(None of these works are mine, they are just some of my favourite reads)
Contents: WoSo, F1, Doctor Who, A Song of Ice & Fire, Bridgerton, Ted Lasso, NHL, Superman, The Vampire Diaries/The Originals, Off Campus
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blurb: briar’s hockey team hosts their annual fundraiser for the hurricanes at malone’s. the prize? a date with one of the four hottest hockey player heartthrobs. the problem? you lost the bidding war to win your own boyfriend.
warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, the whole gang is here yay power of friendship, lowk crack fic with a side of romance, light jealousy, mentions of deanallie hehe, BEAU MAXWELL IS A FLIRT
“Allie, I gave you one job!”
And really, you did.
You were swamped with final exams and endless group projects. On this particular Friday night—the evening of the hurricanes fundraiser—you had to meet up with your teammates to go over presentation slides.
Thus, you entrusted your beloved friend, Allie Hayes, to ensure your spot in the bidding war for…well, your boyfriend.
“Aw, you wanna win me over once again, gorgeous?” Logan had teased you.
You had rolled your eyes and nudged him, “It’s for a good cause.”
“You’re paying to go out on a date with your boyfriend.”
“I’m paying to fund a little cane’s hockey endeavors.”
Except you can’t do either of those things because your trusted friend turned out to not be so trustworthy.
“I’m sorry, babe! I really am,” Allie’s eyes shone with guilt. “Della had me working a table during Logan’s segment, and I lost the stupid auction paddle—”
You raised your hand up to cut her off. With a resigned sigh, you let any hard feelings flee from your system. Allie had been having a rough couple of days—with the Sean breakup, and her recent streak of suspicious disappearances that you still hadn’t confronted her about, you knew this was a genuine mistake.
“Did he at least sell for a good price?” You asked.
“$750, baby!”
The voice came from behind you, along with a strong arm draping over your shoulders. You turned your head and met your boyfriend’s handsome face. Logan wore a gleeful smile, probably elated that the fundraiser had gone so well despite the last minute arrangements.
“Wow, that’s a lot,” you noted in surprise.
Logan’s expression shifted to a subtle pout. “You don’t think I’m worth that much?”
You kissed his stubble placatingly. “I think you’re priceless, babe.”
That got him to grin again.
Tucker came up behind and clapped him on the back, “Your boy here got the second highest bid.”
You shared an unimpressed look with Allie, “Let me guess, the top bid was on—”
“Well, well, well, Mrs. Logan. You finally showed up,” Dean joined the circle with a smug smile.
“I know you mean that as an insult, but I take it as a compliment.”
“You tell him, Al,” Beau popped up right behind Dean. He shot Allie a wink.
“How much did they get on you?” You redirected the conversation back into place.
The blond shrugged casually, peering down at his drink. “Nothing grand. A humble amount, really.”
Beau rolled his eyes and answered, “$1800.”
Your eyes widened, “You’re kidding.”
Dean’s mouth hung open, “Don’t stoop to their level, Mrs. Logan.” He pointed an accusing finger your way.
“I’m just shocked that somebody has that much money laying around,” you replied.
“We could’ve renovated the theatre department’s stage,” Allie noted bitterly.
“I could’ve gotten new car rims,” Logan added.
“Or that new gaming console,” Tucker said.
“Or my housing payment,” you continued.
“Or better toner for his hair,” Beau teased Dean.
“OKAY! WE GET IT!” Dean exclaimed, holding his hands up to stop the discussion.
Hannah and Garrett walked by, holding hands. The former shared a bright smile, “Hey, you made it!”
“How much was your boyfriend?” You asked her.
“5 bucks.”
“How.” You deadpanned. Garrett was a good looking guy, a very popular one at that. You’ve seen the herds of puck bunnies that worshipped him. A five dollar bid was ridiculous to even consider.
“Garrett stopped the auction once Wellsy placed her bid,” Tucker responded.
Smooth move, Graham.
And he knew it. Garrett had a shit-eating grin on his face like he knew he just won a million boyfriend points.
“That’s so cute,” you said before turning your head to eye your boyfriend. “Why didn’t you do that?”
The boys stifled their laughs at that.
Logan paused for a beat before he replied with: “I…wanted to make sure we raised enough money for the children.”
Smooth move, Logan.
Garrett dapped him up like his answer was ingenious. You hmphed and looked away. Logan squeezed your waist in an appeasing gesture.
“Well, when’s your date?” You asked.
Logan looked at his watch, which was on the wrist of the arm he had around you, so he charmingly pulled you closer to him to check the time. “In half an hour.”
You blinked. “What? Why so soon?”
Dean answered, “She requested it.”
“And is anyone gonna tell me who she is?”
“HIPAA,” Dean mimed zipping his lips closed.
“That’s for medical stuff, dingus,” Hannah told him.
“Is someone a sore loser?” Dean taunted.
Your gaze flew to Allie, “You placed a bid?”
“No,” she defended rather quickly. “Dean’s just…being stupid.” She muttered before rushing back into the staff kitchen.
You would’ve questioned their exchange more, but Logan’s arm returned to his side. “I should go too. You know, freshen up for my date.”
You flashed a faux smile, “Keep talking like that and you’ll have to go looking for a real date after this.”
The group dispersed—Garrett tugging Hannah along for their ‘fairly’-earned date, Dean and Tucker off to count up all the money they collected, Logan away to prepare for his mystery girl, and Beau gave your shoulder a reassuring rub and said, “If you give me $20 right now, I’ll go on a date with you” before you glared at him enough for him to bolt out.
You decided to stick around and help the group clean up the place once the festivities ended. Surely it wasn’t because you wanted to see the girl who spent hundreds of dollars to hang out with your boyfriend.
“Pop a fucking button, Logan. What is this, Sunday school?” Tucker was playing with Logan’s outfit to ensure he looked presentable for his date.
Logan’s eyebrows knitted together, “Relax, Law Roach. Are you forgetting she’s not actually my girlfriend?”
“For $750, you better start acting like she is.”
You cleared your throat loudly.
Tucker shot you an apologetic look.
“…John?”
The pair of them turned their attentions to the voice.
There stood a tall, stunning girl with beautiful deep tanned skin, hair down in luscious locs adorned in gold hair cuffs, and smooth legs peeking out from under her skirt. She looked like a model.
She looked between the two hockey players.
“You’re Amala,” Logan voiced.
She nodded with relief, “Yes. John, right?”
“We’re both John,” Tucker chimed in.
“Ohh,” Amala nodded.
“You can call me Logan,” your boyfriend said, stretching out a hand towards her.
“Logan,” she repeated the name, shaking his hand.
Tucker pushed Logan a step forward, “Have fun, you two.”
Logan looked over his shoulder to share one last look with you. He gave a reassuring smile, his eyes soft. Amala noticed and waved at you shyly. You waved back slowly.
Logan turned back to Amala, “Where would you like to go? You’re the boss.” He told her with a charming grin.
She shrugged with a smile, “Here is fine.”
“Here?” Logan raised a brow, surveying the post-function bar. “We could, though I thought of taking you out for ice cream—”
“Ice cream sounds great!”
“Yeah?” He smiled. “Perfect.”
Your eye twitched as you picked up discarded confetti off the floor.
Logan guided Amala out Malone’s with a hand hovering—not touching—over her lower back. The bell hanging over the door rang in a soft tune as they exited, marking their departure.
“Remind me again why I agreed to letting my boyfriend sell himself?” you queried as you picked up a broom.
Tucker raised a brow, “For charity?”
“Right,” you sighed.
Tucker looked around, “Hey, have you seen Dean? He was supposed to drive all this stuff back to the hockey house.”
You shook your head, “No. But he’s not the only unhelpful friend. Allie was supposed to clean up with me. She literally works here!”
“Huh.” Tucker licked his lips in thought.
He picked up a stack of boxes, “Well, I have to get these home myself. Do you need a ride?”
“I promised Della I’d clean up,” you replied.
“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”
You shrugged, “I’ll be fine, Tuck. Drive safe.”
Tucker nodded and bid goodbye before leaving the diner.
By the time you finished fixing up the place, flipping chairs over tables, and mopping the floor clean, the bell chimed again.
“We’re closed,” you called out as you tied a garbage bag shut.
A pair of familiar arms wrapped around your torso from behind you. “No late night service?” Logan’s voice tickled your ear.
You stood up straight and leaned back into him before remembering you were supposed to be mad at him.
You pulled back and turned to him, “How was your date?”
Logan let out a wistful sigh, “Amazing. You know, I might need to ask her out again.”
You pinched his arm. He winced.
Logan leaned in and held your hips, “I’m kidding. You’re the only girl I want.” He murmured as he pressed a kiss against your forehead.
That soothed your jealousy a bit. “What did you two do?”
He hummed. “Took her to Spoons, got ice cream, sat at a table and talked about you, drove back—”
“Wait, wait,” you stopped him. “Talked about me?”
Logan’s lips tugged upwards, “Yeah, we talked about you. Like the whole time.”
“Why?” You were so perplexed.
He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and responded, “Amala’s an exchange student. She shares a class with you. She’s been wanting to befriend you since the semester started but she didn’t know how to talk to you. So…she enlisted my help.”
You blinked a few times. “She went out with you…to ask you how she could be my friend?”
“Yeah. Sweet, right?”
“Oh my god, I feel like an asshole,” you breathed out.
Logan pulled you closer, “You’re not an asshole, baby.”
“I was cussing her out in my head for the past 2 hours!”
He chuckled, “I think that’s valid.”
“It’s not! I shouldn’t have judged so soon. Fuck, I feel so bad.” You started to spiral.
Before Logan could calm you down and reassure you, the bell rang again. You both turned to the door and saw Amala stepping in.
“Hey,” she shared a polite smile. “Logan, you left your wallet.” She handed it back to him.
“Oh, I didn’t even notice.” He took it from her hands. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”
She smiled with a small nod. Her eyes flicked to me. Amala mustered up some courage and said, “Logan said so many nice things about you. No wonder he loves you so much.”
