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Reader who has a real job and actual bills. Reader who prioritizes her own peace over his feelings. Reader who has hobbies that don’t revolve around a man. Reader who actually has a life outside of him. Reader who says “no” and means it. Reader who isn't easily impressed. Reader who’s petty. Reader who has trust issues. Reader who chooses her girls every single time. Reader who has a body count and isn't ashamed of it. Reader who is exhausted by male fragility. Reader who holds grudges. Reader who’s a mess. Reader who’s mentally ill. Reader who makes mistakes. Reader who’s manipulative. Reader who’s selfish. Reader who’s morally gray. Reader who’s awful. Reader who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck.
take off | 1k cabo celebration, found family au ⋆⭒˚.⋆
⋆⭒˚.⋆ cabo 1k celebration masterlist!
⋆⭒˚.⋆ cabo 1k celebration info!
summary: in which a simple airport goodbye turns emotional as the boys struggle more than expected with sending the girls off to cabo.
notes: welcome aboard!! i hope you all enjoy this 1k celebration series! my requests will be open exclusively for this celebration until the 6th july, then regular requests will resume as normal. thank you all so much for the love and support, it truly means the world. i hope you enjoy! <3 💌 🥹
ꪆৎ
by the time everyone arrives at the airport, nobody is entirely sure how four girls managed to produce this much luggage.
garrett certainly isn’t.
he’s standing beside an absurd collection of suitcases, staring at them with his arms crossed, eyes wide. “you guys are only gone for six nights.”
“five nights,” grace corrects.
“that’s worse.”
“it’s actually not.”
garrett gestures helplessly at the luggage. “how does anyone need this much stuff for five nights?”
sabrina pats her suitcase. “options.”
tucker immediately points at her. “that word has cost me extensive physical labour."
sabrina rolls her eyes. “you carried it twenty feet.”
“it was a difficult twenty feet.”
dean is somehow the most stressed person in the entire airport. not because he’s travelling, not because he’s leaving, but because allie is.
he looks one delayed flight announcement away from booking a ticket to cabo himself.
“you have your passport?”
allie blinks. “yes.”
“boarding pass?”
“yes.”
“phone charger?”
“yes.”
“medication?”
“dean.”
“what?”
“i’m twenty one.”
“exactly.”
she narrows her eyes. “what does that mean?”
dean gestures vaguely. “you’re supposed to make bad decisions and forget things.”
logan’s concern is somehow even more specific. he crouches beside grace’s carry-on, staring at her like this is a life or death situation.
“did you pack sunscreen?”
“yes.”
“actual sunscreen?”
“yes.”
“enough sunscreen?”
grace laughs. “yes, logan.”
“because you burn ridiculously easily.”
“thank you.”
“and cabo is hot.”
“thank you.”
“and i don’t trust the mexican sun.”
grace reaches down and squeezes his face. “i’ll survive.” he still doesn’t look convinced.
tucker spends most of the time pretending he’s completely unbothered. unfortunately for him, nobody believes it, especially when sabrina catches him quietly slipping an extra portable charger into her backpack.
“tuck.”
he immediately freezes. “what?”
“what was that?”
“nothing.”
she pulls the charger out. “you packed me a backup charger?”
“well.” he shrugs. “your phone dies constantly.”
“because i forget to charge it.”
“exactly.”
sabrina smiles so hard her cheeks hurt, turning a deep shade of crimson red. tucker immediately looks away, clearly embarrassed.
“don’t.”
“don’t what?”
“look at me like that.”
which only makes her smile more.
then there’s garrett, who has been suspiciously quiet for the last twenty minutes. you notice it immediately, mostly because everybody else is loud while he’s the complete opposite.
he stands beside you, one hand hooked around the handle of your suitcase while the others argue about whether airport food counts as real food.
you know that look, you’ve seen it before. it’s the one he gets right before road trips, before long weekends, before anything that means being apart from you.
“garrett.” his eyes immediately drop to yours. “you okay?”
he smiles. small, soft. “yeah.”
liar.
you bump your shoulder into his, eyebrows lifting as you send him a pointed look. “garrett.”
he exhales a quiet laugh, already caught. “i’m okay.”
“you’re not.”
“i am.”
“you’re staring at me like i’m leaving for months.”
that finally earns a real smile from him. “little dramatic.”
“that’s rich coming from you.”
his hand finds yours automatically, fingers threading together. the contact steadies something in him. your thumb brushes once over his knuckles, and his grip tightens almost imperceptibly.
garrett's gaze drifts over your face in that quiet way, as though he’s trying to memorise details nobody else would think to notice.
the way your hair falls over one shoulder, the tiny crease near your eyes when you’re trying not to smile, the soft gloss on your lips from the chapstick he bought you a few days ago.
you catch the look immediately, voice softening. “garrett.”
his jaw shifts slightly. “hm?”
“talk to me.”
he exhales slowly. quietly. “five nights.”
“you’ll survive.”
“maybe.”
you laugh, he doesn’t, which is how you know he’s serious. his expression shifts, only slightly. most people wouldn’t notice. you do, always.
“i know it’s only five nights,” he says quietly. “i know that.”
his thumb drags slowly over the back of your hand. “doesn’t really stop me from hating it.”
your chest tightens. he says it so simply, no teasing, no dramatics, just quiet honesty. he already misses you, and you haven't even left yet.
eventually boarding gets called, which is when everything somehow becomes emotional. allie hugs dean first, grace hugs logan, sabrina hugs tucker. suddenly everyone is saying goodbye at once.
tucker lifts sabrina clean off the ground, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. dean kisses allie’s forehead three separate times. logan is still giving sunscreen-related instructions.
it's complete and utter chaos, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
garrett steps forward. the noise around you fades slightly, not completely, just enough. his hands settle instinctively on your waist, palms warm and familiar.
you step closer without thinking, fitting against him like second nature. around you, the airport remains loud. announcements play overhead, rolling suitcases sound, people rush past. standing here with him somehow makes everything else feel quieter, smaller.
“have fun.”
“i will.”
“don’t look at anything internship related.”
“okay.”
“don’t worry about anything here.”
“okay.”
his voice turns teasing, eyes filled with amusement. “don’t get arrested.”
you huff out a laugh, lightly smacking his arm. “that feels targeted.”
“because it is.”
“allie is literally standing right there.”
garrett laughs, head tipping back. "i was meaning you, y/n."
he glances towards allie. "but yeah, allie too. you guys together are a disaster waiting to happen."
allie gasps from beside you, head pressed against dean's chest as he holds her. “watch yourself, graham.”
you smack his arm, "rude."
garrett barely reacts, fighting a grin as he catches your hand easily. his smile softens as he laces your fingers together. “violent too. proving my point.” you let out a quiet giggle, shaking your head at him.
“make sure you take photos.”
“i will.”
“call me.”
“i will.”
“and-”
“garrett.”
he stops, you smile softly. you know exactly what’s happening. he’s running out of things to say. running out of excuses to keep you standing here another minute longer, with him, in his arms.
your hands lift to cup his face gently. “it’s less than a week.”
“i know.”
“i’ll be back before you know it.” his expression softens completely. that look, the one that only ever seems to happen when he’s looking at you.
“yeah.” you press a quick kiss to his cheek.
“don’t miss me too much.”
that earns the first genuine laugh you’ve heard from him in ten minutes. his eyes search yours for a moment, something softer flickering there. he leans down, resting his forehead briefly against yours. his voice drops low, quiet enough that only you hear it. “too late.”
he kisses you, slow and soft, like he’s trying to savour it. “i love you, y/n.”
“i love you more.” he squeezes your hand once more before letting go, rolling your suitcase towards you and handing over your carry-on, which he had been holding the entire time.
you’re about to follow the girls toward security when dean catches your backpack strap.
“y/n.”
you glance back. “yeah?”
he gives you a look, “don’t lose your passport.”
you stare at him. “that’s your advice?”
“you’d be surprised how often people manage it.”
“i’m not people.”
dean raises an eyebrow, the look alone saying, are you sure about that?
you narrow your eyes. “okay. rude.”
he shrugs. “just saying. i don’t want to get a phone call from you because you somehow stranded yourself in another country.”
“that’s never happened.”
“yet.”
you roll your eyes. “i’ll be fine.”
“i know.”
that’s the thing, he means it. he isn’t actually worried, not really. he knows you’ll be fine, he just can’t help himself. his gaze flicks over your shoulder toward the rest of the girls. grace and allie are laughing, sabrina is taking photos.
complete chaos, exactly as expected.
dean sighs. “less than a week.”
“you’ll survive.”
“debatable.”
you laugh, he shakes his head. “garrett’s going to be unbearable.”
“that’s not my problem.”
“it absolutely will be your problem the second he starts staring at his phone like it’s going to bring you back faster.”
you grin. “you’ll take care of him.”
“unfortunately.”
a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. he reaches forward, automatically straightening the strap of your backpack, the same way he would for allie, the same way an older brother would. the gesture makes something ache in your chest.
beneath all the teasing, this is what dean has always been; protective, attentive, quietly making sure you’re okay.
his expression softens slightly. “seriously, y/n. have fun.”
you smile. “i will.”
“don’t spend all your money.”
“no promises.”
“don’t stress about the internship.”
“that’s impossible.”
for a second he just looks at you, before pulling you into a hug. tight enough to mean something, brief enough that nobody can make fun of him for it later.
“be safe, y/n.”
the words come out quieter now, more sincere. you squeeze him back, your arms tightening in assurance. “i will.”
“good.”
he lets go, steps back, and points at you. “and answer your phone.”
you laugh, “yes, dad.”
“i’m serious.”
“i know.”
“answer your phone.”
“okay, dean.”
“every time.”
“okay, dean.”
only then does he seem satisfied, turning away with a muttered complaint about how nobody appreciates how much work it is keeping all of you alive.
allie catches your wrist, excitement clearly laced on her features. “come on, y/n!”
finally, the four of you turn towards security.
you laugh at something sabrina says halfway through the line, grace is already checking the boarding gate, and allie is somehow still arguing with dean over text despite being ten metres away.
twenty minutes later, you’re finally through security. all of you turn around one last time.
there they are. dean, tucker, logan, garrett. still standing exactly where you left them, watching, waiting, making sure all four of you got through safely.
allie groans immediately. “oh my god.”
“what?”
“they’re doing the thing.”
grace follows her gaze and immediately starts laughing. somehow, the boys have migrated into a single line, arms crossed, looking like deeply concerned airport dads.
logan waves, tucker waves with both hands, dean points at allie and mouths, text me.
garrett doesn’t wave. he just stands there looking at you, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting loosely by his side. calm on the outside, completely unreadable to anyone who doesn’t know him.
you know him, you recognise the softness in his eyes, the way his shoulders ease slightly when he sees you turn back, like he was waiting for it, waiting for one last look.
he lifts his hand, a small wave, just for you.
your heart does something embarrassingly stupid in your chest. right before turning the corner, you glance back one final time. garrett is still there, still watching. his gaze finds yours instantly, like it always does.
he taps two fingers lightly against his chest. the action is small, subtle, so quick nobody else would notice. you know exactly what he means. your lips curve helplessly, you mirror the gesture.
allie grabs your wrist and pulls you around the corner, laughing about something sabrina said.
the boys disappear from view, just like that, the trip begins. still, warmth lingers in your chest.
even with an ocean about to separate you, some things don’t change. garrett loves you, dean worries, logan pretends not to care, tucker cares loudly. somehow, somewhere between hockey games, saturday mornings at the house, late-night groupchats, and all the chaos in between, these people were home.
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the way leftists talk about mothers and pregnancy is so blatantly misogynistic it blows my mind that so many of these people call themselves feminists. you sound like MEN!!
“you aren’t entitled to special accommodations just for being pregnant, you aren’t special just because you let someone cum in you! look what pregnancy and childbirth did to your body, it’s horrific! you’re so selfish! can’t you just stay inside with your kids instead of taking them out in public?” YOU ARE A MISOGYNIST!!
☄︎ Warnings: reader being embarrassed.
☄︎ Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x F!Reader x Beau Maxwell
☄︎ Rating/Genre: PG (smut referred to, but not explicit). Crack!fic/Fluff
☄︎ Words: 1519
☄︎ Summary: The hockey house finds out about the arrangement you and Beau have with Dean because you are LOUD.
💭: if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc, it means a lot xx
Read the original request here. 〣 Find my Off Campus Masterlist here.
You skip down the stairs, humming cheerfully to yourself. A sudden warmth spread sthrough your core as your muscles clench, a vivid reminder of last night’s activities. Usually when the three of you were at the hockey house, it was a challenge to see how quiet you could be. But last night? Last night you had been completely unfiltered, moaning and whimpering as you were tagged teamed by Beau and Dean.
After all, the other guys were supposed to be away.
You skip all the way to the fridge, with a stupid grin on your face, opening it and pulling out the carton of orange juice. Fucking not one, but two, athletic men is really doing wonders for your mood. Now you walk around the house grinning and skipping and shit.
The sudden sound of your name coming from the living room makes you shriek and you spin around to see Garrett and Logan peaking their heads up from behind the sofa, wearing matching massive grins.
“Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you mumble as your cheeks flush. You’re wearing nothing but Dean’s shirt, not even bothering to put on underwear. The sudden draft on your bare legs leaves you feeling overly exposed.
Panicking, you set the carton down and desperately tug the hem of Dean’s shirt lower down your thighs.
“Didn’t expect us in the house that we actually live at?” Logan retorts, his lips still curved in a stupid grin.
Fair point. You don’t have an answer for that.
Logan’s eyes narrow on you, studying your swollen lips and the love bite on your neck. “So... not that you aren’t welcome here, but what exactly are you doing here at...” he pauses to check his watch, “...seven in the morning, wearing Dean’s shirt?”
“It’s not Dean’s shirt,” you lie. A ridiculous lie considering the name DI LAURENTIS is stretched across your back in bold letters.
You can practically see the gears turning in Logan’s head as the puzzle pieces click together.
“Oh my God,” Logan gasps, his eyes widening. “Are you the source of all that noise last night?”
Your heart stops and your stomach flips. Every single incredibly lewd sound that you had made last night flashed through your mind with incredible clarity. The breathless begging, the unhinged moaning, the way your voice had cracked when they both went down on you.
‘Awesome,’ you think to yourself. ‘They heard everything.’
“I actually... don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” you choke out.
You’re not embarrassed for them to know that you both were with Dean, but you are embarrassed that your unfiltered moans have apparently become public knowledge.
When they both stare at you, you swallow hard. Surely it can’t get worse than this.
“Does... Does Beau know that you’re here?” Garrett asks. He doesn’t sound judgemental, but you can see the awkwardness written all over his face.
So, apparently it can get worse.
They think you’re cheating with on your boyfriend with his best friend. You have this sudden urge to leave the country, change your name, and never look back.
“Um. Yes. He knows,” you blurt out, desperate to clear your name and newfound reputation.
Their eyes widen even further, Logan’s grin turning into a full-blown smirk. To them, this is the juiciest scandal of the year so far.
Logan turns to slap Garrett’s arm. “Dude, I fucking told you I heard another male voice coming from that room last night.” Spinning back to look at you, his face is completely lit up. “Beau was up there with you guys, wasn’t he?
