yourself. “Morning,” you said, forcing your voice to sound casual.

He grinned when he saw you, still breathing a little heavy. “Hey, Georgie. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, moving toward the kitchen to distract yourself, “better than I have in a while.” You grabbed two mugs, filling one with coffee as if you weren’t acutely aware of the way his biceps flexed when he reached for a towel to wipe his face.

“Good,” he said easily, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “You looked wiped last night.”

You arched a brow, handing him the other mug. “I didn’t fall asleep on you, did I?”

Jake chuckled, taking a sip. “You did. Out cold halfway through the movie.”

You groaned softly. “God, sorry. You should’ve woken me up.”

He shook his head, that small, familiar smile tugging at his lips. “You looked comfortable. Didn’t wanna ruin it.”

You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck and turned toward the fridge. “So,” you said, opening it, “what do you want for breakfast, hero?”

Jake leaned against the counter, still catching his breath from his run, his eyes soft and amused. “Surprise me. But maybe something that doesn’t involve bacon this time.”

You laughed quietly, glancing over your shoulder. “Go take a shower,” you said, nudging Jake toward the stairs with your elbow when he lingered by the counter. “You’re sweating all over my clean floors.”

He arched a brow, that teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Your floors?”

“Temporary shared custody,” you shot back, shooing him with a spatula. “Go on. I’ll get started on breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, voice low with a smirk before heading up the stairs.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. The moment you heard the shower start, you pulled the waffle iron from the cabinet and got to work. The kitchen filled with the sweet scent of batter and coffee, sunlight glinting off the countertops. There was something grounding about it — the simple act of cooking, of being in motion.

When Jake came back down, his hair was still damp and curling slightly at the ends, a soft black T-shirt clinging to his shoulders. He moved easily through the kitchen, barefoot, relaxed in a way you rarely saw him.

He leaned on the counter, watching you pour another round of batter. “Smells good in here,” he said, voice warm.

“Yeah, well,” you said, flipping the waffle iron closed, “don’t thank me yet. I’m making you cut the fruit.”

He laughed, reaching for the cutting board. “I knew there’d be a catch.”

You passed him a bowl of strawberries and blueberries, and he got to work beside you, the rhythm between you two effortless — your movements falling into sync, your quiet laughter filling the space between songs playing faintly from the radio.

When everything was ready, Jake carried the plates to the table while you grabbed the syrup.

“So,” he said as he sat down, slicing into a waffle, “you got any plans today, Georgie? Or are we committing to a lazy Sunday?”

You poured syrup over your plate, shrugging lightly. “I’m leaning toward lazy. Maybe laundry. Maybe a nap.”

Jake grinned. “A woman after my own heart.”

You smiled back, resting your chin in your hand as you looked across the table at him. “You sure you don’t have somewhere to be? Hard Deck, base, saving the world?”

He shook his head, fork tapping against his plate. “Nope. Just here.”

Something in his tone — simple, certain — made your heart stutter for a beat. You looked down at your waffle, trying not to read into it.

“Then it’s settled,” you said softly. “Lazy Sunday it is.”

“Perfect,” he said, leaning back in his chair, watching you with that quiet warmth that always made you feel seen. “Haven’t had one of those in a long time.”

The house felt still for a moment — peaceful, sunlit, alive with something unspoken.

After breakfast, Jake leaned back in his chair with a groan, one hand rubbing absently at his stomach. “Alright,” he said, voice lazy and satisfied. “You’ve officially ruined me. I’m gonna go take that nap you promised me.”

You looked at him, eyebrows lifting. “Nap? It’s barely eleven.”

“Exactly,” he said, already pushing his chair back. “Prime napping hour.”

You stood too, gathering the plates and shooting him a look over your shoulder. “No nap until we do laundry.”

Jake blinked, like you’d just spoken another language. “Laundry?”

“Yes, Jacob,” you said with exaggerated patience. “Laundry. It’s been a week and we had somehow managed to avoid it. I’m not letting you put it off another day.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m efficient.”

Jake grinned, that teasing glint in his eye as he pointed at you. “You sound just like my mother when you say that.”

You smirked, unbothered. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I love your mom.”

“Don’t.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you walked toward the laundry room. “C’mon, cowboy. Let’s get it done.”

Grumbling dramatically, Jake disappeared upstairs, returning a minute later with one overflowing laundry basket balanced in his arms. “You owe me for this,” he called out, his voice strained under the weight.

“Sure thing,” you answered sweetly from the laundry room. “I’ll let you fold your own shirts.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered under his breath, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

“Go get the other basket!”

As he passed by your room, something broke the rhythm — the sharp, persistent buzz of your phone vibrating against the nightstand. He shifted the basket to one arm and glanced toward the open door. The screen lit up.

Ezra.

Your ex.

Jake’s jaw tensed. He hesitated for a second — just long enough to know he shouldn’t — before stepping inside and setting the basket down. The phone buzzed again. He picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen, then answered.

“Yeah?” His voice came out low, clipped.

There was a pause on the other end, then a familiar voice — too smooth, too casual. “Who the hell is this?”