Your guilt boiled over and settled into soft mush at that. “He’s…too kind.”
Logan rolled his eyes fondly and pulled you closer to him.
Amala smiled again then spoke, “We…we share an econ class together. The 10 am with Prof. Singh?”
You nodded, “Yeah, I’m in that class.” You didn’t want to tell her that you hadn’t noticed her before.
Amala nodded back, “Yeah…I think you’re pretty cool. And smart. Do you maybe wanna study together for the final exam this weekend?”
Your lips eased into a soft, genuine smile. “I’d love that, yeah.”
Amala’s eyes gleamed with excitement and relief. “Yeah? Great, that’s…” she cleared her throat to control herself and appear nonchalant. “Cool. Logan has my number, he can share that with you.”
“Will do,” Logan swore solemnly.
She waved goodbye and started heading towards the door, “Alright, text me! It was lovely meeting you both!”
And then she was gone.
You turned back to Logan. He had a smug, ‘I told you so’ smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and shoved him. “Shut it.”
He buried his face in your hair, “Looks like you have an admirer.”
“Why, jealous?” You teased.
Logan’s brows lifted. “Me? Look who’s talking. You wanted to skin me alive a few hours ago.”
He wasn’t exactly wrong.
“God forbid a girl doesn’t want to see her boyfriend go out with someone else.”
Logan kissed your temple, “It was for a good cause,” he said softly.
“I know,” you squeezed his hand. You knew how much the hurricanes meant to Logan ever since he was a kid himself.
“So…” He brought you closer to him until your foreheads rested against one another. “How much for me to take you out on a date?”
Your eyes looked deep into his, “Hmm, how much have you got?”
Logan pretended to think about it. “If Amala didn’t rob me before returning my wallet, I should have 60 bucks and a punch card for free cheesy fries.”
You faked a delighted gasp, “How romantic!”
He chuckled at your comment before kissing you. His lips moved smoothly over yours, his kiss felt like a breath of relief after the long and busy evening. He held your chin in one hand, using the other to pull you even closer.
You separated for a moment to murmur, “Next year we’re sticking to signed hockey merch.”
Logan grinned, “Good luck trying to convince Dean of that.”
“He needs a girlfriend.”
He hummed, “And for $1800 and an hour, he might already have one.”
You laughed, taking his hand and tugging him out of Malone’s. “Come on, time for my own date with you.”
“You’re the boss,” he murmured with a kiss on your cheek.
And maybe it was best if you didn’t know that Logan purposely ‘forgot’ his wallet at the ice cream shop.
who remembers this trope from the movie ‘flipped’?
𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : none! mention of dicks, walking into changing room full of guys? swearing? dramatic, feral Hannah. Established Hannah X Garrett, Allie X Dean, crackfic!
𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : If a small, angry music major student were to a) be one of your best friends and b) insist on going to hunt down her boyfriend to shove her phone up his ass. would you argue, even if it meant bursting into the locker room after practice?
or
When you, Allie and Hannah walk into the changing rooms, omitting the fact that they'd just finished practice.
𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 4.5k words
𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : something to tide ya'll over as I work through my big bertha fics for yall, and yes, I will start planning the first part of my series... when I feel like it! She's a slow grower ykwim? grower not a shower? whatever helps me sleep at night. Hope you like this little piece! Thank you @mndvx for the gif and @somebitchprobably-graphicdump for the dividers !
𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 : I would really appreciate if you could send in an ask to be on my taglist, it's easier for me to manage and make sure everyone is added!! here is the post of my current taglist. Also, if your user is bolded, I'm going on a prayer that youve been tagged but Tumblr wouldn't let me properly do so. I would recommend checking your privacy settings to allow other people to tag you.
One thing you learnt about Hannah Wells, being one of her best friends and all, was that she was normally- a very reasonable person. She was the one to keep electrolyte sachet’s in her bag during a night out, the one to book the uber a day in advance and the one to always text check-ins on the group chat during finals week.
That was her, normally.
Unfortunately, ever since she decided to become the first hockey WAG in the group, the captain she shared a bed with had spent their entire relationship testing that theory. The relationship was undoubtedly adorable, some may say to a disgusting, how-to-lose-a-guy-in-10-days level, but sometimes Garrett would feel the need to use Hannah's tightly strung mental stability as a pair of chopsticks.
“Just, tell me again why we’re doing this?” You watched Hannah with a concerned expression, she was aggressively highlighting a sentence that had absolutely nothing to do with the paragraph she'd just read.
The yellow highlighter squeaked angrily across the page,"You know why," She gritted out.
"No, I know why you're angry,” You pointed at the highlighter.
"I'm asking why that textbook is suffering for it."
The answer never came, but that was attributed to the fact that Hannah was still busy glaring at her notes like they had personally offended her. Beethoven was a bitch.
The study room had fallen suspiciously quiet about twenty minutes ago, with Allie laying on the sofa in the corner going through a script for class and you and hannah sitting on the large table in the centre of the glass box, you scribbling out statistics equations and Hannah trying to compose a new piece.
The initial productivity went out the window when Hannah began to complain about Garrett, either of you could have stopped her, put a pin in it and dealt with it at home. Instead, Allie and you happily discarded your work and quipped helpful bits of advice during her rant.
"You know what his problem is?"
You exchanged a glance with Allie, both of you knew it was better if nobody answered- experience had taught you this was a trap.
"He says he'll call me."
Hannah pointed at her phone that she had flung across the table at the beginning of her speech, "then doesn't call me."
You nodded, the man had a habit of saying he’ll call after practice- then take hours in the locker room with the boys. Your own boyfriend had done that more times than you could count, but you made peace with it very early on; assuming it was because the boys were engrossed in some weird, hockey bro hangout while they changed.
It was nonetheless a reasonable complaint, because the team was AWOL for nearly the entire day, and the three of you were suffering for it. Ever since Garrett returned from the bench, after the fight that led to his suspension, training was 24/7 and you were lucky to get a morning kiss at the crack of dawn and a small whisper of seeing you later before the door shut, leading their phones seeming to have fallen off the face of the planet.
So, if Graham had promised he’d “see his girl tonight” because he “missed her so much” and then had the gall to not reply to her messages for half an hour. You were prepared to ride at dawn, and steal his skates to rub against concrete for as long as your drill sergeant ordered.
However, currently the drill sergeant was pink in the face and grabbing at her phone, stretching herself over her textbook to wave the device angrily.
"And then when I text him asking where he is-"
You already knew this wasn't going to end well.
"He sends me a thumbs up."
The silence was immediate, you gaped at Allie, she gaped back. It was two fishes staring at each other while Hannah slumped into her chair.
It shouldn't have been shocking, it was exactly the sort of thing Garrett would do. But he was an idiot for deciding to not fight against his nature during this trying time.
Allie lowered the script she had folded against her legs, flopping it onto her chest as she sat up. Slowly, carefully, as if she’d been told there was a rabid animal that could sense her fear.
"A thumbs up?"
"A thumbs up."
"Oh."
"Exactly."
You shook your head and closed your eyes. This was rough, like Liverpool F.C rough.
"I know he meant well."
That sentence was somehow worse, because she was trying to be rational. And when Hannah was angry and tried to be rational, it usually resulted in disaster.
"Did he think?"
Allie's contribution was deeply unhelpful.
Hannah jumped and gave her a thankful clap, "THANK YOU."
"I'm just saying."
You groan and give her a look of deep regret, "You are not helping."
"I wasn't trying to." She grinned at you.
Hannah dropped her head onto the table, face first into her music sheets. The universal sign of academic and emotional defeat.
You watched her lie there for a moment.
Then another
Then-
"I am going to kill him."
You roll your eyes and cross your arms, there it was. The threat you’d all been waiting for, Allie checked her phone, nodding her head.
"Only ten minutes."
"A personal best." You added.
Hannah stood up immediately, the chair scraped obnoxiously against the floor- as if warning her not to do the thing she was absolutely going to do. Both you and Allie looked up, concerned at the way she blinked quickly, the cogs in her head turning so fast that you were sure smoke would start spilling from her ears.
You recognised the look on her face, a dangerous determination, masked by an eerie calm. In actuality it was a complete loss of common sense
"Hannah." Allie started, warningly.
"No."
"You haven't even heard the question."
"I know the question."
The smile spreading across Hannah's face made your stomach drop. It was a Hannah Has An Idea smile and historically speaking, those had a terrible survival rate.
You racked your brain for what she could possibly be plotting. Then your face fell. Practice had ended approximately fifteen minutes ago. Which meant the boys were currently finishing up at the rink. A fact that should've been irrelevant, so painfully ordinary that it was similar to breathing. Instead, it somehow became the most important detail in the room.
“Hannah, no-”
She had already grabbed her bag and started walking towards the door. Allie scrambled to her feet, shoving her stuff into the tote she randomly picked up when you left that morning. You did the same, not caring that you messily crumpled up your work into your bag, instead more focussed on watching Hannah strut out of the library, stomping through the isles- not paying you any mind.
You panted when you caught up to her, dragging a hand through your hair,
"Oh no."
"Oh yes."
"Hannah."
"No."
"Hannah."
The door to the outside world opened and Allie squinted against the golden hour glow, Hannah’s smile widened dangerously,
"I am going to find my boyfriend."
The first sign this was a terrible idea came when Hannah ignored the boys leisurely walking out of the athletes' building, their hair damp from showers, you recognised a few, some from the calisthenics club, you waved at the girls on the swim team and pointedly flipped off the lewd comments from the lacrosse team. Eugh.
The second sign came when she didn’t listen to your warnings.
The third came when she barely blinked at the coach giving her a confused greeting.
By that point, frankly, the universe had done everything it reasonably could.
"Hannah."
No response.
"Hannah."
Still nothing.