When you freeze and offer no response, Garrett pipes up again. “Let me go get Tucker, he’s going to love this.”
As Garrett sprints down the hall to get Tucker, you scramble toward the staircase, still holding down the hem of Dean’s shirt.
“Dean! Beau!” You shout up the stairs, your voice cracking slightly. “Get down here right now. Please!”
Beau comes down the stairs first, running a hand down his face. Right behind him is Dean, his hair’s a mess. You wish he could have at least brushed it before he came down; the whole ‘thoroughly fucked bed hair’ isn’t making this any easier.
To top if off, both are dressed in only their boxers.
“What is all the screaming about?” Dean grumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He blinks, finally registering Logan leaning over the back of the couch. “Oh, you’re here!”
“Yeah, we’re back!” Logan cheers, practically vibrating with excitement.
“In fact, Dean,” you say through clenched teeth, “they were back last. night. So, they heard everything.”
Both Dean and Beau process that just as Garrett and Tucker stroll into the room. They take a seat on the couch next to Logan.
“Tucker’s all caught up now,” Garrett announces.
The three of them watch the three of you like a pack of hyenas, waiting to jump you.
“I’m just going to hang out down here if that’s okay with everyone,” you say as you drop to the floor behind the kitchen island, shielding yourself from their grins.
Beau moves to stand beside you, giving you a reassuring pat on the head as you crouch on the floor. Dean looks unbothered as he moves to the kitchen and begins pulling out breakfast ingredients.
“Okay, I have so many questions,” Garrett begins, looking between Beau and Dean. “Is this like... a regular thing? Are you guys a trio or whatever?”
“Yeahhh, who initiated it?” Logan presses, his eyes sparkling. He turns to Beau. “Is Dean just crashing your relationship or is she dating both of you?”
You pull your knees up to your chest and bury your head there. Dean and Beau fly around the kitchen, still unbothered by the barrage of questions.
“Wait, I have a question,” Tucker calls out. “What happens if you get jealous? If you argue, who sides with who or are you not allowed to take sides?”
Dean turns to the group on the sofa. “You’re all thinking way too much. We all like each other. We all sleep together. It’s not that complicated.”
“I don’t know it seems kind of complicated,” Tucker mumbles under his breath.
“Well, I guess that explains why you’ve stopped hooking up with puck bunnies,” Garrett adds much louder. He looks way too deep in thought for such an unserious environment. “Actually, you’ve not brought a girl back in months. Is that how long this has been going on for?”
Logan snickers next to him. “Why bring another girl when he’s too busy stealing Beau’s?” He quickly holds up his hands when Beau glares at him. “Joke! It’s a joke!”
The trio continue to throw rapid-fire questions at Dean, who easily deflects them. Beau crouches next to you.
“Are you okay? Do you want to stand up now?” He whispers to you.
“I’m good down here, thanks. I think I’m just going to play dead until the room clears.” You genuinely do plan to hide here for as long as it takes. They had heard you begging!
Beau laughs a little. “Would it help if I went and got you some pants?”
You nod your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead before turning to run up the stairs and grab you something to wear.
Dean chuckles from the stove, flipping a rapidly burning pancake. “Look, maybe if you all had more interesting lives, you wouldn’t be so focused on ours.”
“Oh, so it’s ‘our’ life now,” Logan points out instantly. “You have a life together?”
You groan loudly, burying your face deeper into your knees.
Dean throws a grin over his shoulder. “You sound jealous. Don’t be. Not everyone can handle a crowd like I can.”
Beau jogs back down the stairs, tossing a pair of sweatpants over to you. You quickly scramble into them, finally feeling a fraction of your dignity return.
He slides onto the floor next to you, pulling you into his side. “They still giving you a hard time?”
You give him a look that says, what do you think?
Jumping up, Beau looks over to the trio on the sofa. “Are you all bored yet? We’d like to eat breakfast in peace.”
Logan sighs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”
The trio on the sofa turn to face away from you.
“Wanna play NHL?” Tucker asks, already getting up to grab the controllers and turn on the TV.
Logan’s focus shifts immediately as the TV screen flashes with the game’s start up menu. Within minutes, they are completely locked into their match, shouting at the screen and trading insults as if the morning’s interrogation had never happened.
You let out a long heavy breath, your shoulders finally dropping as the spotlight is away from you.
You stand up and stretch before taking a seat next to Dean. Beau’s taken over the cooking, and he slides a stack of unburnt pancakes towards you. “Eat up, sweetheart. You had a busy night.”
You roll your eyes, a small laugh escaping your lips as you take a bite.
summary: in which logan proves, once again, that loving someone means making space for the life they actually want, not the one everyone expects.
pairing: john logan x fem!reader
notes: hi!! this was such a lovely idea, thank you for your request! 🥹 i hope you enjoy <3
ꪆৎ
the conversation starts innocently.
all eight of you are at the hockey house, sprawled across the living room after dinner.
dean and allie are tucked into the corner of the couch, her legs thrown over his lap while he absently plays with the sleeve of her hoodie. tucker is half-sprawled across the rug, sabrina sitting beside him with one hand resting absentmindedly in his hair. hannah is curled into the armchair beside garret, socks on, knees tucked to her chest.
you’re pressed against logan’s side on the other end of the couch, your legs draped over his lap while his hand moves lazily up and down your shin in slow, absent strokes.
you feel comfortable, safe.
the conversation drifts the way it always does, towards the future.
"i feel like dean is going to be such an annoying dad," tucker says, the words leaving his mouth unprompted.
dean immediately looks offended. "annoying?"
allie snorts beside him. "you would be."
"how?"
she grins. "you would act chill until one of our kids get a cold and then suddenly you would be googling every symptom and trying to call three different doctors at once."
sabrina laughs. "unfortunately, that sounds incredibly accurate."
garrett smiles from where he’s leaning back on the chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, clearly enjoying the direction of the conversation.
hannah glances over, her eyes landing on you two. "logan would be good with kids."
everyone turns to look at him, because of course they do. logan is easygoing, warm, steady, patient in a way most people don’t fully notice until they know him properly, so of course the idea of him as a dad feels easy to imagine.
he lifts one shoulder. "maybe."
allie grins. "logan as a girl dad, i can definitely picture it."
everyone starts laughing and throwing out opinions. dean says absolutely not, tucker insists logan would be wrapped around his daughter’s finger, sabrina agrees immediately.
logan just shakes his head, smiling faintly. you laugh softly with everyone else, but something in your chest feels tight.
small, uncomfortable.
the conversation keeps moving. future houses, engagements, marriage, kids. always kids, like it’s inevitable. like it’s just what happens. slowly, the warmth of the room starts feeling strange.
too small, too loud.
the truth is, you’ve never really wanted that. not children, not in the way everyone seems to expect. a part of you has always felt quietly guilty about it.
every time people talk about the future, they talk like children are the obvious next step, like it's the goal, like wanting anything else requires justification.
logan’s hand stills against your leg, just briefly. he notices the exact second you go quiet. he glances down at you. you’re smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. his thumb brushes lightly over your knee in small, gentle strokes.
you know that look, the one that says he’s noticed something, clocked it, stored it away. he doesn’t say anything yet, just keeps listening.
allie turns toward you. her expression soft and curious. "what about you, y/n?"
you blink. "what?"
"kids."
the room goes quiet enough that suddenly all you can hear is the television murmuring in the background and the humming of the fridge in the kitchen.
allie’s expression softens instantly, not pushing, simply asking out of curiosity. you hesitate. logan’s hand squeezes your leg once, an obvious attempt at providing some comfort.
you swallow. "i…" you let out a nervous laugh. "i don’t know."
logan says nothing, he just watches you, waiting, giving you space. your voice comes out quieter this time.
"i don’t actually think i want kids."
silence.
your heart pounds immediately. you hate how vulnerable saying it feels. you stare down at your hands twisted in your lap, fiddling mindlessly with your fingers.
"i don’t know. i just…" you exhale shakily. "i’ve never really pictured that for myself."
your voice drops softer. "and i always feel weird saying that because everyone talks like it’s just what you do."
nobody interrupts, nobody looks shocked, so you keep going.
"but i don’t think i want that kind of life."
your voice wavers slightly. you look up. nerves written across your features.
"i want a future. i want love and stability and a home and all of that."
your throat tightens. "i just don’t think kids are part of that for me."
the room's completely silent, until your boyfriend speaks up beside you, calmly.
"yeah."
you turn to him. his expression is soft, completely unbothered. his hand slides from your leg to lace your fingers together, reassuring you, backing you.
"me neither."
the weight of his answer hits you all at once. you blink, trying to gather your thoughts.
"what?"
logan’s mouth lifts slightly. "i said me neither."
you stare at him, your eyes widening, completely stunned.
"you don’t?"
he shakes his head once. "not really."
his thumb strokes over your knuckles. "i’ve never felt strongly about it. never really pictured that for myself."
your chest tightens. not painfully. something warmer, something bigger, something that feels dangerously close to relief.
"why didn’t you ever say anything?"
his expression softens even further. "because you never did." his words come out simply, like his answer is obvious.
"and i figured if it mattered, we’d talk about it when we were ready."
you feel your eyes sting, tears threatening to spill out. somehow logan had taken the thing you felt most scared to admit and made it feel safe. made it feel normal, made it feel okay.
logan leans closer, close enough that everything else fades slightly at the edges. his voice drops, quieter now, meant only for you. suddenly, the moment feels achingly intimate.
"baby, there’s nothing wrong with wanting a different life." his gaze doesn’t leave yours. "people act like there’s only one version of happy."
his fingers squeeze yours gently in assurance. "there isn’t."
his smile is small, warm, certain. "maybe our version looks different."
your throat feels tight. "our version?"
logan’s smile grows. "yeah." his voice is impossibly soft now. "you. me. us."
his free hand gestures vaguely around the room. "some nice place." his lips twitch. "probably a dog." a small laugh falls from your mouth, and he smiles in response.
"maybe two dogs."
tucker immediately cuts in. "you two would absolutely own the most spoiled dogs on earth."
dean nods once. "that part is true."
the tension breaks, and it feels like the entire room exhales, like everyone relaxes.
allie smiles at you from across the couch, gently, understanding. "for what it’s worth," she says softly, "there’s nothing wrong with that."
hannah nods, adding on. "at all."
sabrina smiles. "happy is happy."
you look back at logan and notice him still holding your hand. still looking at you like nothing about this sudden opinion had changed the way he saw you. if anything, he looks softer, like he’s glad you said it, glad you trusted him enough to finally vocalise it.
you lean into him, quietly. "two dogs?"
logan grins. "minimum."
you laugh, finally breathing properly again.
for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like something you’re failing to fit into. it feels like something you get to build, with him, on your own terms.
summary: in which a weekend without garrett goes from quiet to chaotic after one badly timed misstep.
notes: thank you for this request, i loved writing it! thank you all truly so much for engaging with this au series, it makes my heart so full <3
✩.* found family fics!
✩.* found family masterlist
ꪆৎ
logan had spent most of thursday pretending the weekend wasn't bothering him, which immediately told everyone that it absolutely was. whenever logan insisted something wasn't a big deal, it was almost always a very big deal.
he was just terrible at admitting it.
you knew grace had offered to go with him, of course she had, but he had shut down the idea almost immediately.
not because he didn't want her there, because he did. if this had been any other weekend, any other trip, grace would've been in the passenger seat without question.
this visit was different however, this was family, an incredibly complicated family.
old wounds. the kind of thing logan preferred to keep compartmentalised. he didn't want grace seeing that version of him yet, the one carrying years of frustration and complicated hurt.
grace, because she knew him better than most, hadn’t pushed. she recognised this wasn’t something he was ready to let her into yet.
garrett was different.
garrett already knew that part of logan’s life. he’d met his father before, knew his brother, had seen enough over the years to understand exactly why weekends like this left him anxious.
so when garrett quietly offered to go with him for the weekend, nobody had been surprised.
least of all you.
you stood beside garrett's jeep before he left, arms folded loosely against the cold as logan finished throwing the last of their bags into the backseat.
your boyfriend turned towards you, his expression softer than usual, like he still felt guilty about leaving.
you smiled before he could say anything. "drive safe."
he moved closer, his hands settling instinctively on your waist, like it was second nature. "we will."
your voice drops briefly, softening. "and let me know how everything goes, okay?"
his expression shifts slightly, he knew exactly what you meant. logan, his dad, the entire reason for the weekend trip.
"just… keep me updated."
a small smile pulled at his mouth. "i will, baby. promise." you lean up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away.
"i love you."
his mouth curves immediately. "i love you too."
before properly stepping away, one of his hands slide upwards, fingers curling gently beneath your chin. you feel your breath catch in your throat.
"garrett-"
he tilts your face up slightly, kissing you properly. it's soft at first, gentle, but deliberate, like he had absolutely no intention of letting you get away with only kissing his cheek goodbye.
your fingers instinctively curl into the front of his hoodie as he continues to kiss you. warm, unhurried. familiar enough to make your stomach flip.
when he finally pulls back, his forehead brushes yours, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks almost immediately.
hot. impossible to hide.
even now, after all this time, your boyfriend still has an effect on you. garrett's mouth twitches, a smirk gracing his features. he was amused.
"much better, y/n."
you stare at him, completely flustered, your cheeks turning a shade of deep crimson red.
"you're impossible, graham."
garrett's grin widens at your words, looking far too pleased with himself. his thumb brushes once against your jaw before he finally steps back, still smiling.
"so," he says casually, like he hadn't just completely ruined your ability to think straight, "what are your plans for this weekend?"
you laughed softly. "allie mentioned a new restaurant she wants to try."
"oh yeah?"
"yeah. i think we're doing that tomorrow night."
garrett nods. "that sounds like it'll be good fun."
you smiled. "i think tucker and dean are coming too."
he blinked, then narrowed his eyes slightly. "damn."
you laughed. "what?"
"they're getting invited to girls' night before me?" his tone was teasing, clearly playful.
you grinned. "well dean invited himself."
"of course."
"and tucker somehow heard restaurant and decided he was included."
garrett huffed out a laugh, "that tracks."
suddenly the passenger side door opens. logan climbs out, clearly having forgotten something. you watch him head towards the backseat, shoulders slightly tense despite how casual he looked.
you glance at garrett. "one sec."
he already knew where you were going, of course he did. he’d seen the shift in your expression the second logan climbed out of the car.
you crossed the short distance towards him, calling out. "logan."
you didn’t overthink it, just stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. logan looked surprised for half a second before relaxing into the hug. his arms came around you easily. brief, warm, steady.
when you pulled back, you offered him a small, encouraging smile. "good luck. i’ll be thinking of you."
you watch as something softens in his expression, some of the tension easing almost immediately.
"thanks, y/n."
quiet. genuine. after a second, he adds, softly, "that means a lot."
a small smile graces your features in response before you nod your head in the direction of garrett. "try not to let him mope too much while you're away."
logan snorts. "you're talking about garrett?" he glances over your shoulder, his gaze landing on your boyfriend. "he's already halfway there, y/n."
garrett scoffs from behind you. "okay, relax."
you laughed, and just like that some of the tension had eased. logan, still smiling to himself, climbs into the passenger seat of the jeep. when you return to garrett, he pulls you in without hesitation. one hand at your waist, the other warm against your jaw.