Jake’s grip tightened around the phone. “The guy telling you to stop calling her.”

Ezra scoffed. “Seresin? I can’t believe this. Put her on the phone.”

Jake’s tone dropped, hard enough to cut glass. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you.”

“I didn’t ask if she wanted to—”

Jake’s patience snapped. “No,” he said flatly. “You’re done. Don’t call her again. Don’t text her. Don’t even think about her. You had your shot, and you blew it, so do us both a favor and fuck off.”

There was a sharp exhale on the other end. “Listen, man—”

Jake hung up before he could finish.

The quiet that followed rang loud in his ears. He stared at the phone for a beat, jaw still tight, before tossing it gently onto the bed.

He picked the basket back up and headed for the laundry room, the muscle in his jaw still ticking, the look in his eyes darker than it had been all morning.

Jake set the basket down beside you, the thump of it on the tile making you glance up from where you were crouched over the open washer.

“Finally,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I was starting to think you got lost up there.”

Jake snorted, crouching beside you to start pulling clothes from the baskets. “Yeah, well, someone has too many throw pillows. I had to fight my way out.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you handed him a bundle of towels. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” he said easily, tossing them into the washer and leaning an elbow against the counter. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You’re wrong.”

Jake’s mouth twitched, that half-smile that always came with a little mischief. “Didn’t think so.”

For a few minutes, it was just the sound of clothes rustling and the faint hum of the house around you — the kind of quiet that only comes when two people are completely comfortable in it. Jake passed you detergent, his hand brushing yours, and neither of you said a word.

He looked steady. Calm. Like he hadn’t just told your ex to fuck off less than five minutes ago. If anything, he was a little quieter than usual, but not enough to raise suspicion.

“Lights or darks first?” he asked, voice easy, as if the only thing on his mind was fabric care.

You nodded toward the pile. “Darks. The whites can wait.”

He hummed, helping you shove the last of his Navy T-shirts into the drum. “You sure you don’t wanna throw in one of my green ones? Y’know, for variety.”

You snorted. “I’m not risking your precious uniforms.”

“That’s fair,” he said, closing the lid and pressing the start button. The machine rumbled to life, and he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching the water fill.

You stretched your arms over your head, satisfied. “See? Not so bad.”

Jake’s eyes flicked toward you, softer now. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Not bad at all.”

You smiled at him, missing the way his gaze lingered a beat too long before he turned away, pretending to check the timer on the machine.

The silence that settled after wasn’t uncomfortable — just a little weighted, like the air had thickened with something neither of you wanted to name.

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “You good?”

Jake blinked, forcing an easy grin. “Yeah, darlin’. Just thinking about that nap you owe me.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes again, and Jake matched it with one of his own — even though his mind was still on the name flashing across your phone screen and the low burn of protectiveness still curling in his chest.

Now the washer hummed steadily down the hall, a low rhythmic sound that filled the silences between pages turning and lazy sighs.

You were curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath you, a throw blanket draped over your knees and your attention fixed on the book in your hands. Jake sat at the other end, phone in one hand, absently scrolling but not really seeing anything on the screen.

It was the kind of Sunday afternoon that should’ve felt mindless. Easy. The light slanted through the big windows, catching on the loose strands of your hair, and every so often you’d shift, the pages whispering as you turned them.

Jake should’ve been relaxed. He’d showered, eaten, done the laundry, and had his best friend back in his house after years of phone calls and rushed visits. Everything about it should’ve been good.

And yet.

His mind kept circling back to your phone ringing upstairs. Ezra.

Jake’s jaw flexed. He tried to scroll past a news headline, then another, but his thumb froze mid-swipe. He could still hear that tone in Ezra’s voice — smug, like you were still his to talk to. Like he hadn’t been the one to make you doubt everything.

He exhaled slowly and forced himself to look away from the phone, setting it face down on the coffee table. You noticed the movement, glancing up briefly, offering him a small smile before your gaze dropped back to your book.

That smile — soft, unaware — knocked something loose in his chest.

You looked peaceful, the kind of calm he hadn’t seen on your face in a while.

And maybe that was why his head was spinning — because he was seeing you every day now, in all the little ways he hadn’t before.

The way your hair curled slightly at the ends when it was drying. The way you hummed under your breath when you were cooking. The way your laugh filled the whole damn room without you even realizing it.

He told himself it was just the closeness. Just the familiarity of years of friendship finally overlapping with daily life again.

But that didn’t stop the quiet ache under his ribs.

“Everything okay?” you asked suddenly, voice low, eyes flicking up from your book.

Jake blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Why?”

“You were frowning,” you said, marking your page with your thumb. “Like you were thinking too hard.”

He smiled faintly, trying to ease it. “Guess I was. Too much time in my own head, that’s all.”

You nodded, studying him for a second longer than necessary, then leaned back into the couch. “You should stop doing that. Thinking too much.”

Jake chuckled, eyes softening. “You first, gorgeous.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile that followed was quiet and real.

The kind that made him forget about Ezra entirely for a heartbeat.