The woman marched through the arena, stumbling sharply against the chairs. You inched through behind her, holding Allie's hand as she huffed and whipped her bangs out of her eyes, glaring at Hannah, who was already at the bottom of the staircase, about to turn into the back corridor.
Neither of you were particularly interested in letting your best friend commit relationship homicide without witnesses.
"Hannah."
"What."
The answer arrived instantly. She stilled just before the dim pathway towards the locker room, hands braced on her backpack straps, her shoes tapped on the floor expectantly.
"You do realise practice literally just ended."
"Correct."
"You do realise hockey players are probably changing."
"Correct."
You looked at Allie, whose eye was twitching at her best friend's unwavering need for vindication.
"You're concerning me."
She rolled her eyes and dashed down the hallway, you recognised this part of the training facility instantly, it was embarrassing the amount of times you had waited here, leaning against the wall for Logan to emerge, his chain glinting in the yellow lighting as he hauled equipment over one shoulder, the other carried his own gear.
He would kiss you quickly, mumbling against your lips about missing you, and then dump all the random sticks and bags of pucks into the storage before slinging an arm around your shoulder, slowing to a leisurely stroll as you recounted your day.
You rounded the corner, and froze. Allie bumped into you, whining as she rubbed her nose.
The locker room doors sat at the end of the corridor. You stared ahead, and blinked when Hannah barely stopped- charging forward.
"Hannah."
"No."
"Hannah."
You cupped your hands around your mouth and shouted after her, jogging behind. "What exactly is your plan here?"
"I am going to find Garrett."
"Then?"
"Then I am going to explain why sending a thumbs up was stupid."
Allie threw her hands up and blocked her pathway to the door, "Hannah."
"No." She tugged down Allie’s arms, and pushed the girl out of the way. Before either you or Allie could stop her, Hannah grabbed the door handle, and it was like the world slowed.
"HANNAH!"
The door opened and you immediately regretted the day you were born. The silence hit you like the torrential stream of water in a car wash, burning your eyes as a gasp got stuck in your throat.
Then your brain caught up with what was in front of you- because unfortunately, disastrously, hockey practice had ended, extremely recently. So recently in fact, that half the team were still in the showers hooting and hollering, while the other half were dripping wet in front of their cubbies. Staring straight at you, towels paused mid-dry.
You froze.
Hannah froze.
Allie froze.
The hockey team froze.
Time itself appeared to freeze.
"Oh my God." Allie giggled shrilly, her eyes wide as her hand came up to stifle a mix between a gasp and sob.
It wasn’t the shirtless hockey players that disturbed you. It was the penis’.
Everywhere.
Anywhere.
Dicks floor to ceiling, no matter where your troubled eyes would take you, it was phallic body parts all around. A sight that would haunt you until graduation.
The team were the first one to snap out of the trance, some of them barely phased at the intrusion, the other half silently covered their junk and shouted brokenly for the people you were actually looking for.
“What?” Logan’s voice shouted from beyond the showers, luckily you were far enough away to avoid the sight of your boyfriend and his teammates in the steamy, tiled cheap porno setting.
You accidentally made eye-contact with one of the freshmen on the team, and he winked at you. The expression on your face must've been unbelievably unimpressed because he rushed to get dressed immediately after his failure.
That made your survival instincts finally activate.
You spun around immediately, a sensible decision on your part.
Unfortunately, Allie had chosen the exact same strategy.
The two of you collided at full speed.
"OW."
The yelp escaped simultaneously. One second you were turning around, the next your shoulder crashed into Allie's.
Your foot caught on your other ankle, and suddenly gravity joined the party. The floor rushed upwards, the world tilted and you were convinced this was your rapture.
Two seconds away from meeting your untimely demise, strong arms caught you before impact.
"Oh my God, babe?" The voice sounded familiar and you braced yourself for his bewildered expression when you squinted your eyes open. Logan’s face was approximately six inches away and you felt the towel he had hurriedly wrapped around himself slip low down his hips against your waist.
"Nope, don’t ask." You closed your eyes against the water droplets splashing onto your face from his hair. The tickle of his silver chain against your cheek made you wave your hands between the two of you. You could feel him gearing up to ask something,
A finger wag in his face and a simple, "Nope." made him laugh as he hoisted you up.
Across from you, Dean had already reached Allie, looking equally concerned and delighted.
"Are you okay?" His arms were bound securely around her, pressing in front of him.
Allie flicked his forehead, "Stop smiling."
"I'm not smiling."
"You absolutely are."
Dean was moments away from framing the incident and hanging it on a wall, it was when Allie had steadied herself and stepped fractionally away from him that you noticed Dean hadn’t managed to grab a towel. And stood naked, right in front of you. As bare as the day he was born.
You retched loudly and tried to run out the door, forgetting that Logan was still holding you upright, an arm around your waist- hand steadying your shoulder.
Deeply and violently, you groaned- accepting that this was your life right now, "Please tell me I died."
The laughter around you doubled in volume, a few of the guys chirping at you.
Somewhere behind Logan, Garrett appeared, towel around his waist- completely oblivious to the chaos playing out with his team.
"What happened?"
The silence that followed was immediate, the boys pursed their lips together, you and Allie were engrossed in anything that didn't involve Hannah.
She glared at him slowly, dangerously. Garrett took one look at her expression, and his eyes ping ponged around the changing area, the open door, the duo of embarrassed girlfriends- one of them looking at her boyfriend seductively, the other hiding her face in her hands. And finally the boys, Dean who was playing into Allies flirting- butt naked. And Logan who was stifling a laugh against your shoulder as you shook your head silently into your palms.
Understanding dawned, making him rush over to his bag and dig out his phone, his eyes widening at his girlfriend, "Oh."
The idiot actually laughed. Hannah looked ready to gouge his eyes out with his stick. And somehow, unbelievably, things were about to get worse.
By dinner the same day, everybody knew, not just the team, not just other teams. The entire student population.
People in your classes, people in the library, people in the campus cafes. Somehow all of them must've collectively received an email.
You still didn't know how, no matter how hard you searched the gossip account, your dm’s, hunted through stories. There was no way to determine how the hell the situation had reached every set of ears at Briar. You'd spent the better part of twelve hours trying to figure it out.
The incident had happened at approximately 9 am that morning.
By six-fifteen, two members of the lacrosse team had smirked at you in passing.
By seven, somebody in a study group asked if you were "recovering."
By eight-thirty, a girl in your dorm-block had winked.
"Tell me again why I haven't transferred,” You dropped your forehead onto the cafeteria table.
Across from you, Hannah looked equally traumatised as she picked at her dinner, Allie looked murderous as another pair of irrelevant students giggled as they passed by.
The three of you had spent the entire day suffering.
Allie slumped in her chair, "Because we're seniors."
You stabbed aggressively at your salad. "Unfortunately,” mouth half-full of lettuce you continued, "You know what the worst part is?"
Nobody answered, mostly because nobody wanted to encourage you.
"The fact we literally didn't do anything."
"THANK YOU."
Allie pointed dramatically.
"THANK YOU."
The cafeteria table rattled slightly, you winced and gave her an accusing stare. While the passion was appreciated, the volume was not.
"We walked into a room." Hannah shrugged
"Accidentally." Allie added.
"Then left."
"Immediately."
You threw your hands up, "And somehow everyone is acting like we joined an orgy."
The three of you sat in offended silence, completely justified silence. Silence that lasted approximately four seconds.
Then somebody cleared their throat and you closed your eyes, praying to whatever god that put you in that situation this morning, wasn’t just deciding to test your self control.
You swore, if you opened your eyes, and the person who you thought it was, was standing in front of you. There would be a search warrant for your name, and a blown up ice rink in your wake.
"No."
Across the table, Hannah groaned and Allie made a sound like she was ready to throw something. The answer came before you opened them, pressing your lips to your hands that were held together in a praying position, you shook your head, "No."
Because standing directly behind you was, Dean who was grinning so wide, you’d think Santa Clause gifted him a dildo, Garrett, currently more occupied in flashing his puppy dog eyes at Hannah and Logan, the only useful one, who came bearing gifts with an apologetic yet amused smile on his annoyingly handsome face.
The Three Horsemen of Making Things Worse.
"Oh, come on.” Dean looked genuinely offended, hand on his chest as he pulled out the seat next to you, in front of Allie.
She threw one of Hannah’s chips at his face, which he caught in his mouth, "We came to support our girlfriends! amidst their public cancellation from society."
"You came to laugh at us." You corrected, ignoring the paper container that slid in front of your tray and the weirdly shaped Logan entity that sat on the other side of you.
The smile on Dean's face widened, "How ‘bout both?"
Hannah dropped her fork and lunged at him, only held back by Garrett- who had two fingers looped into her belt loop.
During this, you peeked into the container, flicking open the lid to see a slice of your favourite cake- red velvet from the bakery just outside campus.
You glanced at Logan and stuck your tongue out at him in response to his pleading expression. There it was, you thought- your eye twitching, the complete lack of shame astounded you.
You hated the smug bastard. A deep, passionate hate. But you still gave him a quick peck, intertwining your hands beneath the table and placed them on his thigh. He suppressed a grin and leaned back in his chair watching you cut into the pastry with your fork.
"How's recovery going?" Dean rested his chin on his palm, twirling a blonde strand with his finger.
Allie flipped off her boyfriend, "Leave."
Garrett laughed immediately, "You have to admit-"
"No." Hannah interrupted, hands slapping at his wrist which comfortably kept his hand looped into her jeans.
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"Because it doesn't matter."
"It was funny."
"It wasn't."
"It really was."
The idiot looked entirely too pleased with himself, which was particularly annoying because he wasn't even the one receiving the worst of it.
That honour belonged to you and Allie. Specifically because both of your boyfriends had apparently become the main characters of the story. A fact you deeply resented.
"You know what?" You sat up, “How come nobody is talking about Hannah?”
The entire table went quiet.
Hannah blinked.
"Oh my God." Allie said slowly, "You're right."
"I know."