"call me if you need anything."
you smile. "garrett."
"i'm serious."
"i know."
his thumb brushes once across your cheek, gently, before he presses another kiss to your lips. slow and unhurried. like he had absolutely nowhere else to be. when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against yours.
"see you sunday."
you smile. "see you sunday."
-
it was saturday night and the six of you were downtown for dinner. the restaurant was small and crowded, tables packed close together, the air filled with the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses. one bottle of wine shared over dinner somehow turned into three and by the time plates had been cleared, everyone was a little softer around the edges.
not drunk. just pleasantly warm, looser.
your cheeks were slightly flushed from the wine, laughter coming easier now, your body relaxed in the kind of way that only happened around people you trusted completely.
the warm summer air felt soft against your skin.
the streets are busy. students spill out of bars and restaurants in loud groups, music drifts from open doorways as cars crawl slowly past. somewhere down the block someone is laughing so hard it echoes.
everything feels easy, comfortable.
the girls are walking ahead of dean and tucker. all four of you linked arm-in-arm. allie's on one side, sabrina's on the other, while you and grace are in the middle, arms linked tightly together while she tells a story that’s becoming increasingly dramatic.
you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe. dean and tucker trail a few steps behind, watching on, clearly amused.
tucker huffs out a laugh. "well, they’re definitely tipsy."
dean glances over, noting you all laughing amongst yourselves. "just slightly."
tucker snorts in response. "grace has managed to tell the exact same story three times."
up ahead, grace is talking with her entire body. you’re leaning into her shoulder, laughing helplessly, your cheeks pink, eyes bright, happy.
dean feels himself relax a little watching you. for the first time all weekend, you don’t seem to be worried about logan and garrett, about the situation inevitably unfolding with his dad.
then allie suddenly lets go. "wait, we should grab some dessert!"
sabrina agrees, her voice laced with enthusiasm. "yes! let's go to the place we always go to."
the four of you drift towards the curb. still talking. still laughing. still linked together, until grace lets go of your arm for half a second.
you step around allie. dean sees it happen. the tiny misstep, the slight wobble. your heel catches awkwardly on the edge of the curb. maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s grace making you laugh so hard you’re barely paying attention.
or maybe you’re just distracted.
dean doesn’t know. he just knows the second your balance shifts, his stomach drops.
your ankle rolls, hard. the angle is wrong, really wrong. pain flashes across your features immediately, so quickly that it almost doesn’t look real.
your gasp cuts through everything. sharp. shocked. then suddenly, you’re falling.
"fuck."
dean is moving before he even realises he’s moving. allie freezes. grace gasps. sabrina drops her phone. tucker swears.
you hit the pavement hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs, one hand immediately flying to your ankle as the pain begins to sink in. dean reaches you first. one second he’s several feet away, the next he’s kneeling in front of you.
"y/n."
his voice is calm, steady. the exact opposite of how he feels.
"hey."
your eyes are squeezed shut, breathing uneven. one hand grips your ankle. you look stunned, winded.
"i’m okay." you manage, feigning a small smile in encouragement.
dean snorts softly beside you, "that’s a lie."
you correct yourself. "i’m mostly okay."
"still a lie."
you laugh in response but it comes out strained, tight with pain. you try standing, dean’s hand immediately closes around your arm in an attempt to steady you. for one second you look okay, then your foot touches the ground and your entire face drains of colour.
"nope."
the word leaves instantly, followed by a sharp inhale, your whole body folds around the pain. dean catches you before you can stumble again. his grip on you is firm, steady.
"okay."
the calm voice again. "let's not do that."
you glare at him, offended. "great advice, di laurentis."
"glad you agree."
"i’m serious."
"so am i."
dean watches the way you try not to make a big deal out of it. the way you’re still trying to laugh through obvious pain. the way your breathing keeps catching every time you move, every attempt to stand cut short by pain.
and just like that, something in him snaps. he’s done. done watching you pretend you’re fine. done listening to you insist you can walk. before you can react, one arm slides behind your back, the other hooking carefully beneath your knees.
your eyes widen as realisation courses throughout your body.
"dean-"
suddenly you’re off the ground, securely in his arms, being held carefully. your arms instinctively loop around his shoulders.
"dean."
his expression doesn’t change. "no."
you blink. "no what?"
"no arguing."
"i can walk, i swear."
dean raises an eyebrow in response, clearly disagreeing. "you literally cannot, y/n. i just watched you try."
"i can hop."
"absolutely not."
"this is embarrassing."
"i don't care."
you let out a disbelieving laugh. "this feels incredibly over the top. i promise, i can walk it off."
you glance around, noticing a few people looking your way, their expressions openly curious. heat rises to your cheeks, whether from embarrassment or the wine, you aren’t entirely sure.
"people are staring."
dean adjusts his hold slightly, making sure your ankle stays completely still. his voice stays flat, entirely unbothered. "let them."
allie immediately points at you. "y/n, stop."
you look at her. "allie-"
"no." her tone softens a little, but the stubborn look stays firmly in place.
"you’re not putting any weight on that ankle."
"i'll be careful."
allie stares at you, clearly unimpressed. "you almost passed out trying to stand."
"that is incredibly untrue."
"is not."
you pause. "slightly untrue."
allie folds her arms. "you literally went white."
you sigh. "i hate all of you."
"good," dean says flatly, already walking. "because you’re not walking." that earns a snort from tucker as he appears beside you, one look at your face enough for his expression to soften.
"he’s right."
you sigh, feeling betrayed. "not you too."
tucker offers a small shrug as a brief smile graces his features. "garrett would kill all of us if we let you hobble to the car."
a breath of laughter escapes you, because it was true, he would.
"see?" tucker says quietly. "for once y/n, just let people help you."
your grip loosens slightly on dean’s shoulder, the fight leaving you. your head tips lightly against his shoulder as he carries you towards the car. allie walks closely beside you, grace and sabrina trail behind. tucker already moves ahead to unlock the doors.
dean keeps his focus on one thing only. getting you to the car safely without letting your injured foot touch the ground once.
you eventually make it to the car. allie climbs in beside you immediately, your head resting gently against her shoulder. dean starts the car, and then his phone rings.
tucker looks down at the contact that appears on the screen, immediately grinning.
garrett is calling...
of course. dean answers immediately, putting him on speaker.
"hello?"
"why did allie just text me saying y/n ate shit?"
silence. allie’s eyes widen.
"sorry," she says quickly. "i just thought he’d want to know."
dean pinches the bridge of his nose just as garrett’s voice comes through again.
"dean. is she okay?"
the panic is immediate. raw, completely undisguised.
dean sighs. "she’s okay."
"put her on."
"garrett-"
"put her on."
dean turns, handing you his phone.
"hi."
silence.
"baby." everything softens instantly just from hearing your voice.
"i’m okay."
"allie said you couldn’t walk." allie raises both hands in defence. "because she couldn’t. i was just filling you in."
garrett’s voice comes through immediately. "thank you, allie."
"you’re welcome, garrett."
you send her a look, before mouthing the word 'traitor' jokingly. she simply smiles in response, her eyes gleaming with slight amusement.
you sigh. "anyways, i’m okay. i just tripped. it was silly."
garrett is quiet for half a second. "what did you trip on?"
you blink. "what?"
"what did you trip on?"
"the curb."
silence.
"...just the curb?"
"yes?"
"how?"
the entire car loses it. now that everyone knew you were okay, that this was painful but not serious, the absurdity of the situation finally started to sink in.
you were embarrassed, bruised, and deeply humiliated, but okay.
everyone could now fully appreciate the fact that you had somehow managed to seriously injure yourself by losing a battle against a curb. allie doubles over laughing, sabrina snorts, even dean lets out a short laugh from the driver’s seat. you drop your head into your free hand.
"oh my god."
garrett sounds genuinely baffled. "baby, that curb was just sitting there."
you glare at the phone. "thank you garret, that’s really helpful."
allie's laughter stifles. "tell him about the heels."
your head snaps toward her, "allie." it's too late. you already knew from the silence on the other end that garrett heard.
you sigh. "it was the heels."
a beat, then garrett groans. "it’s always the goddamn heels."
you can’t help it, you laugh. a second voice appears faintly in the background. it's logan, clearly already tired of hearing garrett spiral.
"leave poor y/n alone. you’re interrogating her."
"she’s hurt, logan."
your laughter softens into a smile, some of the tension in your chest eases. "i’m okay."
he’s quiet again. when he speaks, his voice is softer now, gentler. "does it still hurt?"
you glance down at your ankle. it’s swollen now, already bruising. "yeah. a little."
garrett exhales slowly. you know that exhale. the one he does when he’s worried but trying not to let it show.
"i hate being this far away."
your chest aches, you know he does. you know every protective instinct in him is screaming right now.
"i know. but i promise i’m okay." you smile softly. "i’ll probably survive." that earns a quiet huff of laughter from him.
garrett's voice sounds once more. "dean?"
"yeah?"
"thanks."
"for what?"
"for carrying her."
dean frowns slightly. "how do you even know i did that?"
garrett is quiet for half a second, clearly debating whether he should elaborate. "allie sent me a photo."
dean’s head immediately turns to face her, a shocked yet amused smile gracing his features. she offers an unapologetic one in return, feigning innocence. "what? he was stressed."
sabrina snorts from the back. you groan softly. "there’s a photo?"
"multiple," garrett says, sounding far too amused now. dean rolls his eyes, teasingly, despite garrett not being able to see him.
"anyways, photo evidence aside, i’m serious."
"stop."
"dean."
"garrett."
"thank you for taking care of her."
dean’s grip tightens briefly on the steering wheel. if things were reversed, garrett would’ve done exactly the same thing, without hesitation, every single time.
dean exhales. "yeah." his voice softens, just slightly. "always."
summary: in which john logan spends an entire night accidentally proving that he's completely and utterly whipped for his girlfriend.
pairing: john logan x fem!reader
notes: this fic is based on this request! thank you so much for this idea! <3 i hope you enjoy 💌
ꪆৎ
the thing nobody tells you about john logan is that his reputation had existed long before you were with him.
before you ever met him, before you'd ever stepped foot in the hockey house, before you'd even known his name, there were already stories.
stories about parties, stories about girls, stories about john logan being john logan.
he had always been confident, social, charming without even trying. he was the kind of person who would walk into a room and somehow know everybody by the time he left.
people gravitated towards him naturally, they always had, which was why even now, nearly a year into your relationship, people still occasionally had the wrong impression.
especially people who didn't know him. especially those who only knew the version of him they'd heard about. the version that existed before you, the one his friends found hilarious because it no longer existed at all.
it starts after a friday night home game. a good win, the kind that leaves everybody in an incredible mood. the team heads out afterwards, claiming a cluster of tables at malone's, the music loud enough that half their conversations are shouted just to be heard.
you'd texted earlier saying you'd meet them there after finishing something with allie. logan had responded with a simple message.
logan 💌
i can't wait to see you.
which, according to dean, was embarrassing enough on its own. logan had told him to give it a rest, dean naturally hadn't listened.
now, nearly forty minutes later, logan is sitting in a booth, nursing a beer while absentmindedly checking his phone for what has to be the twentieth time. not because you're late. you aren't. you'd told him approximately when you'd arrive.
he knows that, he's fully aware of that.
he simply just misses you.
which is apparently enough to make him act like he hasn't seen you in weeks instead of a few hours.
"you know y/n isn't arriving any faster because you keep checking."
logan doesn't bother looking up, he knows exactly whose speaking before the sentence is even finished.
dean.
"i know."
"then stop doing it."
"no."
dean sighs dramatically. "garrett, tell him."
garrett glances over from his conversation, takes one look at logan and immediately shakes his head. "i'm not getting involved."
"coward."
"i just know an unwinnable battle."
before dean can continue, a group of girls approach the table. it's not unusual. it happens after almost every game, especially after wins. they recognise a couple of the players immediately and start talking, introducing themselves, asking questions about the season.
normal stuff, harmless.
except somewhere along the way, two of them end up sitting beside logan, and unfortunately for everyone involved, they've mistaken basic politeness for interest.
logan, meanwhile, remains completely unaware.
he isn't paying much attention, completely oblivious to the obvious advances from the girls beside him. he answers questions when asked, nods occasionally, offers the odd smile, but his attention keeps drifting elsewhere.
towards the entrance, towards his phone. towards literally anything other than the conversation happening before him.
"waiting for someone?" one of the girls asks eventually.
logan glances up from his phone. "yeah."
the answer comes immediately, without hesitation, without thought, like it's simply a fact.
the girl's smile begins to fade. "girlfriend?"
for the first time all evening, logan looks genuinely interested in the conversation.
"yeah." his smile appears instantly, small at first, then bigger.
"she's meeting us here."
dean groans, actually groans, loudly.
"don't encourage him."
logan frowns.
"encourage me to what?"
"talk about her."
"i wasn't."
"you were about to."
"i wasn't."
"you literally smiled."
"because i like my girlfriend."
"exactly."
tucker nearly chokes on his drink. garrett looks down at the table, visibly smirking. the girls laugh, assuming they're joking, assuming they're exaggerating.
because surely they have to be.
"your girlfriend must hate hockey season."
logan finally looks away from the entrance, turning his gaze onto the girl beside him. "why?"
"because you're busy all the time. it sounds like a pretty intense schedule."
his entire expression softens immediately, the change is almost ridiculous.
"nah." he shakes his head. "she's pretty great about it."
"she sounds perfect."
logan smiles into his beer. "pretty much."
dean makes a strangled noise. garrett immediately buries his face in his hands.
"there it is."
"what?"
"nothing."
"she is perfect."
"there it is again."
logan shakes his head, a small smile gracing his features. "you guys are annoying. am i not allowed to express my love for my girlfriend anymore?"
"you can..."
dean gestures vaguely towards him.
"it's just that you genuinely talk about y/n every hour of every day."
logan considers arguing, he really does. then he shrugs. "that sounds about right."
the girls exchange a glance, slightly confused now. this isn't what they expected. they'd approached john logan, the john logan they'd heard about. the sweet, charming one. the guy everybody seemed to have a story about. instead they've somehow ended up listening to him talk about his girlfriend for the last ten minutes.
the worst part is that nobody at the table seems surprised, if anything, they seem exhausted by it.
-
logan hasn't checked the door in almost fifteen minutes. he hasn't looked towards the entrance once.
it's the longest his attention has stayed anywhere all evening. not because of who's asking the questions, but because they're asking about you.
dean notices first, the way logan suddenly goes quiet, the way his eyes drift past the table, over the crowd, until they land on you.
the smile appears instantly, effortlessly, like breathing.
"here she is."
the words are quiet, almost to himself, but everybody hears them.
everybody watches him stand. he doesn't hesitate, doesn't finish his drink, doesn't excuse himself. he simply gets up and starts walking.
you spot him halfway across the room and your entire face brightens immediately. the second you smile at him, dean lets out the loudest groan imaginable.
because somehow the idiot smiles even wider.