Outside, the waves lapped against the shore, steady and constant, and the laundry machine buzzed in the distance — the soundtrack to an afternoon that felt simple on the surface, even as everything underneath it started to shift.

And here you two were, in one of your favourite cities, during your favourite season, so what better than bundling up and going out for a small stroll in Riverside Park, with your favourite coffee in your hand, arm in arm with your favourite guy? It was a Friday, so the park was otherwise crowded but not so crowded that you'd bump into someone every other second like the usual buzz in the city.

He'd gotten back from the meeting with the designers after being there right from 9 am till 2 pm. The two of you had a late lunch and came out to the park right away, wanting to watch the sunset together and catch up on the day.

"How'd the meeting go?", you mumbled against his soft, hoodie clad arm, cheek smushed against it as you leaned on him, one hand curled around his bicep the other holding your cup. You nuzzled against it before propping your chin on his shoulder, shamelessly admiring him.

He was wearing your favourite white hoodie of his, his braids tucked under the hood, body perfectly warm and toasty, one arm tucked around your own sweater clad waist, pulling you snug against him while the other held his cup of tea close, savouring the heat coming off of it. The cold somehow made his adorable moles and freckles stand out, his nose studs glowing brightly in the golden hour light, his eyes appearing even more doe like than normal, eyelashes curled to perfection like he had permanent mascara on.

God, he was so pretty, you almost didn't concentrate on what he'd replied to your question.

"It went really well. You know, the designer I met? She's only 20! Her designs were so sophisticated and detailed, I almost felt jealous that I couldn't do something like that. Gosh, I love how talented kids are these days and they do it so passionately too. She was so excited to show me her sketches, it was adorable", he gushes, leaning his head closer to yours, the soft and gentle cadence of his voice almost lulling you to sleep, but the way he's always so excited to happy to talk about collaborating with new artists will always have your full attention.

"That's so cute. I assume you've finalised her as one of the designers?", you replied. If he could, he'd hire an entire team or building full of young artists, always eager to uplift real talent and youngsters. It's what makes you love him even more.

He smiled bashfully in the way he does, his dimples popping out and eyes crinkling due to it. "Yeah, I-"

"Excuse me?"

A male voice calls out to the two of you, interrupting the bubble you were in, making Lewis furrow his brows in confusion and a tinge of annoyance. His body tensed up as the two of you turned around, pulling you closer to him almost protectively, leaning against the railings overlooking the riverfront.

"Yeah?", he replied, his voice slipped into that slightly formal manner that he reserves for his colleagues or the media. You frowned at the change in his demeanor. You were going to be so annoyed if this person was just another fan who didn't know boundaries and interrupted your personal time for a photo. He was fiercely protective of your time together, absolutely refusing to jeopardise it for a mere picture or an autograph. Especially after a long day like today or the past week where he was busy with the race. He'd finally gotten some time off and wanted to spend it peacefully with you.

"Are you two a couple?", the man asks, casually.

Lewis brings you even closer at that, his jaw tensed at the ridiculously invasive question. The audacity of this man to go around asking if people are a couple is just baffling to him. He ran his eyes over the man, briefly taking note of the way his phone was angled towards you two just slightly, his hand brushing over your back as if to soothe himself. Meanwhile, you narrow your eyes at it, the phrase sounding oddly familiar, completely unaware of the tension rolling off Lewis.

"Why is that any of your business?", Lewis asked in that eerily calm tone of his, one that had developed after years of PR training and his own disciplined. If it was the Lewis in his 30s or 20s here, he'd rightfully put people into their places.

You put an arm around his shoulder and caressed his shoulder blade gently.

"Would you mind sharing the story of how you first met?", the man asked formally.

And that got a gasp out of you, Lewis jumping a bit at your reaction, his eyes softening a bit at your obvious excitement.

"Oh my god, it's you!", you squeal, squeezing Lewis's shoulder to get his attention. "Lew, you remember I showed you that TikTok of the couple who met on Minecraft and got married recently?", you looked at him with big hopeful eyes that shone in the setting sun light.

Lewis pursed his lips, going through a mental scan to remember the TikTok that you'd shown him last week about the beautfiul young couple. He vividly remembers watching another one of an older couple that made him tear up and hug you tighter.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I remember", he said with a faint smile on his face, his body relaxing automatically at the happy look on your face.

"That's him! Is it okay if we do this?", you pleaded, a sparkle in your eyes as you grabbed his elbow again.

"I won't record you without your permission, don't worry", the man offered, obviously having recognised Lewis. The ask made Lewis relax even more, the arm around your back tucked around by your waist again, thumb rubbing absent figures over your bunched sweater.

He was a goner the moment you'd squealed. Of course he'd do this for you. He'd do anything for you. All the rules he's made for himself are pale in comparison to your happiness. You don't even ask him for anything other than his love in return. This is the least he could do for you.

And besides, he proudly shows you off. His brilliant, beautiful and kind love.

"No, it's alright. Let's do it", he softly reassured, gently putting both of your cups on the ground, pulling you closer with a strong arm around your shoulders, your arms going around his waist in a comfortable side hug.