Hannah immediately looked suspicious, "Why aren't they talking about me?"
Then Allie pointed dramatically, "THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING."
"You haven't said that."
"I've been thinking about it."
Somehow, the entire college manipulated the story into a desperate cliche- that you and Allie were dying to see your boyfriend’s and just. couldn't. wait. for them, so you burst into the changing room, ovulation phase at it's peak and boned down in front of the entire team.
Completely cutting out the bit where you both were trying to stop Hannah from social suicide.
Mission accomplished apparently. The problem now, was that you’d stepped in front of the bullet, and forgot that it meant you’d get shot.
"You started the whole thing." You whined at her.
"EXACTLY."
Dean and Garrett looked delighted.
"You stormed across campus." You held up one finger.
"Correct." Hannah nodded.
"You opened the door." Another finger.
"Correct."
"You ignored approximately fourteen warnings." A third.
"Correct."
"And somehow everyone else became the main characters." You harrumped and slumped back into your seat, glaring at Logan whose arm came up to rest behind you- but you didn’t pull away when he pecked your forehead.
Hannah looked genuinely aghast at her lack of involvement within the gossip mill, "You know what?" She folded her arms, "That is offensive."
"There she is." Dean blew an exaggerated kiss at her, "The victim complex."
Hannah threw a napkin at him.
The situation somehow got worse, a possibility you never thought could be true.
By Wednesday morning, people had started inventing details, ones that didn’t even make sense. Especially because the original story was already embarrassing enough.
Now there were rumours.
Terrible rumours.
Wild rumours.
Factually incorrect rumours.
"I heard somebody say we were recording."
Hannah looked flabbergasted, the pen in her hand creaked as her first tightened.
Across the corridor, Allie stopped walking, "We weren't?"
"Exactly."
"We were too busy being surrounded by cockfest 2026."
The three of you continued toward class, united by shared trauma- forged entirely through public humiliation.
The campus buzzed around you, students heading between lectures, athletes carrying equipment bags, people drinking coffee they absolutely couldn't afford. The usual. Until somebody shouted out your name, the voice was gratingly familiar in a way that made you want to spit out your tonsils.
The guys sitting outside the student centre weren't even subtle about it, the one who called out for you nudged another, the second looked up and smirked.
They were two guys from the lacrosse team. Arguably, you’d think such a fancy sport would produce gentlemen, but the game manufactured slime-balls like the two currently snickering at your deadpan expression.
"Oh look." The smile spread, "The locker room girls."
You stopped mid-step, and you’d known it was a mistake the minute your foot paused, because now they knew you'd heard. The embarrassment hit instantly, like a slap to the face that reached down your throat, hot in a way that made your body burn.
Beside you, Hannah looked ready to throw hands, her eyes narrowing at the boys.
“You got only fans? We’d love to see what happened in the locker room.”
Allie grit her teeth and just as she was about to bite back, a voice interrupted her.
"Say that again."
The atmosphere chilled behind you, one second the lacrosse pair were giggling like little goblins, the next, their faces were frozen with teetering smiles.
You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. Logan stood next to you, his thumb rubbing soothingly on your arm.
Dean was walking up to Allie, his hands still cupped around his mouth from his interruption. Garrett hung back, but welcomed Hannah into his side when she begrudgingly shuffled up to him.
They had apparently finished a team strategy session, an unfortunate coincidence for the boys in front of you, who suddenly looked significantly less dick-ish.
The one with slicked back, blonde hair looked to his friend- who shrugged and patted him on the shoulder, his lip visibly quivered when he spoke, "What?" the question came out weak.
Dean smiled, two hands braced on his girlfriend's frame. Leisurely almost. "Oh, don't do that." He tilted his head with a pout, "You were really confident thirty seconds ago."
Nobody answered.
Garrett called out, still maintaining a generous distance from the situation- probably not wanting to get too involved with another team as the captain, “You seem like the type to be on only fans Jackson. Is that what you do when you lose to Eastwood?” The disappointment in his voice somehow made it worse.
"Seriously,” Dean shook his head, "Dude, if you're going to talk shit about my girlfriend at least be creative." Allie smacked the front of his chest, but nodded in agreement.
Then Logan spoke, "Find something else to talk about."
Jackson, and the other guy- equally as greasy, dissolved into pitiful excuses and throwaway comments, scoffing as they retreated into the building.
"Holy shit."
Dean grinned, "You're welcome."
"You enjoyed that." Allie poked him accusatorially, leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek a few times, leaving lipstick prints against his dimple.
"I enjoyed that immensely."
Nearby, Garrett wrapped an arm around Hannah's shoulders and joined the rest of you.
"You know," Garrett said thoughtfully, "I feel like people would've stopped talking about it sooner if Dean hadn't told literally everyone."
The silence was beautiful. The three of you slowly turned to look at Dean, who was gritting out threats at Garrett, a horrified expression gracing his features as he timidly caressed Allie's hair.
"I did not."
Logan punched his shoulder jokingly, like bros talking about whose basketball team won last night, "You absolutely did."
"I told one person."
The universe was finally smiling down on you, since Tucker walked up to the six of you, pushing his curls out of his face.
"You told Tucker." Garrett laughed.
Tucker blinked between the two, who were now engaged in a heated conversation using their eyes.
"That's still one person."
"Dean."
"One person."
"You told the biggest gossip on the hockey team that our girlfriends walked into the changing room after practice and saw everyone's dicks. by accident."
Tucker finally nodded his head with an affirmative sound, “Oh yeah, I’m just annoyed I left practice early for a doctor's appointment.” He patted Dean on the shoulder, grinning as he stirred the proverbial pot, “luckily Dean here, my best friend, the person who tells me everything. Recounted it in perfect detail.”
An argument exploded instantly, involving Allie smacking Dean upside the head and she bickered about how the last 48 hours had been a living hell.
Hannah wasn’t letting Garrett off the hook easily, nagging him that if he had just “replied to her goddamn messages” the three of you wouldn’t have been in there, she quietened and blushed when he whispered in her ear.
Tucker had joined Allie in bashing Dean, but the three of them groaned when Dean promised, “mind-blowing orgasms on every surface of the house”. Allie didn’t say anything further, just glared at him when he hooked a hand onto her waist and pulled her in.
They drifted ahead while they bickered. Leaving you slightly behind with Logan, who had somehow presented an iced coffee from behind his back and was watching you sip it.
"You didn't have to do that." You said mid-sip.
Logan looked over, "What?"
"That."
You gestured vaguely toward the now-empty student centre steps. Logan’s expressions softened slightly as he took your bag from your shoulder and pulled you into him, tucking a hand into your back pocket.
"Yeah." he paused, "Actually, I kind of did."
Your stomach performed a deeply inconvenient little flip.
"Why?"
Logan looked ahead, then to the ground in an almost bashful kind of way, then he shrugged. Like the answer was obvious, "I don't like people making you feel bad."
You cooed at him, grabbing his face with your free hand and squishing his face between your fingers, “You’re such a softie.”
Smacking a kiss to his stubbly cheek, you returned to the drink, gulping it down appreciatively.
He snickered to himself and added unhelpfully, “Plus, kind of owed you since you saw Dean’s cock.”
SUMMARY - how aerion deals with you being needy and emotional while carrying his child
CONTAINS - fluff, pregnancy (obviously), aerion is hopelessly devoted, reader is moody, sexual tension, allusions to sex
A/N - i am in awee, this was such a cute ask
The first few moons of your pregnancy was a breeze. There were no tears, no demands, no complaints. You handled it with the utmost grace.
You went about your days at court with your usual serene composure, determined not to let the early fatigue slow you down.
Then the transition from the early moons to the depths of the third trimester came like a heavy storm. The calm that had once drawn the quiet admiration of the court began to break under the physical weight of the future Targaryen heir.
You were perpetually flushed, skin overly sensitive, and your emotions became so raw that the slightest shift in the room could bring hot, unbidden tears to your eyes.
The heavy drapes of your bedchamber were drawn tight against the midnight chill, the room bathed in the amber glow of the dying hearth. You let out a frustrated breath and shifted against the fine linen sheets for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
The weight of the babe made it impossible to breathe easily—a persistent ache throbbing deep in the small of your back. No matter how you arranged the mountain of velvet pillows, the restlessness in your veins refused to cooperate.
Beside you, Aerion stirs. Sensing the frantic rhythm of your movements, he shifts, rolling over until his heat enveloped your side.
“Still awake, my love?” he murmurs, voice incredibly thick with sleep.
“I can’t sleep, Aerion,” you whisper, turning your face toward him, fingers clutching loosely at the linen as a tear slipped down your cheek. “Everything feels too heavy. The bed is too cold, and you are too far away.”
The drowsiness vanishes from his face the moment he catches the wet glint on your face. A soft sigh escapes his lips.
“Hush now,” he chides lightly, but his actions thoroughly betray himself.
His arms slide beneath your waist, effortlessly dragging your body across the mattress until you are tucked securely against his bare chest. His hand slips beneath the hem of your nightgown, pressing his palm flat against your thigh to knead the tight muscles, his thumb tracing deep circles to counter the pressure.
A soft whimper of relief leaves your lips, your forehead sinking into the crook of his neck as the pain finally begins to ease under his touch. Yet, as the ache faded, there was still a want that sparked a different sort of restlessness. So you shift your hips against his thigh.
Aerion’s hand pauses. He felt the deliberate friction of your body, and a low chuckle rumbles deep in his throat, his pupils dilating in the dim light.
“Ah. So it isn’t just the pain keeping you awake, my sweet girl.”
Shifting his weight, he pins your wrists to the mattress, his gaze heavy as he looks down at you. “If you refuse to let me sleep,” he whispers directly against your lips, parting your thighs with his knee, “then I suppose I must tire you out properly.”
His lips capture yours in a demanding kiss that drives away the frantic pacing of your mind. There was no sharpness in his touch, only fierce passion that met every ounce of hunger rushing through your veins.