"look at him."
tucker laughs. "it's actually kind of sweet."
"it's disgusting."
"you've said that every week for eleven months."
"and i'll say it again."
across the room logan reaches you. his hand settles instinctively against your waist, pulling you into his side without even thinking about it, you lean into him just as naturally.
from where they're sitting, his friends watch every remaining trace of attention he might have given anything else disappear completely.
you're talking, telling him about your day, about allie, about something that happened in class and logan is looking at you like you're the most fascinating person in the room, the most important person in the room, the only person in the room.
one of the girls watches for a moment before finally turning towards garrett.
"...he really loves her, huh?"
garrett doesn't even hesitate. "more than hockey." the entire table laughs in response, because that's the highest level of commitment john logan is capable of.
the truth is, people see john logan and assume they know him. they see the confidence, the flirting. they hear the stories.
they see a guy who enjoys attention and assume he must still be looking for it. the people who actually know him know better. because the second you walk into a room, his attention belongs entirely to you.
they know that no matter who's talking to him, who's flirting with him, who's trying to get his attention, his eyes are always searching for the same person.
while they tease him for it relentlessly, while they roll their eyes every time he somehow manages to bring you into a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with you, the truth is, none of them really mind.
for the first time in a long time, logan is happy, truly happy, and a lot of that has to do with you.
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pairing: dean di laurentis x neurodivergent!reader
summary: to help you find the words to accurately describe how you feel for Dean, you create a list. you never intended for anyone to see it, least of all him.
contains: reader has behaviors that reflect those on the spectrum! no use of y/n, pet names (baby, sweetheart), sappy romance fluff, allusions to sex, kissing, cursing, teasing, tickling (sorry :/)
author’s note: apparently i’ve got dean on the brain today! this is my sort of sequel to my oblivious fic! i hope u guys like it :))
It felt worth the mention that you had never been in love before.
Had you been, this might not have been an issue. But like most things in your life, you were a little late to the party. You had been in one relationship before Dean, but it hadn’t lasted long enough to create feelings beyond infatuation or mere like. With Dean, it was different, like everything was. You felt out of control—which you didn’t particularly care for, but it felt like a fair trade with how happy he made you—and like there was a constant pull beneath your sternum to be near him at all times.
You liked your solitude, in fact, you needed it most times. People usually drained your social battery; just a simple exchange of pleasantries feeling exhausting some days. It was almost as if Dean had hacked your system and bypassed all the firewalls you’d put in place. You never felt drained after being with him, it was actually quite the opposite, you felt energized.
You had turned into one of those girls who giggled and giddily spoke about their boyfriend. These were emotions you previously wouldn’t have reserved for even your most intense passion, let alone a man. You couldn’t understand it. It was as if some chemical had been released and it was changing your genetic makeup.
You thought perhaps the feelings would fade the longer you were together. It was new and exciting and maybe your psyche was just reacting positively to a new stimuli.
A promising theory, however it did not prove to be correct. If anything, your intense feelings grew the longer you were together. You had considered the possibility that you may love Dean, but you weren’t sure. And since he hadn’t mentioned it to you, you thought the risk was too great to venture a guess on your feelings towards him.
You knew the common solution other people might suggest would be asking a friend, but this seemed utterly mortifying to you. And how were you to know whether or not people’s experiences differ? Were the symptoms universal? And you hadn’t a clue whether popular media, such as romantic comedies, were to be believed and taken as fact. So no, you wouldn’t be seeking the advice of other’s, there were too many ‘what if’s?’
Hence, the list.
You liked lists. They were functional and proved helpful for various occasions, your current predicament included. You hadn’t intended for anyone to ever see it. It was for you and you alone. A solo experiment you were conducting.
You wanted to both record instances when you felt strong positive feelings towards Dean, and mark down what specifically he had done to warrant that response. Your hope was that after a few entries, you would be able to draw similarities between them and create a solid thesis.
So, alone in your room, you began writing your list in a previously empty notebook in your bedside table.
1.) He doesn’t treat you like a child
There had been times when your lack of social awareness or naïveté had been misconstrued as child-like. This often led to patronization from past partners. It was a common point of anxiety for you; not being in on a joke everyone else seemed to be, not picking up on sarcasm when you assumed someone was being genuine. It made it even worse when your own partner was apologizing for your actions, or explaining things to you like you were dumb.
Dean didn’t do this. Sure, there had been times when he found your ‘face value’ tendencies to be funny, but it never felt as though he was laughing at you. He had a sort of fondness in his eyes when he looked at you, like he enjoyed the way you saw the world and the people in it.
You never felt left out when Dean was around, either. He and his friends had certain bits they liked to do with each other, and at first you found it hard to pick up on, but when you were alone he would break them down for you. He wouldn’t explain why they were funny, you could understand that, but he was letting you in on the inside joke.
He had told you once that Tucker’s mom had shown them pictures of their young friend dressed up like Mr. Mistoffelees from Cats the musical when she came to help her son move in. Ever since then, the guys had teased him mercilessly about not only enjoying Cats the musical, but dressing up as one of the actors at the age of thirteen.
One afternoon, you and Dean were sitting at the kitchen island while Tucker made breakfast, the three of you discussing the Hawks’ latest game, and more specifically Tucker’s success and scored goals.
“What can I say? I’m magical.”
You looked over beside you to find Dean hiding his smile behind his mug filled with coffee.
You spoke before you thought, which was not something you found yourself doing often. “Magical and mystical.”
“Mr. Mistoffelees,” Dean sung the rest, Tucker immedaitely groaning.
“You told her?” He screeched. Dean laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
2.) He doesn’t make you stay the night at his place
As much as you loved his friends, you didn’t love spending the night at the hockey house. And it really had nothing to do with the other boys at all. It was more to do with…routine.
You had little things. Things most people didn’t see unless they spent the night with you, which was a very few number of people, and you intended to keep it that way.
You hadn’t always felt ashamed of displaying these behaviors that you couldn’t control, but after your last boyfriend broke up with you over them, it became something you thought to hide. Especially from Dean.
For as long as you can remember, you had a routine before bed. You would check the front door lock three times, check all of the stove burners to ensure they’re off, and unlock and re-lock each of the windows. Once you finished your routine, you could sleep peacefully. If you didn’t… you did not sleep.
Your therapist had ensured you this was a behavior that was harming no one, and therefore saw no reason why you should have to stop. Usually, that validation would have been good enough for you, but now you couldn’t help but feel insecure.
You’d tried sleeping at Dean’s house on two different occasions, and both left you feeling unrested and unsettled.
It was around the fifth time that you declined his invitation to stay over that he questioned you about it.
“How come you never wanna stay at my place? Are you uncomfortable there?” He asked you.
“No,” you rush to say. He gives you a look like he knows your lying. “Well…yes, but not because of anything you’ve done.”
“Okay,” he trailed off like he wanted you to continue.
You took a deep breath. “I like my sheets,” you confess.
“You…like your sheets?” He repeats like he doesn’t understand.
“Yes. I got them because they’re the perfect texture and yours are itchy. And my toothpaste is here. Yours is the weird charcoal toothpaste and I don’t like the taste, it leaves my tongue feeling dry. And your TV has a broken pixel in the top left corner that I can’t help but get distracted by every time we try to watch a show, and your front door doesn’t have a chain lock like mine does, and your air purifier is too loud, and—“
“Okay, baby.” He moves to take your hands in his, smiling and laughing lightly at your nervous rambling. “Why don’t we just stay at yours?”
You blink at him. You hadn’t known that was an option. It hadn’t been in your last relationship.
“You would want to?”
“Of course.” He laughs incredulously. “I just want to spend time with you, I don’t care where it is.”
You tackled him onto his bed with a hug, pressing kisses to his face as he laughs and holds you to him like he doesn’t want to let go. You hope he doesn’t.
3.) Soft sweaters
Your list began with the more serious reasons, and at some point over the weeks turned into the smaller stuff that left you feeling warm and gooey like a freshly baked cookie.
Before Dean, you hadn’t really considered the perks of having a richer partner. Yes, obviously having money was nice, but you weren’t sure what benefit it would have specifically for you. You didn’t intend on being financially dependent on your partner; you had dreams of your own.
Then you felt cashmere and the world made sense.
“Hey, baby?” Dean called from inside his closet. You were sat criss-cross on his bed with your physics notes in your lap and your computer open in front of you.
“Yeah?” You call back without looking up.
“Do you have any idea where all my cashmere sweaters might have gone?” You look up to find him leaning against one of the doors to his closet, his face looking like he knows exactly where all his sweaters went. And you knew too.
“No,” you reply in your most innocent voice you can muster. “I have no clue.”
“Huh.” He walks towards you, a towel slung low on his hips and his skin still damp from his shower. “That’s so weird, because what you’re wearing right now kind of looks like one.”
The both of you look down at your top at the same time, your eyes trailing back up to his guiltily.
“It’s so soft,” you whisper your explanation.
“I know,” he whispers back. “That’s why I bought it.”
You sigh and then slip the material over your head. You hadn’t been wearing anything underneath, but Dean had seen you naked mulitiple times now, you didn’t think it would affect him as much as it did.
You go back to your notes, but when you notice him still standing beside the bed, the sweater you tossed to him hanging off the tips of his fingers, his eyes alight with something, you ask, “what?”
He throws the sweater over his shoulder and moves to crowd you on the bed. “It makes it even hotter that you have no idea how much you affect me.”
4.) Dimples.
Dimples are caused by slight anatomical variations in facial tissue. A separation of muscle. It made absolutely no sense to you why Dean’s had the affect on you that they did.
Maybe it was because they didn’t always come out. It was only when he smiled or laughed hard that the indents in his cheeks showed. And you did love his laugh. And his smile.
You were lying in your bed, your skin still slightly tacky from your earlier excursions, and normally that sensation would bother you, but it never did with Dean. You loved to trace over different parts of his body and watch the muscles beneath the skin work, or the goosebumps rise over his flesh and know you caused it.
When you trace over his ribs, you feel his abdomen flex and a strange, high noise leave him in a rush. You look up to him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he answers, a bit too quickly.
So you do it again, gently tracing your fingers over his ribs, and he squirms a little more intensely.
“Are you ticklish?” You grin.
“No…”
You run your fingers over both sides of him this time and you’re rewarded by his real laugh, full and loud, with his dimples digging deep into his cheeks.
You don’t know what makes you do it, but you lean up to kiss them. First, the one closest to you, then the other. Though, they fade into just faint indents with how his smile shrank from wide to small, almost shy.
“I love…” you watch his irises expand at your words, his chest stalling for a moment like his breath stuttered. “your dimples.”
His smile isn’t as wide as before, but you watch the indents grow deeper and feel the divots with the tips of your fingers. You feel like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t.
5.) The noise he makes when you kiss his neck
Dean made plenty of noises you loved.
You loved his laugh, obviously. You loved the noises he made while working out. But you especially loved the noises he made when you teased him.
In your previous relationship, you hadn’t really enjoyed making out. You couldn’t help but focus on the texture of their saliva or the taste in their mouth. You didn’t understand the appeal until Dean, like many things.
You loved the firm and somehow also soft feel of his lips. You loved the delicate way his tongue would brush over yours. You loved how his hands gripped the flesh of your hips and tangled in your hair.
And you loved the noise he made when your mouth would move from his mouth to his neck.
It was technically his jaw, closer to his ear, but your technical thoughts were inconsequential at the moment. You had no appetite to be contrarian when his hips were moving beneath yours uncontrollably and his mouth was open and panting.
You liked conducting experiments, and you were fairly sure that Dean felt the same. After all, it had been an experiment that resulted in your finding the spot that made him whimper. So you decided to conduct another and see how far you push it before he was begging you to stop.
You bit his skin lightly and then soothed it with your tongue, his breath shuttering in his throat and the sweetest noise surfacing. You smile against his skin.
“Baby,” he breathlessly spoke. You moved to the other side of his throat, trying to spread your attention evenly. “You keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”
It sounded like a warning, but it wasn’t one you cared to heed. So you hummed against his skin and continued your ministrations. You didn’t even have to take your clothes off to get the response you wanted from him.
6.) The fact that he loves you too
In hindsight, you shouldn’t have left something out that you didn’t want your boyfriend to see who had unrestricted access to your apartment.
You could blame the exhaustion, but it was entirely possible that you had subconsciously left it out for him to potentially find, alleviating you of your obligation to confess your feelings.
You’d come home later than usual to find him lying on your couch with a book in his hand. It wasn’t an unusual sight, but the book made you do a double take once you recognized the leather-bound cover as your journal. Your love list journal, to be exact.
“Dean!” You squeal, diving for the book and completely missing it when he moves it out of your reach, your body falling over his onto the couch.
“I feel honored my dimples made your list, baby. I knew you had a thing for them.”
“Oh my god.” You cover your face with your hands, feeling like you could potentially throw up from embarrassment. You hear him set the book down on the coffee table and then gently place his hands over yours.
“Hey.” He moves to uncover your face, his eyes gentle as he takes in your undoubtedly red face. “You know I love you too, right? Because I do. I was just waiting because I didn’t want to move too fast and scare you.”
“Well that’s dumb,” you deadpan. He laughs abruptly. “You wouldn’t have scared me.”
“You don’t have the best track record when it comes to being aware of my feelings towards you, sweetheart. You can be a little oblivious sometimes.”
You smile sadly. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. I’m just glad you finally caught up.” You roll your eyes before he leans in to kiss you, far too quick and chaste for your liking. Then he’s speaking again. “And to think, all it took was realizing you love when I whimper.”
“Oh my god!” You hide your face in his chest again and feel it rumble beneath you as he laughs. You refuse to look up to show him, but you can’t help but laugh as well.
premise: at the end of high school, you ended your relationship with logan, and the breakup was devastating for the both of you. as a collegiate diver, you got an offer from california, and moved away from massachusetts, completely intent on never seeing him again. when you suddenly transfer to briar in your junior year, logan goes through a second round of heartbreak, torn between loving and hating you.
category: enemies (exes) to lovers, a lot of angst, a lot of yearning
word count: around 3.4k
content/trigger warnings: brief mention of throwing up right before the first line break, description of a panic attack (mentions of faint, rapid heart rate), super super super light allusion to smut in the second section of the fic (it's from a dream and it's barely smut to begin with, but to be safe, minors dni), a pretty intense but short argument at the end (cursing).
context notes: i read ali hazelwood's deep end last month and i'm still obsessed with it. that's why reader is a diver in this fic :) i apologize for getting any diving terminology wrong, i'm still learning it! and you might think that logan is kinda out of character in this, but he's only acting this way out of heartbreak, i swear. plus he continues to yearn after her, too. yearner!logan is always activated. also pretend that your name is a common name in this fic lol (it'll make sense when you read it, it adds to logan's denial). i do not possess a common or an "American" name (if that even exists in the first place) but i pretended to while i was writing it. and from what i know 10 meters = 33 feet, roughly, right?
author notes: this will be a multi-part fic. i'll try to update once or twice a week, depending on any changes with my workload. we're also going to learn why reader transferred to briar as we advance through this fic. i also plan on doing alternating POVs too! this part is focused on Logan, next part will be focused on the reader. feedback is always appreciated :) and this was slightly proofread as of 06/12/26, so there still might be some errors/typos.