The man angled his phone up, ready to record. "Just talk about how you first met. Any one of you can start", he directed while angling his phone perfectly so that the lighting was better. The two of you let out bashful giggles as you went on a mental train to the time you first met each other.

"So, believe it or not, we met at the paddock, during one of the race weekends in Silverstone. It was way back in....2018?", you began, tilting your head to confirm the year with Lewis. He nodded, his eyes misting over with a look of reminiscence, as if he could see the scene play out in front of him.

"Yeah, 2018, Silverstone. I was about to get into the car and I end up bumping into this beautiful woman who smelled absolutely heavenly, by the way", he giggled, squeezing you as he did.

Your cheeks heat up.

"She was there because her friend worked as an engineer for Mercedes. Riya, was it?"

You smiled, "Yeah, it was her. She was so incessant about wanting me there. Something about wanting to spend more time with me", you imitated her in a funny way, causing Lewis to chuckle in response. "Later, I found out, it was because she wanted to set me up with Mr. World Champion here", you cheekily added.

"Well, to be honest, she'd shown me pictures of you before and the first question I asked was- 'who's that?'," he turned back to you, his hand rubbing your back tenderly, "and I remember the picture too, it was you in that beautiful purple saree, looking drop dead gorgeous, mind you", it was his turn to smile cheekily now.

You rolled your eyes affectionately, hiding your face in his chest shyly.

"It was a bit like a romcom movie...her bumping into me, me having to pick her up, except I looked at her through a visor in my way as she glared at me for embarrassing her", he continued in between giggles, the giggles making way to his silly and carefree laugh as you groaned against him.

"They were taking pictures of that and the next thing I know, I was 'The Woman Who Bumped into Lewis Hamilton and got Picked Up By Him'! And I didn't even know it was you, I was too busy dusting off my pants. The internet helped me find out, and I wanted to die out of embarrassment."

He laughed with his beautiful teeth on display, eyes crinkled in an adorable way that made you want to squeeze his face affectionately. "Aw, I'm so sorry, love. Though, you did tell me you felt like you were in a Bollywood movie so that's a win, right?", he gazed at you with soft eyes, a big smile stretching his whole face, that cute dimple on his right cheek making an appearance again, making your chest squeeze with love and adoration. You stuck out your tongue as he kissed your temple, almost forgetting about the man in front of you.

"How long have you two been together?", he asked, smiling at your natural reactions.

"I forgave him for the accident in a month. We became friends the next month, then best friends for a year, and then it just happened naturally. We were just...we were always so in tune with each other. It was so easy to just...fall. Because I knew he'd catch me", you grinned happily, the content and love oozing off of your whole being as you talked about how you fell for each other. His hand settled on the nape of your neck, massaging lovingly while biting his cheek to contain his emotions.

"Falling for her might've been the only time I was happy to let go of the steering wheel and let things take its course. The only time where I was...", he trailed off softly, looking down at you with tender eyes before shrugging lightly, "where I knew, I'd be safe if I let go. It's been 4 years since then. Best 4 four years of my life, easily."

"Best 4 years of our life", you nudged him and the two of you shared a private smile, one that spoke of all the moments-happy and sad- that you've shared together.

"What is your favourite thing about her?", the man asked Lewis, who straightened up like he was about to deliver a speech, his hand falling down to your hips again, his free hand clasping your cold one in a gentle hold.

"Everything. Her patience with me, her intelligence, her heart, her passion and loyalty towards everything and everyone. The way she fits in with my family, my niece and nephew love her more than they love me, honestly. Even Roscoe, our son, the moment she's in the room, I'm chopped liver", he rolls his eyes jokingly before rubbing a thumb over your hip as you laugh. "I love everything. I could write a novel", he blushes.

“Oh, stop it”, you bashfully turn your head away. He chuckles softly.

“What’s your favourite thing about him?”, the man asks you now.

“His gentleness and never ending commitment towards the things he loves. His love for racing. His passion and perseverance. His humble nature. The way he’s always ready to help others even if he’s not in a good position. The way he’s always so good to me even if he’s not had the best day. And, my family loves him more than they love me, to be honest. He's been so welcoming and eager to know and learn about my culture...they were impressed from the first day I introduced him”, you say with a proud smile, hugging him tighter with an arm around his shoulders. He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump in it.

He’s never felt so loved and appreciated before. He could die and kill for you, he thinks.

You see, it's not that the two of you were a secret, no. You've been publicly dating for the last 4 years and if there's anything that Lewis had learnt as he grew older, it was protecting his peace and his people from the wolves out there. He's fiercely protective of everyone he loves, be it his family, his friends, you or his fans. He'd do anything to stop the pain and hate from reaching any of you.

When the two of you started dating, he'd posted a simple picture of you on your birthday. It was taken during a date where you were star gazing, Roscoe sleeping in your lap while he took the photo from behind. That was all he'd done before whisking you off to the Sao Paolo race the next week, and your photos had gone viral, because the two of you had turned up in matching outfits, the fans delighted that he'd found someone to match his energy, the media going insane at the sheer power and chemistry the two of you gave off.