He’s working you slowly, mindful of the life growing in your womb, solely focusing on your pleasure.
By the time the dark sky begins to soften into the pale violet of dawn, you are entirely spent. Your limbs are heavy and relaxed as you melt into the mattress. Aerion pulls the blanket up to your chin before sliding in behind you to envelope you in his warmth. His fingers lazily trace the prominent curve of your belly, holding you securely against his chest.
As your eyelids grow too heavy to keep open, you feel him press a soft, devoted kiss to the back of your neck, his possessive hold keeping the rest of the world at bay.
By the arrival of the ninth moon, the last remnants of your pride are thoroughly stripped away, replaced by an overwhelming sensitivity that leaves your emotions balanced on the edge of a blade.
The toll of carrying the restless heir meant that a single moment of loneliness could reduce you to tears. You desperately craved Aerion’s touch in a way comfort alone could not soothe.
The doors of your chamber burst open with an echoing thud. Aerion steps inside, the dark fabric of his doublet dusted with the tension of a grueling council session. His jaw is set, his brows furrowed in a dangerous glare as he takes his boots off. But the venom evaporates when his eyes land on you.
You are sitting on the edge of the bed, your ringed fingers trembling where they rest over the massive swell of your belly. Your lower lip quivers, and silent tears are tracking down your flushed cheeks.
In three stalks, Aerion bridges the distance between you. The prince drops to his knees directly before you, his demeanour breaking. His large hands come up to cup your face, his rings icy against your burning skin as his thumbs sweep away the dampness on your cheeks.
“What happened?” he demands, voice laced with concern. “Are you hurt? Did somebody test your patience? I will have their tongue dragged through the yard before sundown.”
You let out a shaky little sniffle, your hands gripping his wrist. “Nobody did anything, Aerion.”
Aerion blinks. “Then why are you weeping, hm? Are you in pain? Has the child turned?”
“No,” you whisper, the emotional surge making your chest heave as you lean your face into his palm. “You were just gone for hours. The room felt too cold, and I… I missed you.”
Aerion stares up at you, his mind working to process the neediness in your voice. A breathless laugh escapes his lips, the rigid tension in his broad shoulders melting away. A smile tugs at his mouth as he leans forward, pressing his forehead firmly against yours.
“Hours?” he mutters. “You are silly, do you know that? I was just across the keep, not fighting a war on the other side of the world.”
“Doesn’t matter. It felt like you were,” you mumble, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, desperate to drown in his scent. “Don’t leave again today, stay.”
“I’m right here,” he promises, standing up to settle on the mattress beside you. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently to tilt your face up. “Where did the perfect lady who claimed she needed no one go?”
“So I’m no longer perfect?” you breathe against his throat, eyes wide and watery.
Aerion lets out a quiet scoff, his lips leaving a row of slow kisses down the slope of your neck. “You are. You always are, sweet girl. It’s frustrating.”
It did not take long for you to eventually grow tired of being bedridden. Disregarding every word and instruction given by the Grand Maester, a stubborn need for a breath of fresh air took over your senses.
You somehow convince your husband that you cannot bear seeing the same walls everyday, and Aerion reluctantly goes with it, deciding that a change of scenery would in fact be beneficial.
But you only make it halfway down the outer corridors when a sharp, dragging pain pulls violently at your hips. The ache causes you to abruptly stop and wince.
You are about to continue walking when Aerion steps into your space. He bends his knees and smoothly slides one arm beneath your thighs and the other behind your shoulders. With a single hoist, he lifts you off your feet, bringing your form flush against himself.
“Aerion!” you gasp, hands flying to grip his shoulders. “What are you doing? We are in public!”
“You were about to collapse,” he states flatly, adjusting his grip to secure you better. “A dragon does not watch his wife struggle through a hallway like a wounded deer.”
“I am fine, I just needed a moment,” you insisted, your cheeks burning crimson as the door at the end of the hall swing open.
A small retinue of noblemen—including two prominent lords and a handful of guards—step into the corridor. They freeze in unison, their eyes widening in utter shock at the sight of the prince cradling his pregnant wife in his arms.
Your heart quickly stammers in your chest. “Aerion,” you whine frantically, burying your face into the crook of his neck to hide from their stares. “People are looking. The lords… the guards are right there.”
Aerion continued his stride regardless. As you pass the stunned group, he shoots the noblemen a glare that promises violence to anyone brash enough to speak. The lords immediately drop their eyes to the floor, scurrying past as if they hadn’t seen a thing.
“Let them look,” Aerion murmurs into your hair, his voice devoid of any care for decorum. “If any of those rats have an opinion on how I tend to what is mine, they are welcome to voice it. I’ve been looking for an excuse to chastise a man all morning.”
“You are shameless.” You nearly smile. Without the burden of your own weight, you relax against his solid frame.
“I am,” he agrees, a smug smile breaking across his features. “I take excellent care of my wife. If the entire court has to watch me do it, then they will simply learn their place.”
The final days of the ninth moon arrived just as you expected it would. With your ankles swollen and the constant pressure of the babe against your ribs making every breath a hard fought battle.
A silver tray sits on the table beside the bed, bearing a bowl of rich beef broth and honeyed pastries—completely untouched.
“Please take it away,” you huff at your handmaiden, your voice cracking with an irrational spike of emotion. “It smells of grease and salt. I won’t have it near me.”
“Leave it,” a voice suddenly commands from the doorway.
Your handmaiden scurries out as your husband steps into the room, closing the door shut behind him. His eyes lock onto your face, then drift to the full bowl of broth.
His jaw flexes. “You haven’t eaten a single spoonful since midday.”
“I don’t want it.” you turn your head away stubbornly to stare at the tapestries on the wall. “I don’t want anything. Everything tastes like ash.”
Aerion lets out a sharp click of his tongue, dragging his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he walks toward the bed. “You are being entirely unreasonable, my sweet wife. You are acting like a petulant child.”
“Then leave me alone!” you argue, shifting yourself further into the pillows.
Instead of leaving, Aerion walks over to the tray. The silver clinks sharply as he picks up the bowl and the spoon. He marches over to the edge of the bed and sits down. Without a word, he places an arm behind your back and traps you so that you are reclining flush against his chest.
“Let go of me,” you say angrily, your hands instantly clutching at his forearm, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeve.
“Stop,” Aerion orders as he dips the silver spoon into the broth, lifting it carefully. He does not care about your whining, and he certainly does not care that a prince of the blood is currently playing the part of a nursemaid. He brings the spoon to his own lips, blowing softly on the liquid to ensure it isn’t too hot, before pressing the silver to your bottom lip.
“Eat,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.
You tightly clamp your mouth shut, tilting your chin down. “No.”
A dark smirk flashes across his face. His free hand comes up, fingers wrapping firmly around jaw. His thumb presses against the hinge of your bone with just enough pressure to force your mouth to part.
“Ah-ah,” he tuts, moving the spoon right back to your lips. “You will eat, or I will sit here and hold you captive until you do. Open.”
You let out a huff that sounds awfully like defeat, finally allowing your lips to part fully. Aerion slips the spoon into your mouth, tilting it carefully so you can swallow the warm, savoury broth. It instantly soothes the dry ache in your throat, and despite your previous protests, your body seeks for more nourishment.
“Good girl,” Aerion purrs as he watches your throat swallow.
He does not rush you. With unbelievable patience, he dips the spoon again, blows on it, and guides it past your lips, over and over. By the time the bowl is empty, the misery that had consumed you all day dissolved—all through your dear husband.
Aerion sets the empty bowl aside and finally loosens his hold on you. “There,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Was that so terrible?”
You offer him a small look, your hand coming to rest over his wrist. “I’m sorry,” you finally spoke, the weight of the day making your voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to–”
You cut yourself off with a sudden gasp as a flurry of movement, followed by two rapid kicks visibly ripple over your skin.
Aerion’s eyes immediately dart down, his hand flying down to press against the curve of your bump. But the moment his hand settles, the babe goes absolutely dormant.
Aerion stills, waiting for a few long seconds. When nothing happens, he lets out an irritated groan, glaring down at your stomach.
You smile up at him. “Do not look so wounded, my prince,” you bite your lower lip in an attempt to hide your amusement, tilting your head to the side.
Aerion scoffs, though his hands stay put as a content smile curves his lips. “It doesn’t matter. You are both trapped in my arms regardless.”
pairing : garrett graham john logan dean di laurentis john tucker beau maxwell allie hayes hannah wells x 𝒇 ! reader
𝗢𝗥 𓈒 𓈒 randomly stuffing your face in their neck
contains : established relationship physical touch kissing dean’s could be seen as suggestive gif credits to @alliecathayes 𝘄 ｡ 2902
GARRETT GRAHAM :
“You think you're close enough?” Garrett teased you once you settled comfortably in his side, your body pressed flush against him. Your boyfriend wasn't surprised by your sudden touchiness; he knew you all too well and could tell by the look you had in your eyes for the past ten minutes that you wanted more than just watching a movie. He continued to look for a movie for the two of you to watch, smiling as he felt your nose rub against his neck as you nodded.
You hummed, sending chills down his neck. “Mhm, you smell nice.”
“Thanks, I used your body wash.” As soon as those words left Garrett’s lips, you were quick to remove your face from his neck and sit up on your elbow, looking at him with an incredulous look. He looked away from the screen when he felt you move away, giving you an innocent smile once he noticed the look on your face, finding your dramatics cute.
“What? You should be honored that I want to smell like you.” Garrett still had that faux innocent smile on his lips as he spoke sweetly. He gently pulled you back against him, this time you lay on your stomach with your feet in the air, his hand slipping under your shirt and resting on your back, callused fingers softly caressing your skin.
“Stop trying to sweet-talk your way out of this graham” You narrowed your eyes at him as you poked his chest with an accusatory tone. A cute noise that he would never admit was him, left his lips at the feeling. He quickly dropped the remote and took your hand in his before you could poke him again.