Logan is wholeheartedly convinced that he’s hallucinating when he hears your name casually slip out of Dean’s mouth.
A name that hasn’t crossed his mind in over two years.
“We were watching them practice yesterday, and dude, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her,” He hears Beau say to Tucker, and Logan’s chest begins to ache. Even though half of his upper body is stuck under the kitchen sink as he tries to fix another broken pipe, he continues to eavesdrop. He has to.
Maybe it’s another Y/N.
“Wait, Briar has a diving team?” Tucker asks in confusion, and Logan’s grip tightens on the pipe. He inhales sharply through his nose, forcing himself to pause as he listens to his friends.
He doesn’t have all the details yet. Perhaps there’s another Y/N who just also conveniently turns out to be a diver. If Logan retained anything from his statistics class last semester, it’s that there are an infinite amount of possibilities out there. 8 billion people exist on this Earth. 342 million people live in the U.S. We’re all bound to intersect somewhere in the Venn diagrams of our lives.
“Yup. They haven’t been doing well, though. Everyone’s saying that Y/N will make a difference on the team,” Dean explains, and Logan fixes his gaze on the towel he’s holding in his gloved hand. “She just transferred from California. Berkeley, I think.”
And that’s all it takes for the dam of Logan’s tightly wound emotions to burst. Internally, of course.
He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to gently crawl out from under the sink to avoid hitting on his head on the wooden surface above him. Slow and steady.
“And she’s so fucking hot,” His body freezes once he registers Dean’s voice. “I’m gonna ask her out after the meet tomorrow.”
Bam.
Logan abruptly hits his head against the wood, groaning and letting out a loud “fuck!” as he slides out from under the cabinet. Before he can even stand up, Tucker rushes over.
“Shit, dude, are you okay?” He looks at his housemate in concern as Logan pinches his eyes shut yet again, wishing he was anywhere but here.
When he opens his eyes, he sees that Beau and Dean have made their way over as well. Logan lets out a loud huff as he hurriedly walks away from the kitchen, pushing away Tucker’s helping hands.
“Dude, you good?” He hears Dean’s infuriating voice merge with the incessant pounding in his head, and he can’t tell which sound is worse. Logan can only grunt in response, rushing up the stairs.
“I’m gonna lie down,” Logan then offhandedly announces to the house as he reaches his bedroom and slams the door shut. He’s undeniably positive that Dean’s calling him a “moody bitch” right at this very moment, but he can’t bring himself to give a fuck.
Instead of falling onto his bed, he collapses onto his desk chair, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes as his leg restlessly begins to shake. His heart rattles incessantly against his chest as if he’s been skating suicides around the rink for hours.
And of course, his brain immediately starts to fuck with him. Maybe he misheard. Maybe he imagined the whole conversation. It wouldn’t be the first time his mind had wandered off while repairing a pipe.
But as his eyes drift to his closet, thinking about the box of your things that’s been collecting dust over the past few years, he has a sinking feeling in his gut that Dean’s words are probably true. That you are probably back in Massachussetts. At Briar. In the same vicinity as him.
And that this isn’t some sort of awful nightmare, and that the announcement of your presence is enough to send this man into a hysterically sickening spiral of denial and disbelief.
But his mind continues to propel him into a self-destructive rumination, conjuring up the most absurd of thoughts about how selfish you are to come back into his life, that you surely came back with the sole purpose to ruin his life for the second time, as if the breakup itself wasn’t devastating enough.
The boys all know about the mysterious woman who broke high school Logan’s heart. They jokingly tease him over her, making nonchalant comments about how he supposedly lost “the love of his life.” But they don’t know the extent of the torment and pain that he suffered.
Well, Garrett actually knows a little bit about you. He’s the only one out of the all of the guys who knows your first name. One time in sophomore year, Logan drunkenly let your name slip, and Garrett never forgot the way his best friend’s eyes turned glassy immediately upon muttering your name.
Now, Logan turns his head away from the closet, settling his gaze onto the chipped wood of his desk. He can’t bear to open that box. He vehemently refuses to.
While exhaling a shaky breath, he feels the familiar pressure of the tears lingering behind his eyes, but he furiously blinks them away. He forces himself to grab his Econ textbook to start his homework, desperately trying to shove the image of you in his mind into a deep dark hole.
When he opens his laptop to take notes on the Keynesian market theory, he receives a notification from his inbox. An email from Briar’s weekly student newsletter.
And because this cruel universe wants to add fuel to the blazing fire burning in Logan’s heart, the headline just happens to be a reminder about the diving meet tomorrow. Despite every bone in his body telling him not to scroll, he does anyway, because he must be some goddamn mascochist, he mutters under his breath.
He sneaks a peek of the very top of the photo underneath the headline. And as soon as he gets the tiniest glimpse of your hair and your forehead and your eyebrows, he immediately slams his laptop shut, feeling the churn intensify in his stomach and grabbing the trashcan beside him when he tastes the bile crawling up his throat.
The bastards make him attend the meet as well. Of course they do.
Logan knew about Briar’s Aquatic Center, since some guys in Beau’s frat were on the swimming team, but he has never actually step foot into the place. And his friends have the nerve to be fucking giddy when they walk into the center, seeing the colors of both Briar and Northeastern embroidering the bleachers.
He truly believes that he’s been masking his emotions successfully so far. However, even though some of the boys (i.e., Dean) have no idea, he can feel Garrett’s eyes stealthily watching him on the back of his head.
As they sit on the bleachers with the rest of student crowd, Garrett finally breaks the silence, looking at his best friend with furrowed eyebrows and utter confusion.
“You good?” He casually asks, elbows going to rest on his knees, his question practically getting muffled by the cheers of zealous Briar students. “You’re acting weird.”
The question punches Logan hard in the chest, but he conceals his emotions with a sarcastic scoff, shaking his head. “I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well last night.”
His first sentence? Definitely false.
But his second sentence? Absolutely true.
The hockey player tossed and turned in his sheets last night as he tried to fall asleep without thinking about you. But that task proved totally impossible.
Because as soon as he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep slumber, his subconscious immersed him into a dream of your high school selves, sneaking around in the back of his truck between class periods. He felt your arms wrapped around his neck, your ankles crossed on his back, and your frenzied breaths as he pushed himself into you, wanting more and more. He moaned into your neck, saying your name over and over, and as he looked down at your bare chest littered with his bite marks and hickeys, he couldn’t help but think about how much he fucking loved you.
But suddenly, you disappeared underneath his arms, much like how you disappeared from his life. And instead of making love to you in the back of his truck, he woke up heaving and panting all alone in his bedroom with the digital clock practically mocking him as it displayed “3:01 AM” at him.
He couldn’t go back to sleep afterwards.
Logan’s mind wanders away from you and comes back to the present when he watches Garrett sigh and shake his head, as if non-verbally telling him “you’re a shitty liar, Logan.” His bloodshot eyes definitely do not help his case, either.
As he watches some student workers pass out brochures listing out the rosters of both teams, a wave of denial crashes into him for the hundredth time.
Even though he overheard Dean’s raunchy comments, and even though he saw the tiniest peek of your forehead in the email yesterday, he refuses to believe that you’re back until his eyes confirm it for him. He needs the visual verification before allowing himself to go completely mad. As if he hasn’t been tearing at his hair in a fit of hysteria for the past twenty four hours already.
“Oh look, she’s from Munsen,” Tucker casually notices as he reads your player profile on the brochure, nudging Logan’s shoulder. “Your hometown, right?”
Logan feels like he has to work every muscle in his body in order to give a response. “Yeah, that’s crazy.”
And he wasn’t lying. This whole situation was fucking insane.
He doesn’t realize how fast his leg is bouncing until Dean lightly shoves at his head, pointing to the rest of the bleachers. “Dude, knock it off. Your leg is shaking up this entire section.”
On a regular day, Dean’s comment wouldn’t even affect him. But today, the blood swells and boils in Logan’s veins as he restrains himself, desperately wanting to tell the blond bastard to “fuck off.”
But before he can ever get a word out of his mouth, an announcement blares over the speaker, broadcasting to everyone that Northeastern’s team is about to walk out from the tunnels behind the center.
His body is present enough to register the cheers from the crowd opposite of him whenever the speaker announces the name of each diver from Northeastern. And then the music changes, and it’s time for Briar’s team to walk out. Logan has to subtly check his pulse on his neck vein to ensure he’s still alive.
After all, he’s this close to running out of the center.
He feels physically sick as he watches each diver walk out, anticipation coursing through him, as if he’s watching a horror movie and anxiously waiting for the jumpscare.
When the fourth diver walks out, Logan stupidly feels a sudden wave of relief through his body. You haven’t walked out yet. Maybe this whole thing is a prank. A figment of his imagination.
“And now, let’s welcome our new platform diver, transferring fresh from Berkeley, California, Y/N Y/L/N!”
Everyone around him screams once the new diver comes into view, and his hand clutches against the metal of the bleacher, knuckles rapidly turning white.
It happens in slow motion.
His eyes lock onto the one piece hugging your body. His gaze then carries over to your hands that wave out to Briar’s crowd, and to your devastatingly gorgeous smile that both excites and destroys him. Whenever he scored a goal, or pressed slow kisses to your neck, or jumped into his arms after a long day, you flashed that beautiful smile at him.
Fuck. You’re actually here. Logan feels like he’s going to faint, or explode. Or both.
He doesn’t realize that he hasn’t teared his eyes away from you until Garrett forcefully lifts him up by the elbow, looking down at him as if it’s his first day on Earth. The national anthem had begun playing and he was still sitting down, spiraling into complete panic. He places a hand over his racing heart, and he knows that Garrett’s getting suspicious.
The meet begins shortly afterwards and you sit on side while the rest of your teammates go before you. You still haven’t noticed Logan in the crowd yet, even though his gaze never leaves your body.
Later, when it’s finally your turn, you walk your way up the stairs to the platform standing thirty-three feet above the pool. Since his seat directly faces the platform, Logan also conveniently has a good view of you as well. You’re much closer now to him.
And when his eyes linger down to the top of your left thigh, he feels the familiar burning coming back behind his eyes.
It’s small, but he recognizes it immediately.
It’s still there.
The stick and poke that Logan drew on you in junior year. The #22 proudly blazoned on the top of your thigh. He remembers tattooing it on you like it was yesterday—the way you squirmed underneath the needle, the way you dug your fingers into his curls and caressed his scalp, the way your laugh reached his ears when he joked that “you’re tied to him for life.”
You never got it removed.
He doesn’t know if he should be relieved or horrified.
The speaker blasts your name once again before you take your position. In high school, your signature dive was a simple but sharp backwards tuck. At every single meet, you absolutely dominated in your category, coming home with new medals and trophies practically every week.
Now, your signature dive is different. It’s become an armstand, a dive that always terrified the fuck out of Logan. Holding a handstand while on the edge of an awfully high platform was enough to cause nightmares. He never understood how you did it.
You hold your armstand flawlessly before flipping through the air, and Logan physically feels the crowd collectively hold their breath as you dive into the water from ten meters above.
“Woo!” He hears Dean holler among the rest of the cheers of the Briar crowd. Logan senses the tiniest bit of possessiveness sinking into his body. “Now that’s fucking sick!”
At your high school meets, a part of Logan was always irrationally scared that one day, you wouldn’t get out of the water. Sure, playing hockey came with pretty bad injuries, but so did diving. So as you take your sweet time getting out of the pool, Logan feels like he’s going even more insane. A trace of protectiveness still runs through his blood, even when the sight of you breaks his heart.
You climb yourself out of the pool, giving an unusual tight-knit smile before walking over to your coach. It’s not your usual wide, radiant, “I just demolished that dive” smile. It’s tense. Restrained.
Even though his eyes continue to inspect you, his focus is broken when Garrett claps a hand on Logan’s shoulder, physically jolting him from his trance.
“That’s Y/N, isn’t it?”
Garrett’s an asshole, but at least he has the decency to lower his voice, which Logan is immensely grateful for.
Logan wordlessly nods his head, shoulders slumping in defeat after getting caught by his best friend.
Garrett takes a moment to respond, letting the information truly set in, before shaking his head and looking at him with a mix of disbelief and concern.
“John, you’re fucked.”
To no one’s surprise, you score first place in your category.
And because of your accomplishment, hordes of people come rushing over to you once the meet is over. Since all of these excited fans and NCAA coaches immediately crowd you, Dean quickly gives up on getting your number.
At least Logan gets one win today.
Once the boys are ready to head out, Logan lies and says that he needs to go to the library to pick up a book. Garrett looks at him suspiciously, but the rest bid him goodbye as they head off to the house.
Is it a bit strange that he waited outside the center for more than an hour? Maybe. But his denial and disbelief have transformed into anger, and he needs to get some thoughts off of his chest.
Finally, as the sun is setting and all the other divers are walking out, he sees you.
Your back is facing him, but you could be a thousand feet away and he would still know that it’s you. He watches as you push open the door, sneakers bouncing against the grass as you walk further away.
But his voice catches you before you could put your earbuds in.
“You’re back,” He breathes out, and watches as you immediately halt your steps. “You’re back in the state and you didn’t even tell me.”
You remain frozen in place, back still turned to him. You recognize that voice immediately. You say nothing for at least thirty seconds, torturing Logan with your silence.
He already regrets his decision to speak to you.
“And why the fuck would I do that?”
And when you turn around, he feels the ground sway underneath his feet.
You look the exact same. You’re the same girl who would doodle and draw little sketches of him in your 9th grade biology class. The same girl who would bring a new poster of him to every single hockey game, cheering him on whenever he dedicated his goal to you.
The same girl who would lend him extra blankets and coats during the winter because his mother frequently forgot to pay the electric bill.
But in a bizarre sort of paradox, you also look entirely different. The bags under your eyes are pronounced. There’s a slight hunch to your shoulders as you carry your duffel bag. And he’s trying to find the same radiance in your eyes that you had two years ago, but that light has been completely extinguished.
He simultaneously wants to wrap you into a bone-crushing hug and sprint away from you.
“I think it’s basic human decency. Could’ve given me a warning at least, you know,” So that I could avoid you around campus, he thinks to himself. “Before you fuck up my life for the second time.”
You scoff, stepping closer to him, almost sending him into cardiac arrest. “Wow. Who the fuck do you think you are? God forbid I don’t cater to you. I don’t factor you into my decisions. I stopped doing that a long time ago.”
“Yeah, clearly,” He barks out a mirthless laugh, his heart sinking at the words you spewed out to him. “You stopped thinking about me even before our relationship ended.”
You let in a deep inhale, eyes narrowing him. He clenches his jaw, undoubtedly certain that the anger is rolling off of him in monstrous waves at this very moment.
“I’m not doing this right now,” You mutter, starting to back away from his space.
“Of course!” He snarls, bringing his hands up, practically shooing you away. “Walk away, it’s what you do best.”