Still, he'd maintained that nobody would hound you two in public, practically printing out consent forms to the paps where they had to sign on agreeing to not click your pictures without your permission. He wasn't ashamed of you, he was protective of what you had. Your relationship was private, not a secret.

He'd post you loads, not only on his main accounts but his photography account as well, quickly cementing the fact that you were his muse. He'd take you to events and races, making sure to ask his team to give a heads up to the media that once you were off the event/track, nobody would follow you. All of that was on his terms. Nobody dared to cross those boundaries, not even the fans.

You'd get annoyed at the beginning, often arguing with him that you felt sidelined at times, that he cannot keep being so control freak-y about this, but soon enough you understood, after one crazed fan stalked you and you had to file a restraining order against them. You did appreciate his efforts, he was so attentive and loved showing you off, but he'd get scared about someone else ruining the beautiful story you two were weaving together, his very public life being a massive drawback. There's been times where you had to hold his shaky hands in public, his anxiety making it difficult for him to stay still, eyes darting around in hypervigilance.

He was much better at handling it now. Putting the work in and getting over his fears by confiding in you and seeking comfort in your kind words. But this? There was something so freeing to talk so openly about your love. Something so natural and genuine, that it was making his cheeks hurt with how much he was smiling. He was regretting the fact that he'd been so stingy about gushing about you in public like this.

"Four years in, what are the things you've learnt that keeps a relationship going strong?", the man asked, snapping Lewis out of his daydreaming.

Lewis bit the inside of his cheek, stalling for a few seconds before replying his usual soft tone, "Trust. You need to trust them fully. You have to believe that if I fall, this person will be there to catch me. And, If you can't bare your soul out to your partner and respect them as an individual, and if the person you're with doesn't take interest in your interests and or doesn't let you thrive in your own space, then maybe it's not the right person for you or you're not the right person to them", he finished with a barely there smile, his heart thumping against his chest as he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

You smiled sweetly at his answer. Leave it to him for always sounding so wise. "Just, be there for each other. Be each other's best friends. Ride or die. If the other is upset, be a soft place for them to land, and you're set for life", you shrugged before adding, "And be cheesy. Be as filmy and cheesy as you can be. Watch some silly, Bollywood romcoms and maybe recreate those corny scenes with each other as well", you quipped, making Lewis and the man laugh.

"Thank you so much for your time. Is it okay if I post this?", the man finished recording, angling his phone towards you incase the two of you wanted to see.

You were about to answer when Lewis spoke up, "Ah, of course. That was really fun, thank you for this. It's really sweet what you do", he flashed that million dollar smile of his before untangling himself from you and extending his hand for a shake with the man. You looked on, a bit stunned. He was suddenly so eager to do this, it was shocking yet adorable.

"Thank you! I'm a huge fan of your videos, keep up the good work. All the couples in your videos are so cute, some of them make me cry while some make me giggle nonstop. Thank you, really", you complimented him with a kind smile while exchanging a handshake, the man returning the favour by thanking you back before taking your leave with a brief wave.

Lewis waited till the man left before wrapping his arms around you again, his arms going over your chest while standing cheek to cheek with you, suddenly feeling clingy and mushy as he rocked you two back and forth.

"Hi?", you giggled, holding his forearms to steady yourself.

"You're so amazing. I love you", he murmured while pressing his lips to the swell of your cheek.

You paused before letting out an incredulous laugh. "What brought this on?", your voice was quiet, almost a coo as you leaned back into his sturdy and warm chest.

He shrugged, trying to sound casual about it while working to swallow past the thick lump of emotions in his throat, "You make it easy."

Closing your eyes, you turned your head and kissed his cheek, eyes stinging with the telltale of tears at his gentle and heartfelt words. He always so good at that.

"You too, baby", you murmured into his soft skin as the golden hour made way to a beautiful sunset that painted the sky in hues of pink and orange. He simply closed his eyes and savoured the feel of your lips and body against his.

-

The video went up the next day.

And the internet lost its mind.

It was shared across apps, with people having proper breakdowns over how natural, honest and vulnerable the interview seemed, some people clipping some parts and making edits of how Lewis was a complete goner, the heat and love in his eyes unmistakable.

Twitter and Instagram looked like this:

cultlhfan: did you guys see the way hes looking at her. omg.

lewham44: bro his entire face lit up whenever he was talking about her or looking at her. HES BLUSHING.😭

fia44: are y’all seeing the cuddles?? the blushing?? the giggles?? the GUSHING OVER E/O??? THE WAY HE PROTECTIVELY BROUGHT HER CLOSER AT FIRST??? Theyre EVERYTHING.☹️☹️☹️

formulagirly: him taking time to learn about her culture, his nieces and nephews loving her more than they love him, her family loving him more….ohhh my gawddd GET MARRIED!!!!!

teamlulu: “our son.”🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 UR HONOUR THEY BIRTHED ROSCOE

hamfosi: goat if u don’t put a ring on that finger THEN I WILL. LOOK AT THE WAY SHE LOOKS AT HIM W STARS IN HER EYES