He caressed your hand with his fingers as he gave you a flirty smirk, his tone dropping to a seductive whisper that usually had you melting, “We both know you love it when I sweet-talk you.”
You rolled your eyes playfully and let out a faux dramatic groan of disgust at your boyfriend's poor excuse at flirting. You rested your head down against his chest, hiding your smile from. Garrett laughed and held you closer, an identical smile gracing his lips. A louder laugh left his lips and filled his room at the feeling of you biting him, clearly flustered.
JOHN LOGAN :
“You okay, baby?” Logan’s voice was soft as it broke the silence of his room, as you hugged him from behind, smushing your face into his warm neck. He paused on retaping his hockey stick to relax back against your chest, the tension in his body after a long, shitty day disappeared.
You took a deep breath against his neck, his cologne filling your nose, before you answered quietly with a small pout, “Yeah, just wanted to be close to you.”
You were lying under Logan’s thick blankets in his bed, watching his back muscles and side profile as he sat on the edge of the bed. He was meticulously taping his stick. He was only an arm’s length away from you, but that was too far in your eyes; you missed the feeling of his body against yours.
Logan internally awed at your words and your cute, sleepy tone. He always wanted to be close to you. He couldn’t remember the moment he realized he was wrapped around your finger. The boys liked to tease him that he was whipped the moment you introduced yourself to him. He knew it was true. The moment he saw your sweet smile, he was gone.
Logan pulled away from your touch, making the corners of your lips curl into a sad pout as you sat back on your knees, watching as he got up from his bed. His sweatpants hung low on his hips as he walked over to his desk, setting down the tape and stick. But your pout quickly changed into a smile, a giggle escaping your lips when your boyfriend wasted no time to playfully tackle you back against his bed.
Your head falls back on the soft pillows while Logan takes his favorite spot between your legs. This time, he was the one lowering his head, stuffing his face in your neck, and breathing in your familiar calming scent. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer if that was even possible, scrunching your nose cutely at the ticklish feeling of his scruff against your neck.
One of your hands moved across his shoulder blade and to his nape and up, softly playing with his soft strands of hair. Logan hummed happily at the feeling before whispering against your pulse point—the feeling of his warm breath sending chills down your spine as you fluttered your eyes closed, “My precious girl.”
DEAN DI LAURENTIS :
”What are you doing, you little minx?—hmm” Dean hummed with that cocky teasing smirk that everyone folded at, when he felt your sudden touch, how you pressed against him. Did you want more already? He dropped his phone on the bed; it was long forgotten as soon as he felt your touch.
He had been scrolling mindlessly on his phone for the past 20 minutes while you lay there still at his side, the hot shower you shared not too long ago had you completely relaxed and ready for bed. You were ready for bed, your body begged you to fall asleep after the countless orgasms Dean had given you.
But neither of you could fall asleep, you because you wanted Dean’s full attention, and Dean because he cared about you so much that he was still nervous about sleeping next to you. This wasn't a hookup; he wasn't used to this, but God did he want to be.
You rolled your eyes at the ‘pet name’ your boyfriend loved to tease you with, and nuzzled your face against his warm neck; a few strands of his blonde hair tickled your nose. You rest your hand on his bare chest, moving it down to his abs as you sassily answer, “Is it a crime to wanna be close to my boyfriend?”
Dean’s eyes softened at your words, and his smirk was quickly replaced with a smile, a smile you were finding yourself falling in love with. He still wasn't used to it, hearing you call him your boyfriend; he hoped he never got used to the strange fluttering in his stomach when you did.
He brought his hand up to softly caress your cheek and jaw with the tips of his fingers as he whispered uncharacteristically soft, “No, I suppose it’s not.”
You smiled sleepily at his soft touch, your legs tangling together under the soft sheets, while he slipped his hand under his shirt that you were wearing and held your waist, pulling you flush against him. You placed a feather-light kiss on his neck before you mumbled tiredly, “Dream of me, okay?”
A big dimpled grin spreads across his face, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from chuckling, not wanting to disrupt you from falling asleep anymore. You always kept him on his toes, never knowing what to expect from you. Yeah, he was head over heels in love with you.
He moved his hand from your waist to softly pat your head affectionately before he started to play with your hair, kissing the top of your head and whispering—his big smile evident in his tone “trust me, I will”
JOHN TUCKER :
“Oh—uh, are you okay?” Tucker shyly stammered, an unexpected and awkward chuckle as he felt his face and neck go hot at your unexpected touch. His fingers paused on switching to the next page of his book, a recipe book from his mom, he wanted to make your favorite for dinner tomorrow. But that was the last thing on his mind now.
You mistook his shyness and surprise as him being uncomfortable, which was so far from the truth—he wasn't used to you initiating the physical contact, it was always him—only when you gave him that soft look of permission. He didn't know the full story, just what you told him. You called it the cliff notes—you weren’t ready to talk about it, and that’s okay. He would happily wait until you were.
You trusted him enough with the Cliff Notes, and that was everything to him. You were everything….
You quickly let go of his arm that you were holding and retracted your face from his neck, feeling embarrassed, you mumbled, “Sorry, I just wanted to be close to you.”
He internally cursed himself out for sounding so awkward, he immediately found himself missing your touch and the warmth that always came with it.
“Wait, no, come here,” Tucker rushed out, his voice soft and gentle as he carefully set the book on his bedside table before looking back at you. His touch was gentle, like always, as he pulled you back into his arms. He shifted to lie on his side as he held you flush against his chest.
The movement was sudden, and if it were anyone else, you would have pushed them away, but you found yourself just as quickly relaxing in his arms. The arms you have grown to feel safe in, to admire, to grip onto when things get too much.
He tangled his legs with yours, both of you over the blankets on his bed. His eyes were soft as he looked into yours, hoping that you couldn’t tell how fast his heartbeat was going from having you so close. He softly caressed your arm as he muttered deeply, “And please don't ever apologize for that.”
“I—I like when you touch me, like a lot,” he trailed off into a more confident tone as he softly bumped his nose against yours. He couldn't help but smile at the cute nose crunch you did at the feeling, or how your eyes softened as his words really sank in.
“Okay,” you whispered with a small smile after a few moments of silence. You fluttered your eyes closed as you snuggled your face into his clavicle, his scent calming you even more. You didn't hesitate this time, slipping your hand under his shirt and softly scratching at his back, just like how he did to you when you’d get overwhelmed.
“I guess I could get used to this,” he let out a pleased hum at the soothing feeling, his own eyes closing. You missed the teasing, lovesick smile on his lips, and pulled away to look at him with a raised eyebrow and a playful pout, repeating his words slowly, “You guess?”
Tucker laughed and leaned down to place a lingering soft kiss on your forehead. “Oh, definitely, I’m sure of it.”
BEAU MAXWELL :
“Oh, now you miss me?” Beau didn't flinch even though he was surprised at the feeling of you suddenly pressing your body against his side. He was so into the show playing on your dorm tv to notice you were moving closer to him.
You had spent the last two hours trying to ignore your needy boyfriend as you finished up your assignments, and now that you were done, all he wanted to do was finish up the show. He was teasing you, testing you, and you knew it. You scoffed dramatically and poked his side with a roll of your eyes. You muttered in that bratty tone that he loved, “shut up.”
Beau grinned as he felt you melt into him. He slipped his arm around your waist to pull you flush against him, your own arm draping across his chest to softly hold his nape, fingers threaded into his curls while your leg draped over his midsection.
You tried to keep your hands to yourself as the two of you tried to watch the show, well, Beau was watching, and you were watching him. The longer you watched him, the harder it got for you to hold back. He looked so good, his arm behind his head—biceps flexed, freckles decorating the slope of his nose so prettily, his lips you wanted to taste were formed into a concentrated pout as he tried to keep up with the show.
“Beau baby, please,” you finally cracked as you nuzzled your face into his neck, rubbing your nose against his warm skin, your soft lips brushing against his skin. He tried not to crack himself, but he was putty in your hands the moment you teasingly nipped at his earlobe.
Beau moves his hand from under his head and swiftly pauses the show, tossing the remote somewhere on your fluffy carpet. You couldn’t help but giggle when Beau quickly turned his body towards you so could lie on you between your legs, stuffing his face in your neck.
And in turn, you wrap your legs and arms around him to pull him closer to you if that was even possible, both of you hum happily at the change of position, and both tired of the stubborn and teasing act the two of you had been going on for the past couple of hours. A pleased sigh leaves your lips at the feeling of his lips on you.
Beau stopped placing soft kisses along your neck, chuckling as he mused teasingly in your ear, tone more flirty than anything, “My needy girl.”
ALLIE HAYES :
“Ahh, what are yo—“ Allie cut herself off as she broke out into a fit of her sweet giggles—that immediately brought a smile to your lips—when she felt the ticklish feeling of your soft breaths against her neck. Her brown strands of hair cover your face.
“Stop moving,” you whined playfully as you held back your own laughter, moving closer to your girlfriend who was moving away from her touch, the blanket draped over the two of you shifting with her. The two of you were lying comfortably in her bed, the romcom was long forgotten.
“I can’t help it, it tickles.” Allie laughs, giving you a big triumphant grin as she finally detangled herself from your hold, laughing as you dramatically flopped your arms back on the bed. Allie wanted to kiss that cute, dramatic pout off your lips. God, you were so cute.
“Just say you don't want to cuddle me,” you huffed dramatically as you moved to lie on your back, looking up at Allie, who was now sitting up on her elbow, watching you so fondly. Your hair was sprawled across her pillow, you smelled like her body wash and shampoo, wearing her clothes.
You were perfect.
“Wow, and people say I’m dramatic,” Allie teased you with a shake of her head as she adjusted her position so she could lie back on her side facing you. She watched as your eyes dropped to her chest, biting your bottom lip as you shamelessly admired how good she looked in her cami.
She pushed her hair out of her face before patting her chest with a flirty smile, batting her eyelashes as she cooed, “Come here then, cuddle bug.”