You whip your head at him, and suddenly you’re a mere few inches away from him, your chest heaving at a dangerous pace. He gets a small whiff of your perfume, a scent that you’ve never changed and one that he’ll always, until the end of time, associate with you. After all this time, he hates that his first instinct is to hold you. But he can’t bring his arms to reach out to you, or his hands to touch your waist.
“Fuck you, John,” You snap at him, your body shaking to the very bone as you utter those painful words. “I walked away because you didn’t listen.”
“To your bullshit? Listening would be a waste, anyways,” He looks you dead in the eyes, and to his surprise, you remain silent, your head tilting downwards to fix your gaze on the grass.
And when he sees the tears welling up in your eyes when you finally lift your head to look at him, he’s completely startled. You close your eyes immediately.
“Just…stay out of my way, John,” You whisper to him in a shaky voice, eyes still closed as you pull your trembling hands to your chest, showing your empty palms to him as an act of surrender. The way your voice breaks when saying his name sends an ache throughout his chest. “And I’ll stay out of yours.”
Before his brain even registers it, you turn around and walk away, your body slowly disappearing into the night.
Garrett’s right. Logan’s completely fucked.
taglist: @solstice-333
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summary: in which nobody realises how much of the group's heart y/n holds until she's the one lying in a hospital bed instead of taking care of everyone else.
notes: thank you so much for this very sweet request, i loved writing it! seriously this group owns my whole heart. i love them. i love them. i love them <3
✩.* found family fics!
✩.* found family masterlist
ꪆৎ
the first sign that something was wrong was the fact that you didn't answer your phone. normally, that wouldn't mean much. people missed calls all the time.
except you always answered your phone, or at the very least, sent a text.
especially when it was allie calling, which was why the third unanswered call made something uncomfortable settle low in her stomach, a feeling she couldn't quite explain.
"that's weird."
grace glanced up from where she was sitting across the table at the coffee shop, "what?"
"y/n isn't answering her phone."
sabrina frowned, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "maybe she's taking a nap?"
allie was already shaking her head. "she texted me forty minutes ago."
allie tries calling you again, however to her dismay it goes straight to voicemail, and the knot in her stomach tightens.
twenty minutes later she's outside your shared dorm, digging through her purse for the keys. the door has barely opened before allie's stomach sinks.
you hadn't even made it to your room. you were curled up on the couch in the common area, one of the throw blankets dragged haphazardly over your legs.
for a second you don't even seem to notice she's there. your head is tipped back against the cushions, eyes squeezed shut, one arm wrapped tightly around your stomach. every instinct in allie's body starts screaming.
she knew instantly that something was wrong. you looked awful. completely, genuinely awful.
pale enough to make allie's chest tighten, your face pinched with pain, your breathing shallow and uneven. one hand was pressed so tightly against your stomach that your knuckles had gone white, like letting go for even a second might somehow make it worse.
"jesus christ," allie breathes, dropping her bag by the door. "y/n?"
your eyes crack open slightly at the sound of her voice, and somehow, seeing the tears already gathering in your eyes makes allie feel even worse.
you try to smile, but the minimal action looks painful, like even moving the muscles in your face takes effort.
"hi."
the greeting comes out weak, barely above a whisper and allie's stomach drops even further, because this isn't you.
you're the person who talks with your hands, who fills every silence, who somehow manages to find something funny in every situation.
even when you're sick, especially when you're sick.
right now you sound exhausted.
drained.
like simply getting that one word out had cost you energy you didn't have to spare. "oh my god," allie says immediately, crossing the room.
"you look terrible."
a breath that might have been a laugh leaves you, or maybe a wince, it's hard to tell.
"thank you."
"i'm serious." she drops into a crouch beside the couch, one hand immediately finding your forehead.
"jesus, you're burning up."
your eyes close again. "i don't feel very good."
the understatement is so ridiculous that it would almost be funny if you didn't look like you were about thirty seconds away from passing out.
"what happened?"
"nothing."
"y/n."
you let out a slow breath. "my stomach hurts."
allie stares. you stare back for approximately two seconds before abruptly folding forward, one hand shooting toward the edge of the couch as your eyes squeeze shut.
the sound that leaves you isn't quite a gasp, isn't quite a groan, just pain.
raw and immediate.
allie's heart practically stops, she'd never seen you like this before.
you were the girl who powered through migraines, the girl who submitted assignments with fevers, the girl who insisted she was fine when she very clearly wasn't. seeing you unable to sit upright feels wrong. incredibly, undeniably wrong.
"we're going to the hospital."
"allie-"
"hospital."
"it's probably nothing."
"you literally can't sit up."
"that's dramatic."
allie gestures toward your current position. "you're folded in half, y/n."
you glance down at yourself, consider it, before nodding once. "okay."
a pause.
"maybe only a little dramatic."
-
twenty minutes later the pair were sitting in emergency. allie was drafting out a text to garrett, her fingers shaking.
allie
something's wrong with y/n
i'm taking her to the hospital
don't panic but maybe panic a little
the response came back in less than ten seconds.
garrett
fuck
which hospital
i'm coming
garrett had been halfway through lunch with the boys when the message from allie arrived. one second he was listening to logan argue with dean about something completely ridiculous and the next he was on his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor.
everyone immediately stopped talking.
dean frowned.
"what?"
garrett was already reaching for his keys.
"y/n is in the hospital."
silence. absolute silence.
"what?"
"why?"
"what happened?"
"which hospital?"
"was there an accident?"
the questions came all at once and garrett didn't have any answers. somehow that was the worst part, because if he knew what was wrong maybe he could handle it.
instead all he had was a text message.
something's wrong.
hospital.
don't panic.
which was exactly the sort of message guaranteed to make him panic.
"i'm driving."
dean was already standing, “we're all coming"
-
by the time they arrived at the hospital sabrina and grace had too, sitting beside allie, waiting.
nobody looked relaxed, nobody looked okay.
the harsh fluorescent lights washed everyone out. the waiting room smelled faintly of coffee, antiseptic and exhaustion. people came and went, televisions murmured quietly overhead, time seemed to move strangely.
too slow, and yet too fast all at once.
dean had started pacing approximately fourteen seconds after arriving.
he hadn't stopped since.
back and forth. back and forth. wearing an invisible path into the hospital floor.
at some point he'd walked such a precise route between the reception desk and the vending machines that the nurse behind reception had started glancing up automatically every time he passed.
every now and then he'd drag a hand through his hair, ask if there were any updates, receive the same answer, before starting to pace again.
logan had bought six coffees, nobody drank them. they sat untouched on a nearby table, slowly going cold.
tucker had six different tabs open on his phone, every single one worse than the last.
"apparently if it ruptures-"
"tucker."
"what?"
"shut up."
"okay."
thirty seconds later.
"apparently recovery time-"
"tucker."
"right. i've got it, sorry"
garrett hadn't said much, which somehow worried everyone more.
he sat with his elbows on his knees and a folded information sheet in his hands. the nurse had given it to him forty minutes ago, he'd read it immediately, then read it again, and again, and again.
by now the edges had started to crease beneath his fingers while tiny white lines appeared where he'd folded and unfolded the paper too many times.
not because he was learning anything new, but because reading it felt better than doing nothing.
because doing nothing, and sitting in the waiting room helpless felt impossible, because every second he wasn't sitting right by your side looking at you felt wrong.
-
the thing nobody talks about later is the surgery.
or the diagnosis.
or even the fact that it had been appendicitis.
what everyone remembers is seeing you in the hospital room. that was the moment it became real.
the moment they finally saw you, hospital blanket wrapped around your shoulders despite the fact it wasn't cold.
hair messy, face pale.
hospital bracelet hanging loosely around your wrist, eyes glassy from exhaustion and pain medication.
small. you looked impossibly small.
for a second nobody moved. they'd all been imagining it, the hospital was abstract when it existed in a text message.
in updates from allie, in worried phone calls, in unanswered questions.
it was something happening somewhere else, something they couldn't quite picture.
but now, it wasn't abstract anymore.
there you were. curled beneath a blanket, one arm wrapped protectively around your stomach. you looked exhausted, fragile. smaller than any of them had ever seen you and suddenly it became terrifying, because this wasn't right.
this wasn't you.
you were supposed to be the person carrying snacks in your handbag for everyone else, the person forcing garrett to eat breakfast before practice, the person who somehow always noticed when somebody's smile looked a little forced.
the person who checked in, constantly, who remembered things, who took care of people. you were never supposed to be the person sitting in a hospital bed trying not to cry.
allie sat beside you, one hand wrapped tightly around yours. garrett was on the other side, not sitting, standing, like if he sat down something bad might happen.
every few seconds his eyes would scan your features.
checking. still there, still breathing, still okay.
or as okay as you could be.
he hadn't let go of your hand once, not once. his thumb moved absently over your knuckles, like he needed the physical confirmation that you were still next to him.
the automatic doors slid open behind him. nurses came and went, phones rang, doctors crossed the corridor.
you winced, barely. just slightly, the sort of movement most people would've missed. seven heads however immediately turned towards you, the reaction so automatic it would've been funny under any other circumstance.
"you okay?"
the words come from four different people at once. you blinked, mildly startled by the attention.
"yeah."
you weren't, everyone knew you weren't. your hand remained pressed protectively against your stomach. your face still tightened every few minutes when another wave of pain rolled through, and every single time it happened somebody in the group visibly tensed with you, as though they could somehow absorb part of it if they worried hard enough.
somehow you still managed a tired smile. "you guys don't have to stay."
logan looked genuinely offended, grace scoffed, sabrina stared, tucker looked like you'd personally insulted him and dean actually stopped pacing.
which might have been the most alarming thing he'd done all night.
"seriously?"
you blinked.
"what?"
"we're obviously staying."
"dean-"
"we're staying."
simple, final.
because there had never been any other option on the table.
you looked down. "i'm okay."
the shared expression around the room suggested absolutely nobody believed you.
"you've cried four times in the last hour," sabrina said gently.
"five," grace corrected.
allie lifted her hand, "six."
"guys."
"you cried because the nurse asked if you had allergies", grace states gently.
"that wasn't why i was crying."
"baby, you cried because they brought you apple juice," garrett said softly.
your face immediately flushed. “i was overwhelmed."
"exactly. that's not helping your argument."
the tiny smile that followed was enough to make the entire group visibly relax, which seemed ridiculous.
you had noticed it. the way they were watching you, the way dean kept pacing, the way garrett wouldn't let go, the way logan's jokes had completely disappeared, the way tucker kept looking up from his phone every thirty seconds just to make sure you were still okay. for the first time all day the brave smile slipped, just slightly.
fear replacing it. raw, honest, small.
everyone noticed and suddenly the room felt quieter, because they'd never seen that expression on your face before.
not once, not ever.
you were the strong one, the steady one, the safe place. seeing fear in your eyes felt wrong in a way none of them could explain.
garrett swallowed hard, dean looked away, grace squeezed allie's shoulder and logan stared at the floor. somehow the scariest part wasn't the surgery to come. it wasn’t the hospital or appendicitis itself.
it was seeing the person who always made everybody else feel safe looking like she needed someone to make her feel safe instead, and none of them were prepared for how much that would hurt.
Summary: when a ridiculously sized water bottle hits you in the back of the head during your first week of college lectures. you never expected the culprit to become your best friend, his roommates to become brothers, and a crowded table to feel like home. everyone knew that what you and garrett had was something special. well, everyone except the both of you.
Warnings: best friends to lovers trope. no mention of y/n, but the nickname Missy is used a lot to refer to the reader. found family. seriously, so much fluff. one kiss. two rather stupid idiots in love.
a/n: i’ve risen and written this as a comeback fic. admittedly, i wrote this in a span of three days, and you can tell when i was hungry while writing it. or the fact cherry coke is my favorite. also my inspiration for the nickname came from an off campus interview where i heard stephen say missy. (let me know your thoughts on this! i would love to hear them:)
Word count: 6.9k
masterlist
Music blared as you walked into the Boys’ house, which was home to Dean Di Laurentis, John Tucker, John Logan, and Garrett Graham. A blur of drunken college students and bodies pushed together in random small spaces that they thought fit for privacy passed by as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a drink.
You checked in the fridge, knowing there would be a stock of mini cherry Coke cans waiting for you. A grin grew on your face as you reached for one.
“Missy!” you heard someone call from behind. You grabbed a can and turned away from the fridge to the sound of the voice. “Missy, Missy, we were wondering when you were stopping by,” Dean tutted as Beau and Logan were beside him with smugness written across their faces.
“As if I would miss seeing drunk Tucker and Logan,” you joked as you walked towards them. “Maybe we can convince Tucker to make ricotta tortellini for dinner tomorrow. You know he’ll feel bad if he agrees tonight and doesn’t go through with it.”
“I’m picking up what you’re putting down, and I will go find Tucker to give him another beer.” Logan saluted you as he went to grab a new beer and locate Tucker.
“Am I invited to this dinner tomorrow?” Beau quipped to Dean.
“I don’t know, man. Are you?” Dean teased. “Missy, here is the woman of the house. You’ll have to ask her,” Dean jutted his thumb in your direction.
Beau turned to face you and pouted as he asked, “May I please come over for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Excuse me, I do not live here,” you mocked in defense. “But, yes, you are invited to family dinner.”
"Don't even start with that," Dean waved you off.
“Family dinner?” Beau questioned you and Dean.
Dean let out a laugh, “Yeah, Tucker and Missy have been alternating in cooking on Sundays, and now it’s family dinner,” as if that explained why you and the boys considered it family dinner.
“Garrett invited me over to dinner at the beginning of sophomore year, and Tucker was cooking tortellini. We were all hanging out afterward, and I told them how I would cook more if I wasn’t in the dorms. I hated cooking in the dorms because the smell lingered way too long,” you started. “Anyways, he cooked dinner that night, and the next weekend I cooked, so it just kind of became a cycle. A routine.”
“Why haven’t I been invited to family dinners until now?” Beau raised a brow at Dean. “I would’ve brought something!”
You let out a giggle at his dramatics. “Yeah! Why didn’t you invite Beau?” you goaded.
“Not you too, Missy,” Dean groaned into his drink. The red solo cup is blocking the view of his face.
Allie approached you guys and poked at Dean’s side, causing him to choke on his drink. You and Beau try not to laugh, but the second you look at each other, the laughter spills out. “What are you guys going on about?”
“Family dinner,” Dean answered her.
“Is Tucker cooking tomorrow or Missy?” Allie pondered for a moment. “Oh, wait! She cooked last weekend, so Tucker’s definitely cooking.”
“Missy wants to get him drunk tonight, so we can get him to agree to make tortellini tomorrow,” Dean explained the plan to Allie as he pulled her into his side. “You know he’ll feel bad if Missy asks and he doesn’t follow through with it since she made her famous dish last week per his request.”
Beau quit mid-laugh the second he comprehended that Allie had been attending these family dinners. “Am I the only one not attending these dinners?” he called out, exasperated.
“Dean should’ve invited you earlier.” Garrett slapped a hand to Dean’s shoulder as he joined you all.
“G, not cool, man.”
Garrett made his way to you with a new can of cherry Coke in hand. “For the lady,” he presented it to you and took the empty can. He set it down on the counter before turning back to you. “I’ve been wondering where you were, but I found you with these bozos and Allie.”