44rari: may this type of love attack me. instantly.

lewisadoptme: something about her friend zoning the goat for a year and not forgiving him for making her trip for a month 🤞🏻🤞🏻🤞🏻 she’s an icon and she better wife him up rq

britcedes44: icb he’s talking about her so openly. icb he was all clingy over her in front of a camera. icb we got protective boyfriend lewis content. the absolute comfort and love in this video…the way they were choking up during certain moments….i am so happy he’s found his person.🧿

On the other hand, YouTube looked more emotional and deep, like this:

person1: true love makes you glow. the way both of them were shining under that golden hour. beautiful. so happy for lewis.

person2: the appreciation they have for each other….i teared up. reminded me of my husband who passed away last year. Lewis’s hand on her neck reminded me of how my husband would do that whenever I was stressed. Hope these two protect their peace and stay happy for life..

person3: I’ve been his fan for a while and he’s always tried to keep his personal life as hidden as he could lately but something about the way he was so relaxed and genuine here shows how safe he feels with her. I’ve never seen him look so laid back and soft and happy. I’d love to thank her personally for whatever magic she’s got to make him feel this special. Much love to the both of them.

And back home, Lewis was trying to find a new place to hide that soft, velvet box that he’s been keeping on him for the last 6 months. It will see the light of the day in exactly a month, on the day of your birthday, marking a new journey for the both of you.

For now, he’ll settle for posting a selfie of you and him, watching the same sunset in Riverside park, your head tucked into his neck while he leans his head on yours, his brown eyes crinkled with a smile and yours closed in content with the caption, “Home.”

-

AN: my first EVER lewis fic + writing for a non fictional person, lol. I am so nervous. I apologise if I have gotten anything wrong, it’s my first time writing for him and in this space. Please feel free to correct me (respectfully.)

I love him a lot and I have only one person to tag here, and that’s @purplesectorlew <3 she’s an incredible writer and I love her work so so so much. She’s been so sweet and welcoming, even asked if I’ve got any fics out yet for her read and I appreciate that. Please check her work out if you haven’t!

Can’t wait to write more for our goat 🤍

It used to mean something to him. Marriage. A porch swing. Warm soup. A house with windows that didn’t rattle in the wind. The kind of thing you promised a girl in church shoes, hands clasped over the Sunday paper. 

James Buchanan Barnes had once thought he’d get that life. That he’d earn it. If he fought hard enough, if he came home in one piece, if he smiled the right way when he walked her back to her door.

Then war had cracked the world open like a rotten egg, and everything inside had spilled black.

There were no porches where Hydra took him. No rings. Just cold steel and code phrases. Needles and electrodes. Years swallowed by fog. And when he remembered again, when he started to remember, he couldn’t even picture a wedding band without wondering how deep it would slice if it caught against bone.

So no, marriage hadn’t crossed his mind in years.

Not until you.

Not even with you, not in the usual sense. You hadn’t crawled into his life and started naming curtains or pointing out flower arrangements like a threat. You’d just…stayed. Through the Accords. Through the fallout. Through Wakanda and the long, sterile quiet of the recovery halls. You never flinched when he woke up screaming. You never tiptoed around the word past like it might set off a bomb.

You were there during the repairs. The recalibrations. You’d worked with Shuri on something far above his understanding, fingers stained with grease and ink, hair always pinned messily away from your eyes. You’d curse under your breath in three different languages. You argued with Ayo. You laughed loudly.

By the time he was sent back into the field—once he had left the mountains, left the quiet—he expected the connection to die out. Most things did. The world had taught him that. You could try to keep something alive outside the place it was born, but roots snapped when you pulled too hard.

And it had. He had left you. Not by choice, not really. One blink and he was gone. Another blink, and you’d aged five years without him.

But then he saw you again. In D.C. In New York. Even in Louisiana. Out of nowhere, standing in a pair of sunglasses too big for your face, grinning like it hadn’t been years for you.

“Miss me, Barnes?”

And damn him, he had.

You’d joined the mission against the Flag Smashers. Temporarily, at first. That’s what you both said. Just this op. Just this briefing. Just this one joint task force run with Sam. 

And then it wasn’t temporary anymore. And then there was a room in the same safe house that you’d claimed. A bunk on the same floor. Your stuff beside his. And his toothbrush in your travel kit, and he had no idea how or when that had happened.

There were no conversations. No declarations. Just a slow merging.

He liked your laugh. The dry, cut-glass one you used when Joaquin said something stupid. The low, real one that came out when you let your guard down, when the weight on your shoulders slipped just enough to let joy through.

You liked to touch him. Not in the way that made him flinch. In the way that made the back of his neck burn. A casual hand on his spine when passing behind him. Fingers brushing his sleeve. A nudge with your elbow when he got too serious. You were constant.

You grounded him.

And he didn’t know how to name that. He wasn’t good at words anymore. Hadn’t been in decades. But he knew how it felt when you were hurt. When you bled. When someone touched you too rough during an extraction and he saw red before he even registered why.

He had never said “I love you.” Not outright. Neither had you.