She tilted her head back as she laughed, finding it cute how fast you were to cuddle back into her side. You hummed happily as you placed soft kisses along her neck, your hand moving to her hip and slipping under her cami to touch her warm skin.
She placed a soft kiss on the top of your head as your legs tangled together, smiling softly, and as she felt you yawn against her neck skin. You placed another soft kiss on her neck. Allie felt herself go warm at the soft, sleepy words you whispered in her ear, “Love you.”
HANNAH WELLS :
“Tired, baby?” Hannah hummed quietly as she felt you nuzzle your nose against her neck, your body pressed against her side. She stopped typing on her laptop as she rested her head against yours, a big grin on her face at your touchiness.
The two of you were sitting cozy on the couch, Allie was out for the night, leaving the two of you with some much-needed alone time. Hannah promised that she was all yours as soon as she finished up some assignments, so you focused on the trashy reality TV show that was on TV. But the longer you sat there next to her, admiring her side profile and how cute she was when she focused, the harder it got to keep your hands to yourself.
You shook your head no, placing a featherlight kiss on a freckle on her neck that always made her breath hitch. Your words came out muffled against her neck as you answered her, “uh-uh, just missed you.”
Hannah blushed and lifted her head, placing a soft kiss on your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. She wanted nothing more than to shower you in her attention and vice versa, but both of you understood that this was important, especially with her busy schedule. She looked back at her laptop, her voice soft as she promised, “After this page, I’m all yours.”
You were more than willing to wait for her. You draped your arm across her stomach, your fingers dipping under her shirt to caress her skin with your fingertips. You fluttered your eyes closed, melting against her side as you listened to the satisfying sound of her typing. You whispered sweetly, “Mmkay, I’m just gonna stay here.”
┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜
Ი𐑼 my first off campus work , can you guys see me jumping up and down in joy ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ i am oh so very off campus pilled , like this is my life now , my poor wips are so jealous !! i had so much fun rewriting this old idea from a old blog of mine (just in case if it seemed familiar) please tell me your thoughts , feedback is always appreciated and so are comments and reblogs , luv you bbys 🐇
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He loved the worship of it. While most guys were in a rush to get to the main event, he found his sanctuary between your thighs. He treated your pussy like a five-star meal, and he was never in a hurry to finish.
He had you pinned to the bed, your legs draped over his broad shoulders, leaving you completely exposed and shivering. Tucker didn’t say a word; he just looked up at you with those hungry eyes before diving back in. His tongue was a weapon, flicking rhythmically against your clit, swirling in wide, wet circles that made your hips jerk uncontrollably.
"Tuck... please," you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair, trying to pull him up for a kiss.
He ignored you, humming against your wetness, the vibration sending electric shocks straight to your core. He loved the way you tasted, the way your walls pulsed against his tongue, and the way you begged. He wasn't looking for a quick release. No, he wanted to drain you.
An hour passed, then two. Every time you reached the peak, every time you screamed his name and shook with an orgasm, Tucker didn't stop. He stayed right there, licking away the excess juices, teasing your swollen nub back to life until you were sobbing from the overstimulation.
He spent the entire afternoon buried in you, his jaw aching but his resolve firm. He only pulled away when you were a trembling, incoherent mess, your legs shaking too hard to hold him. He looked up, a smug, satisfied grin on his face, his lips glistening with your slick.
"I told you," he whispered, kissing the inside of your thigh. "I'm not stopping until I've had my fill."
summary: Renovating your dream home with Garret should've been simple. Too bad his definition of perfection has nothing to do with the paint and everything to do with you.
a/n: cute fluff for those who need a hug.
word count: 950 words.
“Yes baby, that spot.”
You leaned a little further over the ladder, your foot steadying your weight on its rung, as you stretched your brush, impatiently, towards that tiny “missing” patch Graham keeps persisting on.
Your newly bought home was slowly coming to life. Fresh sage green walls met crisp, bold and white baseboards, replicating a dream of a summer garden washed in morning light. It wasn't grand, rather small and simple yet inviting and perfect, with calm pastels and soulful browns.
“Since when are you such a big perfectionist?” you huffed, patience beginning to wear thin though the corners of your lips curled into an amused smile. It was rather endearing seeing how serious it meant to him, making our home look perfect.
Graham crossed the living room, and pulled open the warm, cream-brown coloured curtains, the kind that glowed golden under the afternoon sun. Light spilled through the tall arched windows, bathing the room with a soft warmth that would grace every season; illuminating the sweet honeyed tones of the old parquet floor.
“I made you a promise on our honeymoon.”’ He said, a subtle, cocky smirk tugging at one corner of his lips-his sparkling gaze found yours again. ‘’You know i’m keeping that.’’
Then he narrowed his eyes dramatically.
“Baby, a little more to the left.”
“Nope. other left.”
You frowned. ‘’Here?’’
“There you go.” He paused. “Actually, i think i need another look.’’
You exhaled, finally snapping. “What spot, Where?” your voice edged with frustration as you twisted awkwardly on the ledge.
Then it clicked.
“You just want an excuse to stare at my butt.”
His eyes immediately widened, his expression caught between guilt and amusement.
“Oh, love, come on-’’
‘’Oh, love, I'm done here.’’ A laugh escaped you, irritation dissolving into warm amusement. Smile softening and eyes crinkling as you looked down at him. ‘’Perfectionist my ass.’’
“Don’t blame me for appreciating the view.’’
He stepped forward, slipping his strong arms beneath your knees and lifting you off the ladder and into his embrace effortlessly.
The teasing slipped from his expression as his eyes warmed. The thug smile giving way to something impossibly fond, something quiet. ‘’You just look too good.’’
You leaned down until your lips met his in a slow, lingering embrace. One hand threading through the soft waves of his hair. Graham’s grip adjusted around you with a light toss into the air, just enough to earn a surprised yelp and a burst exchange of chuckles echoing between you.
‘’Garret Graham, you are obsessed.’’ An uncontrollable smile curved across your lips. He huffed, mirroring it. ‘’Clearly.’’
summary: Thanksgiving w Tucker! based on this ask <3
contains: established relationship, fluff, cuddling, kissing, cooking, cursing, u and tuck being a sweet couple!
author’s note: i’m kinda sick so i didn’t edit this super well, but i hope it’s not horrible lolol
You awoke to the sound of, what you assumed was, a metal pan clashing and clanging to the kitchen floor.
You groaned and squinted as you rose from your pillow, your cheek feeling hot where it was pressed against the crinkled fabric. You knew it was ungodly early, the sun wasn’t even out yet, but you glanced over at the alarm clock positioned on the bedside table beside you to confirm. And like you thought, the chunky digital numbers were indeed arranged in an order that meant way too fucking early.
You groan as you ease out of bed, your bare feet meeting the cold hardwood of your boyfriend’s bedroom and shiver as the cool air hits your bare legs. You decide to wrap his comforter around yourself for extra warmth, too sleepy to care about the sheets clinging and dragging behind you on the floor as you make your way down to the kitchen.
“Tuck,” your voice is hoarse and obviously displeased as you round the corner to find him peeling potatoes in the kitchen. “It’s four in the morning.”
“Allie texted at midnight telling me Dexter’s coming with, like, five friends now. I only prepped enough for half of our headcount.”
You make your way around the island to stand behind him and hug his back, your cheek pressed to his spine, feeling his shoulder blades move with each overly aggressive pass of the vegetable peeler. You close your eyes and try your best not to fall asleep standing up.
“I told you I would help you tomorrow, no one’s expecting you to do everything by yourself.” You can’t help the yawn that comes out of you.
“It is tomorrow already, sunshine.”
“It’s too early for semantics,” you murmur and feel his back rumble with the laugh you pull from him. You smile against the soft cotton of his shirt. “Just come back to bed, honey. I get you want everyone to have a good time tomorrow, but it shouldn’t cost you your own Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll have a good time when I know everyone else is having a good time.”
You sigh heavily, reluctantly unraveling yourself from around him. “Alright, I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” You wedge your body between him and the counter and he makes a sound of protest but lets you push him.
“Darlin’, please.” You shush him quietly, your hands sliding into his thick hair and watching his face immediately relax.
“C’mere,” you whisper, running your palms down his face to hold his cheeks and bring his lips to yours. It’s nice to know that even after all these years of you guys being together, you can still melt him with a simple touch.
You kiss him until his hands completely abandon his task and move to hold your hips over the comforter still wrapped around you, and once he’s distracted enough, you snatch the peeler he’d been using and abruptly pull away.
His mouth follows you and looks a bit dazed as he watches you walk away, but he soon realizes what you’ve done and chases after you. It’s too late, though. You’ve already opened the front door and chucked the kitchen utensil hard into the front yard, watching it disappear into some of the bushes.
You close the door and lean against it, smiling proudly at yourself as he gapes at you in disbelief.
“That was my only one.”
You shrug. “I’ll buy you another.” He blinks and continues to stare at the door like he can see past the wood.
“Now I won’t have enough to feed everyone tomorrow.
“Baby, you have enough to feed an army.” You walk back over to him, take his hand in yours, and guide him back up the steps. “Now, let’s go back to bed. And tomorrow, at a reasonable hour, I will help you cook.” He follows behind you, but his head keeps swiveling with each turn like he still can’t believe you threw out his only vegetable peeler.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
People start showing up at about two, despite Tucker’s instructions for Logan to tell everyone no earlier than three. The hockey house was full and crowded by two-thirty, and you could tell your boyfriend was getting close to his breaking point.
“Oh my god,” you hear him panic behind you. “I completely forgot about dessert.”
You rush over to him, shaking your head and take his hands in your own. “I made the desserts already, sweetheart. Last week. I took them out of the freezer to thaw in the back room.”
You had told him so a few days ago, but in the chaos of the last few hours, you weren’t surprised he forgot. He visibly deflated, giving your hands a squeeze in silent thanks, but before he can voice his appreciation, his eyes are catching on something behind you.