“Beau is very upset that he hasn’t been in attendance for family dinners on Sundays,” you whispered to him as he snuck an arm around your shoulder.
Your eyes were on Dean and Beau as they started going at it again, but this time Allie joined Beau’s side. Dean’s eyes flared open with joking betrayal. “Babydoll, not you too. Please.”
“You want to make rounds?” Garrett asked softly, leaning down to speak into your ear.
“Yeah, I want to check in with Tucker. Make sure Logan is getting him drunk, so we can get Tuck’s delicious ricotta tortellini.”
Garrett guided you away from the group in the kitchen. You both navigated through the living room in search of the fellow housemates. You see Tucker downing a beer and Logan immediately offering him another, which Tucker greedily took into his hands. Logan winked at you knowingly as you and Garrett approached the pair.
“How you feeling, Tucker?” Garrett asked him, amused.
“Great, G!”
“You’re cooking dinner tomorrow, right?” you questioned, trying to seem like you weren’t sure.
Tucker scratched his head and looked at Logan, who gave him a nod. “Yeah! Of course I am,” he blurted out.
You unconsciously leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder. “Do you have anything specific in mind?” You glanced over to Logan with a slight smirk.
“Dude, you should totally make tortellini again!” Logan suggested.
Tucker immediately started shaking his head, “Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how long that takes to make?”
“But, Tuck, you know how that’s my favorite! Won’t you even think about it?” You pull away from Garrett’s side to go to Tucker with the biggest pout you managed to put out.
Tucker took one look at your face, then another at Garrett, and he folded quickly. “Yes, I will,” he sighed, knowing there was no point in saying no to you. “Only because you’re my favorite.”
You let a short cheer out and pressed a kiss to Tucker’s cheek. “You’re the best, Tuck!”
“Enough of that,” Garrett interjected you two, and he gently grabbed your hip to pull you back beside him.
“Mr. Best Friend is jealous that I’m going to steal your heart, Missy,” Tucker joked.
Logan doubled over in laughter, fully shaking with amusement, “Oh, you know that a way to a woman’s heart is food.”
“Might just take Missy right from you.” Tucker playfully reached out for you with a smirk, pinching at his cheeks.
Garrett’s grip on your hip tightened just enough for you to notice. Heat flooded your cheeks, and you felt like the room was getting hotter by the second. You should’ve been used to the jokes by now, but being Garrett Graham’s best friend since freshman year came with lots of teasing.
The day you and Garrett met was in a history lecture, and he was sitting behind you. When class ended on the last day of the first week, you were still gathering your stuff, and Garrett was getting up to head out. In a rush to grab his ginormous water bottle, he brought it up, and it hit you right in the back of the head.
The professor whose name you hadn’t quite remembered yet just dismissed class, and the usual chaos of shuffling backpacks with everyone gathering their things filled the room. You remained seated as you were putting away your notebook and trying to search for your headphones in your backpack. With your head slightly tucked down, you weren’t really too aware of your surroundings, and something had smacked into the back of your head.
Thunk.
It wasn’t hard enough to hurt badly. Just hard enough that it made you jump. You let out a surprised yelp and gently rubbed the sore spot before putting your arm back down.
“Oh shit.” You heard some mutter behind you. Garrett instinctively reached to touch the back of your head with his free hand but retracted, realizing it probably isn’t appropriate to do that to someone you’ve just met, even less so after you accidentally hit them in the head. “I’m so sorry,” he blurted out.
You turn around, and a guy is staring at you in complete horror. It was only a few seconds later when you realized that he was the new hot shot hockey player. Which from what you’ve seen on The Fifth Line, there was a bit of emphasis on the player part.
The expression on his face caught you off guard.
He genuinely looked like he thought he just committed a crime.
You shook your head, amused despite the small sting. “It’s okay! Things happen.” You laughed off, softly giving him a smile, trying to let him know you weren’t mad.
Somehow, the poor guy looked even more distressed.
“No, seriously,” he says. “Are you okay?”
You glanced at the water bottle that is ridiculously large.
Then back at him.
“Yes, totally.”
“No, seriously.”
“I am serious.”
“I just hit you with my water bottle.”
You laughed at the redundancy. “It was a light tap.”
He doesn’t seem reassured whatsoever. “I know that’s got to hurt a bit.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
He frowned.
You could practically see him trying to decide whether you’ve secretly suffered a concussion. The thought almost made you laugh again.
“Seriously,” you told him. “It’s okay.”
“Why do you have to be so nice?” he grumbled, and the look on his face made this far funnier than it should be.
“You seem to be more upset about this than I am,” you teased, watching as his shoulders slumped.
“That’s probably true,” he mumbled softly as he kept eye contact with you. There was a twinkle in his eye that you just knew was trouble.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“The normal person.” You get a laugh from that, escaping before he could stop it.
“I should probably introduce myself.” His lips quirked into a smile as he shook his head.
“Officially?”
He paused, confused, “What?”
“I know who you are, Garrett Graham.”
His expression fell blank for a split second before he quickly recovered it with a grin. “So you do.”
“People tend to know you when that’s the only name you hear people cheering at hockey games this year,” you confessed to Garrett.
“You’re very observant.”
“More like I have eyes and ears,” you grinned back at him.
He dropped his head into one hand with a slight chuckle. “Well, I apparently know much less about you than you know about me.”
“That sounds right.”
“So let me make it up to you.”
“By how exactly?” You quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Coffee,” he offered.
You pretended to think about it, but mostly because you’re curious what he would do.
“Coffee?” you repeated in question.
“I owe you.”
“You really don’t.”
“Oh, c’mon. I’m buying you coffee.”
You smiled, “Okay.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Okay?”
“Sure,” you answered again.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
He looked suspicious for a moment, like he thought there was a catch. You decided not to tell him there is one. Namely, that he still didn’t know your name. And you’re not intentionally volunteering it. You finished gathering your stuff and started to head toward the exit.
He followed right behind you.
The hallway outside is crowded with students weaving between classes. He made a quick step around you to be ahead, so he could hold the door open for you as you left the lecture hall.
Still no name. You took a short look at him, and you could tell he’d noticed.
The occasional glance he sent your way confirmed it.
You don’t say anything.
Neither does he.
The silence stretched all the way out of the building. Then a voice called out, “There you are, G!” A tall blond jogged towards you two. “Thought you vanished.”
Your water bottle assailant immediately groaned, “Unfortunately not.”
The blond glanced between you and Garrett. His gaze immediately stuck to you, and a faint smirk played at the corner of his lips. “Oh.”
“No.” Garrett immediately shut him down.
“Oh, absolutely.”
“It’s not–” Garrett was cut off, and the blond ignored him completely. You could tell that they were good friends.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked Garrett with a growing smile. A dangerous smile. Before either of you could answer, he added, “And why does she look like she knows every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done, G?”
You laughed, and Garrett pointed at you. “That’s exactly the problem.”
The blond stuck out his hand. “I’m Dean,” he introduced himself jokingly formally.
You reciprocated by shaking his hand, “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, beautiful.”
You playfully rolled your eyes and decided that it was time to put the poor guy out of his misery. You tell Dean your name while purposely trying to keep your attention on him rather than Garrett.
Dean repeated your name out loud. “Nice.”
From the corner of your eye, you caught Garrett repeating your name quietly to himself like he was trying to memorize it.
Cute. You thought to yourself.
Then Dean glanced between the two of you again, “So what happened with Missy here?”
You blinked at the nickname. “Missy?”
Garrett groaned again, and you were ignored by the two. “No.”
Dean pointed at him knowingly, “You did something! Because when I walked up, you looked like you’d spent the last ten minutes apologizing.”
“He basically has,” you snorted.
“Exactly,” Dean grinned. “So I figured he’d messed something up.”
“Maybe not messed anything up but a first impression,” you pretended to ponder as you rubbed the back of your head, hoping that it would mess with Garrett. You hid your laugh when you saw that he noticed your little joke.
Garrett looked ready to walk directly into traffic just to distance himself from the embarrassment from you and Dean.
You laughed, and when you glanced back over to Garrett, you caught a look on his face. A wide grin. The one that says he’s just had an idea. Probably a terrible one while you guys were at it.
You narrowed your eyes at him, “What now?”
“What?” he tried to play it off.
“You have that look.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” you insisted.
Dean stopped mid-walk as he burst out laughing, “Oh shit, G. She’s already figured you out.”
That’s when Garrett said, “Nothing, Missy.” You stopped walking. He kept going.
Dean nearly choked.
“Don’t.” You shook your head at him, but you were talking to Garrett.
“Don’t what?” he responded.
“That.”
“What?”
“Missy.” Garrett’s smile turned innocent. Entirely too innocent. “You literally just learned my name,” you told him.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And that’s not it,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing.
Dean was at the point of laughing so hard that he was barely breathing.
Garrett just shrugged.
You should probably have been annoyed. Instead, despite yourself, you fought a smile. Because somehow the nickname sounded ridiculous enough to work. Then, judging by the look on Garrett’s face, there was no chance he was going to let it go.
“Coffee,” you said, shaking your head.
“Coffee,” he agreed.
Somehow, before you’ve even made it to the coffee shop, the nickname Missy is already stuck.
By the time that Garrett invited you to hang out with his friends in his line, the two of you had long since become inseparable.
At some point, coffee turned into study sessions.
Study sessions turned into lunch, which led to spending entire afternoons together.
Somewhere along the way, the nickname still followed you.
No matter how many times you complain. No matter how many times you reminded Garrett, you did have an actual name.
To Garrett (plus Dean), you would always be Missy,
Which is why you weren’t surprised when he texted you one Friday afternoon midway through the semester.
You rolled your eyes as you read his last text and scanned around your room to search for this man’s colossal bottle. How did he forget it? Beats you.
Bingo.
You found the bottle and headed out to finally make introductions to Garrett’s friends. Who has been bugging Garrett the moment they found out he was hanging out with a girl and not hooking up with her.
The house itself is exactly what you would have expected when four college freshmen are given a place together. It’s not particularly messy, but it felt lived in.
The kind of place where people actually spend time together and enjoy each other’s company instead of disappearing into separate rooms 24/7.
The front door barely closed behind you before Dean appeared.
“There she is!”
You pointed at him, “You’re responsible for the nickname.”
“And proud of it,” he cheesed, that kind smile that is always so infectious that you felt your own lips curling.
Garrett appeared behind him. “You absolutely should not be.”
“She still answers it.”
You hated that he was right.
The grin he gave you says he knows it too.
A few moments later, you’re introduced to the remaining roommates. John and John, or better known as Tucker and Logan.
The pair bombarded you with questions, and within five minutes, they somehow learned your major, favorite coffee order, and your favorite drink.
“You seem normal enough,” Logan deemed as a proclamation as you guys talked in the living room.
“Excuse me?”
“I expected worse,” he shrugged.
You looked at Garrett and asked the other boys, “What exactly has he been saying about me?”
Each of the boys quipped a response.
“A lot.”
“Enough.”
“Some would say too much.”
“I hate all of you,” Garrett muttered under his breath.
“You’ll fit right in,” Logan finished.
By the end of the night, you all were sprawled across the living room arguing over movies and laughing so hard at shared stories that your stomachs started to hurt.
You sat on one side of the couch with Garrett. You were leaning against him while you were talking to Tucker and Logan about the best Batman movie. Garrett was talking to Dean about some girl Dean saw working at Malone’s. Garrett had his arm loosely wrapped around your waist, and his hand was messing with the hem of your shirt.
At some point, you realized something.
You didn’t feel like a guest.
It was almost like you’d always been there.
And judging by the way nobody bothered treating you differently, the guys seemed to feel the same way too.
It was the start of sophomore year, and your presence in the Boys’ house was now such a regular occurrence that you had a drawer in Garrett’s room, a toothbrush next to his, and under the sink, he had a bottle of your perfume.
When you’d pointed it out the first time, he’d shrugged. “You forget stuff.”
“I won't forget perfume.”
“You might.”
“I won’t.”
“Baby, it’s there just in case.”
He claimed that he just wanted you to be comfortable and feel at home, but you knew one of the real reasons was that he was obsessed with seeing your stuff in his room.
You thought that people would get better about your and Garrett’s friendship, but it seemed that people could never fathom the fact that Garrett Graham had a girl best friend.
Frankly, sometimes you couldn’t believe it yourself.
As much as the rest of the boys in the line teased you, they were fiercely protective of you and defended you against any rumors that people tried to start. It is endearing how much you and the boys treated each other like family.
Something you would never admit out loud is the fact you knew that you and Garrett crossed the boundary of best friends a long time ago. Sure, you were attracted to him and cared for him like no other, but his constant saying that he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend really messed with your head.
You loved him. There was no doubt about it. You tried putting yourself out there and dating, but a lot of the time, guys weren’t interested when they found out your best friend was Garrett Graham.
It didn’t help that Garrett’s love language is physical touch. He constantly found ways to be close and touch you, whether it was an arm around your shoulder, holding your hand in his lap under the table when you and the boys hung out at Malone’s, or a hand that always found your back or hip when you guys navigated through crowds.
Even with that, there were the puck bunnies to consider, the numerous girls who seemed to gravitate to Garrett the second he flashed that damned smile. But they wouldn’t be able to say they knew him. They didn’t know his favorite band, what major he’s pursuing, how he liked his coffee, or what his mother’s name was. But you did. Of course, you knew him like the back of your hand.
“Missy, do you know where my–” Garrett’s voice from the bathroom snapped you out of your thoughts.
You responded before he even finished his sentence: “Bub, your phone is still charging by the bed.”
You were sitting by the window, and the book you were reading had long been forgotten in your hands. You set it aside near a couple of other books you kept there.
Garrett walked out of the bathroom with his hair still damp from the shower he had just taken, and a towel wrapped around his waist. You hadn’t looked over to him yet as you were folding a blanket that you kept by the window. He watched you with a soft gaze, and a smile budded on his lips.
He went over to the bed and tapped on his phone to check the time. His wallpaper flashed at him. It was a photo of you in the kitchen blowing out your birthday cake candles when he and the boys surprised you with a mini celebration last semester.
“Hey, we should probably head down soon. I think Tuck is done cooking dinner,” he suggested. “Let me put something on, and we can go.” He went to his closet to grab some clothes.
You nodded at him and grabbed your phone. “I’m going to head down now to see if he needs any help.” You pressed a kiss on his jawline when you headed out of the room.
You wandered down to the kitchen. “It smells like a restaurant in here.”
“Of course, with Tuck cooking,” Dean said as he carried a case of beers to the fridge.
“I’m making tortellini,” Tucker called out on the stove.
Your eyes scanned the room and saw several pots going at once and the counters covered with ingredients. It almost looked suspiciously professional.
“You need any help with anything, Tuck? I’m all yours.”
“Don’t let G hear you say that.” Logan chuckled as he walked into the kitchen, holding something behind his back.
“Whatcha got, Logan?”
“You know we’d never forget about you.” Logan brought his arm around to his front, revealing a case of mini cherry cokes.
“You guys are the best.” You buttered them up with a cheesy smile.