But there were nights you fell asleep on his chest, breathing slow against the metal plates, and he’d whisper it in your hair like a secret. Like a curse.

Because he did love you.

And it terrified him.

Not because he thought you’d leave, though that was always a part of it.

But because he didn’t believe in the future. Not really. Hydra had broken that part of him, rewired him to think in terms of seconds, triggers, threats. Even now, after all this time, after all this healing, the idea of forever felt…dangerous. Unrealistic. Like planning for spring in the middle of a war zone.

But the truth was: he wanted to grow old with you.

He didn’t say it. But he wanted it.

The thought came loudest during quiet missions. When your hand found his under the table. When you scolded Sam like a sitcom wife. When you kissed him before leaving in a rush and forgot your ID badge, and he chased after you just to hear you laugh when he caught up.

That was what marriage looked like to him now.

Not churches or tuxedos. Not parties or speeches. Just this. Just you.

It was raining now. Somewhere deep in the woods outside of Vienna, a safe house blinked on like a dying star. One generator. One flickering lamp. One bullet in your leg, and his hands slick with blood that wasn’t his.

You hissed as he dug the tweezers in.

“I told you,” he said, voice low, steady even as his gut churned, “you were too exposed on the ridge. You shouldn’t have gone up alone.”

You shot him a look. “Wasn’t alone. You were covering me.”

“I was supposed to be covering you,” he muttered, breath tight. “Didn’t exactly do a great job, did I?”

You didn’t answer.

He hated this part. The way the pain made your voice tighten, the way you bit your lip hard enough to bleed rather than make a sound. It reminded him too much of everything he couldn’t fix. Of every mission where he hadn’t been fast enough. Every loss that had turned to ash in his mouth.

You were trembling now, sweat slicking your brow. The bullet was lodged deep. He could feel it with the tip of the tweezers, but it wouldn’t come clean.

His jaw clenched.

“Bucky.”

“Almost got it.”

“Bucky.”

He angled the tweezers just slightly, catching the edge of the casing with a surgeon’s precision, eyes fixed on the wound like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. You were trying to steady him. He knew that. Heard it in your voice. But he couldn’t afford to believe you were okay. Not yet. Not until the metal was out and you were still breathing.

“James.”

He looked up at that. Your eyes were glassy, lips pale. And yet, somehow, you smiled.

“You smile too much when you’re in pain,” he muttered, tweezers angled again.

“Maybe you just give me a lot to smile about.”

“Yeah?” His voice came quieter, almost bitter. “Like what?”

“Like this charming bedside manner,” you rasped. “And your tendency to monologue when 

you’re worried.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

The bullet shifted. Your body jerked, a hoarse cry caught in your throat.

“Shit—sorry,” he said instantly, his free hand anchoring you at the hip. His palm was warm. Steady. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” you breathed.

And then, silence.

Heavy. Close. Pressed between bodies that had seen too many battlefields, too many exits. The only sound was the storm outside, ticking against the roof like bones, and your ragged, uneven breath.

He bent closer, eyes narrowed on the wound.

“You need to hold still,” he said softly. “If I nick your femoral, it’s over.”

“I know.”

“I mean it. It’s deep. If I miss this—”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

Another silence.

He couldn’t look at you. Not now. Not with the bullet half-extracted and your skin flushed with shock and fever and trust. Trust he hadn’t earned. Trust that felt too close to faith. 

And he was always bad at faith.

He adjusted the angle of the tweezers again, fingers tight with precision, breath shallow. If he moved just a millimeter too far to the left, he'd sever an artery. Too far right, and he'd leave metal behind. His mind kept listing the options like a file folder: all the ways he could fail you. All the ways he could lose you. 

“Keep talkin’ to me,” he said roughly, not looking at you. “You pass out, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“What, no pressure or anything,” you slurred, but he caught the strain in it. The thin layer of humor barely stretched over real pain.

The tweezers hit resistance. He felt it in his bones.

“You’re doing good,” he muttered. “You’re—fuck. Just hang on. Almost there.”

“Bucky.”

“I said keep talking.”

You let out a ragged breath. “You want a story or a monologue?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

Your voice wavered. “One time I saw Sam fall off a boat trying to impress a group of kids with his balance—”

“Not funny enough.”

“He hit his head.”

“That’s better.”

Silence ticked between your words. His grip steadied. He’d have to go in again. Just a little deeper.

You winced as the metal tip shifted.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You know, I thought this would be the day we got pizza. Not playing Operation.”

“We’ll still get pizza,” he muttered.

“Oh yeah? You cooking?”

“I’m not cooking. I’m buying.”

You didn’t reply. And when he glanced up, your eyes were fluttering, breath shallower.

“Hey,” he barked. “C’mon. Eyes open.”

“M’tired.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

You laughed faintly again, breathe hitching, and it cracked something in him.

“Do me a favor?” You asked.

He hummed.

“If I lose consciousness…don’t let someone else try to patch me up.”

“Not a chance.”

“And if I die…”

“You’re not gonna die.”

“If I did. Hypothetically.”

His jaw ticked.

“If you did,” he said slowly, “then I’d kill whoever touched you. Then myself, probably.”

You let out a hoarse huff. “Jesus. That’s grim.”

“It’s honest.”

And it was.

Because he would. That was the part that terrified him. He would level cities for you. Not because it was right. Not because he’d made a vow. But because he couldn’t breathe without you anymore and he didn’t know when that had happened.

He leaned in. Flashlight shifting under his elbow. Blood soaked the makeshift cloth beneath you. The bullet was lodged against something slick and resistant. He knew the second he twisted, you’d scream.

He swallowed. Adjusted his grip.

“If this fucks up, it’s gonna hurt like hell,” he muttered. “So you need to stay with me, alright?”

You made a noise. Not quite a word. Not quite a yes.

He couldn’t stop now.

“Just keep talkin’, sweetheart. Anything. Tell me what kind of pizza we’re getting. Tell me a lie. Tell me where you see yourself in five years—”

“I’m bleeding out on a rotting cot in the woods, Buck,” you rasped. “Not interviewing for my dream job.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear it.”

You blinked slow. “You first, then.”

He didn’t think. Couldn’t. The panic had tunneled too deep. He started speaking before he meant to.

“Five years from now,” voice low, working the metal free inch by inch, “we’re retired. You hate the house I picked but only complain about the goddamn mugs. You make fun of me for how I fold laundry. You still steal all the blankets. And some poor bastard down the road asks what it’s like being married to the grumpiest man alive and you tell them I’ve always been soft on you.”

His fingers adjusted instinctively, and there it was, the clean edge of the casing caught between the tips. A perfect hold. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just braced himself, every nerve wound tight as wire.

He cleared his throat. “Got it. On three.”

You didn’t speak.

“Three.”

He yanked.

A scream ripped from your throat, half-swallowed into his shoulder as you surged forward, clutching at his arm. Blood poured hot and fast, but the bullet clinked into the basin beside the cot.

He dropped the tweezers. Hands went to pressure. To cloth. To you.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay. Just keep breathing.”

You nodded faintly, head lolling back against the pillow.

He didn’t realize how close his face was to yours until the storm flash lit up the room—and he saw the way your eyes were fixed on him. 

“Did you mean that?” 

He blinked.

“What?”

Your lashes were heavy, lips pale, but there was no mistaking the way your gaze held him now. Steady. Anchored. Like you’d come back to yourself just enough to feel it. The weight of what he’d said, the shape it had taken, the shape it could still take if either of you were stupid enough to say it again.

“You said we’d be married,” you whispered.

His jaw ticked. “You were going into shock.”

“I wasn’t hearing things.”

“You were half-conscious.”

“And you still said it.”

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and shallow, dragging the blood-soaked cloth tighter around your thigh with more care than force. His hands didn’t match the way his mouth tensed.

“It was nothing. Just words.”

You didn’t believe that. He could see you didn’t. And that was worse. You weren’t teasing. You weren’t cornering him. You were just looking at him. Like maybe you’d known this was in him before he did. Like maybe you’d been waiting for it to slip out.

And god, he wanted to run.

Not because he didn’t mean it. But because he did. Too much. Too fast. In ways he couldn’t survive.

He pressed the cloth harder against your leg, then grabbed another strip of cloth from the field kit, wrapping it tight, methodical, just above the wound. Tourniquet style. Not too high and not too tight, just enough to slow the bleed. 

His hands moved on instinct, the muscle memory of field medicine kicking in even as his mind spun. He checked your pulse. Inner thigh. Faint, but steady. He exhaled. Forced himself not to shake.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you said softly, “being a Mrs. Barnes one day.”

He stilled.

For a second, you thought maybe he didn’t hear you right. Or maybe he’d frozen, like his mind shorted out and hadn’t rebooted yet.

His heart flipped. Fucked off entirely, probably.

You shifted slightly, voice smaller. “But only if you keep folding laundry the wrong way. And keep picking ugly mugs.”

His laugh cracked at the edges. Like old bark. Like something split down the middle.

“You hate those mugs.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “But you love them. And I love you.”

His breath caught. Chest tight. No armor. No dodge. No shield left between the two of you now.

“You’re not allowed to say that,” he said hoarsely. “Not when you’re this fucked up.”

“I’m lucid enough,” you whispered. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He didn’t.

He looked at your hand, still curled near his arm. Blood beneath your nails. Pulse stuttering in your wrist.

“I don’t even have a ring,” he said before he could stop himself.

You laughed. Soft. Breathless. Real.

“That’s okay. You’ve got gauze.”

He swallowed.

“I’d want to do it right,” he said, more to the floor than to you.

You reached up, brushed your knuckles against his cheek. Just barely there.

“Right now,” you whispered, “you just pulled a bullet out of my leg and said you’d kill the world for me. I think that counts.”

He leaned into your touch. Just for a second. Just long enough to let the part of him that still believed in things like vows and porches and soft lives feel it.

“Mrs. Barnes,” he murmured, testing it, letting the sound break in his mouth. “You sure about that?”