He took one from the case before handing it to Dean to put in the fridge. “For the lady,” he exaggeratedly presented the can to you while bowing.
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” You accepted the drink in curtsy.
“Where’s G, man? Foods ready to be served, and his ass is still in his room,” Tucker howled out as he started serving the plates.
You expected to hear a response, but you noticed the silence rather quickly. You looked up from opening your can and saw all three of the guys staring at you for a response. “Why are you guys looking at me?” You blurted.
“Well, where is he?” Dean prompted.
“Up in his room.”
“Why is he not down here with us?” Logan added.
“You guys know that I’m not his keeper, right?” you groaned exasperated.
The boys all mirrored the same look that screamed, “Are you being serious right now?”
“I’m not!” Your voice cracked at the delivery, causing the others to laugh.
“What are you all laughing about?” Garrett’s voice broke through the laughter.
Silence fell upon the room for a few short moments before Dean made a joke: “Just about Missy’s obsession with cherry cokes.” He held up another can to set on the table.
“G took you long enough, man,” Logan greeted Garrett.
“We were just about to start with you,” Tucker playfully told him.
You all crowded around the old kitchen table. Nobody bothered about matching plates or utensils. One of the chairs wobbled, and Dean had the luck of getting it for the night. You were seated next to Garrett, close enough for your knees to knock into each other and neither of you cared to move.
The meal was perfect.
You took one bite.
Then another.
Followed by another.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever had,” you praised.
Tucker laughed, “What?”
“I’m not kidding, this is heaven,” you hummed happily.
“Babe, if you think this is heaven, maybe I can show you what real heaven feels like,” Dean dramatically winked at you knowing that it would get on Garrett’s nerves.
“Quit it,” Garrett told him but turned his attention to Tucker, “I told you she’d love it.”
You narrowed your eyes between the pair, “You discussed this beforehand?”
“Obviously,” Garrett stated.
“You are all weird,” you declared to the room.
“And yet you’re here with us on a Sunday night,” Logan bemused.
You pointed your fork at each of the boys, “I regret befriending you all.”
“No, you don’t,” Garrett affirmed.
“No, I don’t,” you admitted with a smile creeping on your lips.
The table fell quiet for a half second. Not awkward. Just one of those moments that everyone wanted to take in and keep as a treasured memory. Everyone glanced at each other with fondness.
The moment faded when Dean threw a bread roll at Garrett.
If someone were to ask you what your favorite meal is, this would still be the answer.
Maybe not fully because of the tortellini. Which was genuinely incredible.
It was because of this. The table. The laughter. Logan arguing with Dean. Tucker pretending not to be pleased with himself that everyone kept going back for seconds (and thirds and fourths for the fellow hockey men). Garrett stealing food directly off your plate despite having an identical serving.
You felt like you always belonged there.
The tortellini just became attached to the memory. After dinner, everyone helped to clean up. Or at least claimed to. Dean somehow managed to disappear. Tucker offered moral support rather than actual labor for once in the night as he sat on the counter, keeping you guys company. You and Garrett ended up doing most of the dishes. Logan cleaned the counters quietly.
“You know I wish I cooked more,” you said to no one in particular.
Tucker glanced over. “You cook?”
“A little.”
“A little means yes.”
You shrugged, “I used to a lot when I was home, but with the dorms the smells lingered too long, and just not enough space.”
“That’s fair,” Tucker hummed.
“And cooking for one kind of sucks,” you whispered but it was loud enough for the boys to catch it.
“It does,” Garrett nodded.
“Nobody asked you, bub,” you retorted.
“I’m supporting you.”
“More like interrupting,” you kid.
Tucker laughed, you brought your gaze to him. “You should cook here.”
You blinked at him, “What?”
Dean chose that exact moment to reappear, “Absolutely.”
Logan pointed dramatically, “I second this.”
“You guys haven’t even tasted my cooking,” you cautioned them.
“We’re willing to take risks,” Garrett grinned at you.
The look made you suspicious. “Oh no.”
“What?” Garrett questioned with false innocence.
“You have an idea.”
The other three just watched the banter between you two.
“I always have ideas,” Garrett claimed.
“That’s worse,” Logan whispered to Tucker.
You looked around the kitchen. At the house. At the boys who were crowded into it. There was a familiar comfort that you don’t remember forming. And for the first time, the idea didn’t feel strange.
It felt natural.
“Okay.”
“Done.”
By the end of the night, Sunday family dinners existed.
Every Sunday.
One week Tucker cooked. The next week you did. On a rare occasion, Dean, Garrett, and Logan teamed up to cook for the night.
Nobody was allowed to skip without a legitimate emergency.
Dean attempted to argue that hungry bunnies counted as an emergency. That one earned him a slap on the back of the head from the other three.
The dinners became routine. Then tradition.
Followed by something more. People started planning their schedules around them. Sometimes new people were invited.
Bad weeks felt easier knowing when Sunday was coming.
Good weeks feel better when there are others to celebrate with.
By the end of the semester, everyone stopped pretending. Not about the dinner, but about you and Garrett. The two of you still insisted that you were strictly best friends.
Everyone else nodded along, desperately waiting for one of you to say something about it.
Because whenever someone looked around the table, the picture was always the same.
Garrett grabbed you a cherry Coke every time he reached for his one beer for the night without thinking.
You saved him a portion when he was running late.
The pair of you always sat beside one another.
Nobody said anything. Mostly because they knew that you both would deny it.
But every Sunday, around that crowded table, the rest of the house watched the two of you and thought the same thing.
That you two loved each other. That you lived better being next to each other.
“Yo! Missy, do a shot with Beau and me,” Dean shouted from the kitchen, setting out the shot cups.
Before you replied, you looked to Garrett, and as if he could read your mind. “Just spend the night. It's not like you were planning to go home anyway. Go enjoy yourself.”
“Thanks, handsome.” You pressed a quick kiss against the edge of his jaw. “What is it?” you questioned when you went over to Dean and Beau.
“A shot,” Dean answered.
“Very informative.”
You looked toward Beau, maybe the only responsible person in the house right now. He glanced up to hand you the shot. “Don’t ask me. This was all him.”
Dean’s grin was concerning. You groaned dramatically, “I feel like this is a bad idea.”
“It absolutely is,” Logan agreed.
“Not helping, Logan,” you murmured under your breath.
Dean wiggled his shot.
You turned your head to look back at Garrett. Automatically. The same way you always did. In a way, you didn’t realize you did so often, but Garrett noticed. One look and he already knew exactly what you were asking.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you, baby,” he reassured you.
“Will I?” You smelled the shot, causing your nose to scrunch up.
“Probably.”
“Probably?” He laughed at your echo as he shuffled over to you guys.
“If Dean somehow tricks you into doing more than one…” he trailed off, looking at Dean, who was setting up even more shots.
“I heard that, G,” Dean quipped at him.
“I’ll drag you upstairs before you make any life-ruining or altering decisions,” Garrett finished.
There was a certainty in it that made you smile. It was the thing that always settled something inside you. No matter the situation, you knew that Garrett would take care of you.
Not because he thought you couldn’t take care of yourself. Just because that’s what the two of you did for each other.
The same way you always made sure he wasn’t overworking himself with practices, games, studying, etc. The same way you brought him his protein shakes to practice when he forgot.
The same way you both somehow always knew when the other needed support before having to ask for it.
“You ready, Missy?” Dean winked at you.
“Yup,” you cheered with Beau and Dean. You downed the shot, and Garrett was already next to you with a chaser to help.
“One day you’re going to explain this thing between you two,” Dean pointed at you and Garrett.
“Never,” you and Garrett said simultaneously.
Logan nearly doubled over laughing.
Tucker giggled to himself, having found his way over to the kitchen a few moments before.
Dean looked personally offended.
And Garrett just looked at you with the same twinkle in his eye from the moment you first met.
The party died slowly with people filtering out in groups. The music was playing low. Empty cups and bottles accumulated on every available surface. By three in the morning, the Boys’ house was mostly quiet.
Tucker was passed out on the couch nearly an hour ago. He mumbled something about tortellini right before knocking out.
Around the same time, Logan disappeared upstairs after making sure everyone downed a water bottle and some ibuprofen.
Dean was last seen stealing leftover pizza before vanishing into his room.
You were gathering the scattered trash left around the house, with Garrett following you with a trash bag in hand. You two worked your way around the house, making sure that nobody broke anything and didn't say anything about it.
You headed upstairs when Garrett went to throw out the bag outside.
You found yourself curled into the corner of Garrett’s bed, wearing one of his hoodies that ended up living in your drawer here just for you to wear. You nursed another bottle of water. Not because you got particularly drunk. Because Garrett had handed it to you without asking before you went upstairs.
The room was dim except for his lamp. Your drawer was half-open. A pair of your socks were sticking out. Your charger is plugged into the wall.
There is so much evidence of you in this room now that it would be impossible to explain away. Not that either of you really tried to anymore.
Garrett entered the room and headed straight to grab a pair of sweats. He went over to the bathroom.
He came back out now shirtless, just in his sweats, and he threw his clothes into the hamper, which landed right on top of yours.
Garrett sat beside you on the bed. Close enough that your arms brushed against each other.
Neither of you said much for a while.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It never really was. It was one of your favorite things about him. The ability to simply coexist together.
Eventually, he glanced over, “Tired?”
“Exhausted.”
“Did you have fun tonight?”
“I always do with you.” Your body started to lean into him.
Garrett brought you into his chest. The smell of your perfume overtook his senses.
“Ready to go to bed?” he hummed into your hair.
You nodded gently and tore yourself from his grasp to look him in the eyes. Your gaze traveled from his lips to his eyes. Suddenly, neither of you was looking away.
Something shifted. Not all at once. Just enough. Enough that you felt it, and you knew he did too.
Garrett exhaled slowly. “Can I tell you something?”
The question snapped you out of your daze because Garrett sounded nervous. He never sounded like that around you, not anymore.
His laugh was quiet. A little disbelieving. Like he was debating with himself.
Then he shakes his head, “I think I’ve been trying not to say this for months, hell, since the moment you cooked dinner for all of us while we were at practice back in sophomore year.”
Your heart immediately started beating faster. “Okay.”
“I keep telling myself we’re fine just the way we are.”
You blinked, “We are fine.”
“We are,” he smiled. “That’s part of the problem.”
You stared at him, and the room felt like it was getting warmer by the second.
Garrett ran a hand through his hair. “I like you.”
“Wow.”
“What?” he quirked his brow at you.
“That sounded odd,” you giggled to yourself in disbelief.
“It didn’t,” he defended weakly.
“It definitely did.”
“It really didn’t.” he shifted closer. “I mean it.”
Your chest hurts in the best possible way. “I know you do.” He froze at your confession.
Not because he’s told you before, but because he’d shown you.
Every coffee he gave you when he knew you stayed up late studying.
Every late-night conversation in his room pretending that what you guys had was a normal friendship.
Every time he remembered something small.
Every time he made space for you in crowded places.
Every time his eyes searched for yours after he scored a winning goal.
Every time he looked at you like you were the best part of his day.
You already knew, but hearing it made it real.
“What?”
You smiled, “I know.”
His expression looked almost offended. “You were supposed to be surprised.”
“You have a bottle of my perfume under your sink.”
“In my defense–” you cut him off.
“You gave me a drawer.”
“You needed a drawer. How else were you supposed to stay over so often?” he shrugged.
“Maybe.” You reached for his hand. The movement was natural, like everything else with him. “I like you too.”
The room went still. Garrett stared back at you. “You do?”
You snickered. “Seriously?”
“I just want confirmation.”
“You have been my favorite person since the moment you almost concussed me freshman year.”
He covered his eyes with his hand. “Okay, moment ruined.” But when he uncovered his face, the smile that spread across his lips was devastating. Warm and content. Happy.
“So?”
“So what?”
You shifted closer. “What does this mean for us?” You pretended to ponder. “Hm.”
“Missy.”
“I think…” You cocked your head to the side. “This means we should probably stop pretending we’re just friends.”
Garrett laughed. A real laugh. The kind that only came out around people he felt completely comfortable with. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” you repeated.
Then he leaned forward, slowly. His hand settled against your cheek. And when he kissed you, it didn’t feel new. It felt like something you’ve been waiting for a very long time.
When you finally pull apart, both of you are smiling. A little stunned. Definitely giddy. Garrett rested his forehead against yours. “So we’re not telling them.”
You softly chuckled to yourself, “Absolutely not.”
“They’re going to be unbearable.”
“Especially Dean.”
“He’ll claim responsibility.”
“Too bad it’s thanks to your ridiculous bottle.”
He groaned, “We are keeping this to ourselves.”
“Agreed.”
The agreement lasted less than eight hours.
The next morning, the kitchen smelled like coffee and bacon.
Logan was standing at the stove.
Tucker was sitting by the counter with his head in his hands.
Dean was eating cereal directly from the box.
Nobody looked particularly awake. You shuffled into the kitchen wearing another one of Garrett’s hoodies, which wasn't unusual.
Garrett followed a minute later. Also not unusual.
Nobody paid attention.
Logan continued cooking his bacon.
Tucker still hadn’t lifted his head up yet.
Dean kept munching on the cereal.
Garrett walked directly to the coffee pot. Also normal.
He poured a cup. He added exactly the amount of cream and sugar you liked. He carried it over to you. Still normal.
“Morning, Missy.” You heard Logan call from the stove.
“Morning,” You replied.
You accepted the mug from Garrett. And without thinking or planning, you leaned up and pecked his lips. Quick. Easy.
And not normal.
The room went silent. The silence lasted exactly two seconds.
Then Dean practically launched out of his chair, “I KNEW IT!”
You immediately dropped your head. “No.”
“YES.”
“It has been like six hours.”
“I KNEW IT.”
Garrett groaned.
Dean pointed to himself, “This happened because of me.”
“It absolutely did not,” Garrett remarked.
“I brought you together.”
“You really didn’t,” you laughed.
Tucker finally lifted his head and studied you and Garrett for a moment. Then nodded, “About time.”
Garrett pointed at him, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Tucker muttered as he dropped his head back down.
Dean looked betrayed. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What else is there to say?” Tucker’s voice was muffled.
“They’re dating!” Dean proclaimed.
“They’ve been emotionally dating for like over a year,” Logan shrugged off.
“Fair,” you mouthed to Garrett.
Logan flipped another piece of bacon, completely unfazed. “Bacon’s almost done.”
The room erupted.
Dean started shouting. Garrett was laughing. You nearly spilled your coffee when Dean came up to pick you up in a spin, barely giving you time to set down the mug. Garrett made quick work of grabbing it out of your hands. “I call being the godfather to your future children.”
Life seemed to be put back into Tucker, and Logan flipped around, pointing the tongs at Dean. “No man, that’s not how that works.”
Tucker looked more alive than ever. “My sous chef would never pick you, dude.”
Dean sat you down on the counter and immediately started arguing with the other two.
And standing next to you was Garrett. His shoulder pressed against yours while he handed your coffee back.
You realized something. Nothing felt different. Not really. The house was still home. The boys are still family.
Garrett was still your favorite person.
The only difference was that now everybody knew it, including you and Garrett.
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