“Jules!” His sudden exclamation makes you jump a bit as he rushes over to the younger Logan sibling. “Put the damn marshmallows back!”
You spend the next few hours playing hostess, making sure everyone is generously liquored up in hopes they won’t complain too much about how long the food is taking. You try to split everyone up into equal groups, switching them every so often so the house doesn’t feel too full. There’s a group out back, the fire pit going and various chairs and blankets scattered around the yard. There’s a group in the living room, whom you did have to confiscate the remote from on multiple occasions when the channel kept getting changed from hockey to football.
And there was a very small group allowed in the kitchen, consisting of only Birdie, Logan, and only when supervised; Jules. You couldn’t fault the Logan’s, they hadn’t had many traditional family holidays, and therefore didn’t really understand the attention to detail Tucker possessed, but it was important to him, and so it was important to you. You wouldn’t allow anyone to ruin this for him.
You would be lying if you said you weren’t a tad overwhelmed, but it was in a good way. You worked well under pressure, in fact you liked it most times. Your house was always the hosting house; your mother ever the hostess. She would memorize the smallest things about her guests so they never had to ask for a thing. She knew how they took their water—how much ice, what type—and their favorite desserts so she could pull them out and surprise them. You’d felt first hand the joy of not only feeling wanted in someone’s space, but being known so intimately.
It was one of things that first attracted you to Tucker. He had always been a caring person, but he was at his best when he was hosting, and more importantly, feeding others. It made you so happy helping him do just that, and maybe even giving some of that love and care back to him when he’d let you.
You’d been together so long, the both of you worked together harmoniously, and often times communicated without a single word passing between you. You moved through the kitchen like it was a dance the both of you knew by heart, shuffling from counter to counter, or stove to oven and never bumping or even grazing each other.
Birdie and Logan did not have that sort of chemistry yet with Tucker. At least not in the kitchen. On the ice? The whole team seemed like one mind. But here, with several dishes cooking all at once, and Tucker barking out orders for things the other guys probably haven’t even heard of, it was not a very cohesive workspace.
Tucker was backing away from the stove carrying a pan of hot cranberry sauce and Birdie was taking the green bean casserole out of the oven when you noticed the possible collision. You jolted forward, steering Tucker just slightly to the left to avoid crashing into his teammate and likely spilling the boiling, cherry red sauce all over him.
“Okay!” You exclaimed sweetly, trying to distract from the stress. “Birdie, why don’t you grab a beer and go relax on the couch, I’ll keep an eye on the casserole.”
You don’t allow him to argue, you just guide him by the shoulders out into the living room and send him on his way with a beer in his hand.
The Logan’s sit at the island, mostly surveilling the scene, while you and Tuck move throughout the space with a practiced sort of ease. You hand him utensils you know he needs before he asks, and taste various sauces and things whenever he lifts a spoon out in your direction. And you don’t even really recognize you’re doing all of it without a single word exchanged between you two until Jules lets out a disbelieving sort of scoff.
“What?” Both you and your boyfriend ask at the same time.
The Logan siblings look to each other and then back at you, a knowing smirk pulling on their lips.
“Nothing,” they respond at the same time as well.
When everything is just about finished, you excuse yourself to change out of your cooking clothes and into something a tad nicer.
You opt for a simple red dress, one you’d worn on quite a few occasions, but it was one of your favorites, and your college budget didn’t exactly allow for variations of nice and new clothing.
As you made your way back downstairs, you could hear the chaos that had erupted in your absence.
“Tuck, I swear to god I didn’t do anything with them!”
“Yes you did, Jules. You’ve been attempting to swipe the marshmallows all night.”
Your eyes wander over towards the couch in the living room, finding a very guilty looking group consisting of Dexter and his friends, huddled around the “missing” bag of marshmallows.
You give them a look, but can’t completely hide your smile as you reach out for the bag and one of them reluctantly hands it over, their cheeks swollen with the gooey sweet.
“Look what I found,” you announce as you rejoin the group in the kitchen.
Your boyfriend’s eyes immediately soften at the sight of you and then again at the sight of you holding the marshmallows.
“Told you,” Jules mutters bitterly. You pat them on the shoulder.
“Alright. Everyone, outside. We’re gonna fry the turkey.”
Everyone rises from their spots to head out back, all muttering all different variations of, “finally.” You let everyone out the backdoor first before joining, but are halted by Tucker’s arm sliding around your waist.
“You look,” he pauses, his eyes raking down your form and back up again. There’s hunger in his eyes; the kind that never fails to bring heat to your cheeks. “Good enough to eat.”
You laugh and shove at him lightly, but he doesn’t let you go far.
“Still blushing, huh?” He teases you further, which only makes the situation worse. “After all this time. Good to know we still got it.”
“We’ve been together five years, not fifty.”
“I know.” He nods, his smile never softening. “But it’s five going on fifty. And someday we’re gonna be doing this with a house full of our kids, not just the overgrown babies of Briar.”
You giggle and lean in to kiss him, anticipating just a quick peck, but he wraps both arms around you to ensure you won’t be going anywhere and kisses you like he has all the time in the world. Like there isn’t a vat of hot oil bubbling in the backyard, or a group of thirty hungry people waiting impatiently.
When he pulls away, the both of you have goofy sort of smiles on your face, and you wipe at his lips to get some of your gloss off.
“Alright. Let’s go fry this bird.” He lets you go and leaves out the back door to join everyone else, but you stay where you are for a minute.
“Honey?” You call after him.
“Yeah?” He turns back to look at you still in the kitchen.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Your eyes flick back to the kitchen counter where said bird is still laying.
“Ah.” He walks back in, his cheeks a tad pink from embarrassment, and goes back for the turkey. “Thanks, baby.” He pecks you on the cheek once more on his way back by and enters the backyard to a chorus of pleased hollering.
“I hope you dried that bird off,” you yell out to him, though you get no response.
blurb: after a drunken confession gets misunderstood, tucker spends the next morning thinking he lost his chance before realizing you meant him all along.
warnings: 18+ mdni, fluff, drinking/intoxicated confession, misunderstanding, jealousy, lowkey possessive Tucker, explicit sexual content, oral sex, protected sex, praise, teasing, slight public-risk element because the boys are downstairs, language.
꒰১Taglist໒꒱ @littlemissclairebiggs
The problem with being drunk was that you had never been very good at lying when you were sober.
A few drinks only made it worse.
By the time the party had spilled from the living room into the kitchen and halfway down the hall, you were warm all over, curled into one corner of the couch with your legs tucked underneath you, laughing at something Dean had said that probably wasn’t as funny as he thought it was. He knew it, too. That was the problem with Dean. He didn’t need anyone to laugh at his jokes. He already found himself entertaining enough.
Hannah was beside you, shoulder bumping yours, her cheeks pink from the heat in the room. Allie stood near the arm of the couch with a red cup in her hand, watching Dean argue with Garrett over which one of them had worse taste in music.
“You can’t insult my playlist when you listen to old man rock during workouts,” Garrett said.
Dean looked offended. “Old man rock?”
“Your entire Spotify sounds like someone’s divorced uncle buying a motorcycle.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and Dean pointed at you like he had just won something.
“See? She gets it.”
“I’m not getting involved,” you said, even as you kept smiling.
“You already did.” Dean dropped onto the coffee table in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His attention shifting onto you was always dangerous. Dean with a target was impossible. “Actually, since you’re feeling honest tonight.”
“No.”
“I didn’t even ask yet.”
“That’s why I’m saying no early.”
Allie grinned. “Smart girl.”
Dean ignored her. “Out of everyone in this house, who would you hook up with?”
Garrett groaned from the kitchen doorway. “Don’t start.”
“I’m curious.”
“You’re nosy,” Hannah corrected.
“I contain multitudes.”
You pressed your cup to your mouth to hide your smile, but that only made Dean’s eyes narrow with interest. He knew weakness when he saw it. Worse, he could smell embarrassment from across a room.
“Oh, you have an answer.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.” He leaned closer. “Look at her face.”
“My face is normal.”
“Your face is guilty.”
“It is not.”
“It’s very guilty,” Allie said, not helping at all.
You gave her a betrayed look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am. I just also want to know.”
From the kitchen, Tucker moved quietly around the counter, gathering empty bottles and tossing them into a trash bag because, of course, he was cleaning during a party he didn’t even throw alone. That was Tucker. He did things without announcing them, without waiting for praise. He remembered who liked what, who needed water, who had left their jacket upstairs, who needed to be walked home before they got too drunk to text properly.
He was wearing a faded Briar T-shirt and jeans, hair a little mussed, mouth tipped in that quiet half smile he got when everyone else was being ridiculous. He looked over when your laughter rose, and for one second, his eyes caught yours.
Your stomach flipped, and you looked away too fast, fast enough that Dean noticed it, too.
“Oh,” he said.
You pointed at him. “No.”
“Oh, this is good.”
“Dean.”
“You looked at someone.”
“I looked at the room. That’s how eyes work.”
Garrett appeared behind him, instantly interested now that someone else was suffering. “Who did she look at?”
“No one,” you said.
Dean’s grin widened. “She has a crush.”
“I have patience,” you said. “And you’re testing it.”
That only made them laugh. Your face felt hot. The room felt even hotter, or maybe that was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that Tucker was still in the kitchen, close enough to hear pieces if he wanted to.
The worst part was that you did have a crush.
A soft, stupid, inconvenient crush on John Tucker that had started slowly and then gotten completely out of hand before you knew what to do with it. It was the way he listened. The way he made space for people without making them feel like a burden. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he was catching details no one else cared enough to notice.
The way he called you sweetheart in that warm voice and ruined your ability to think like a normal person.
Dean tapped your knee with two fingers. “Come on. We’ll be mature.”
Garrett snorted.
“We will not tell a soul,” Dean added.
“You’re literally asking in a living room full of people.”
“Fine. We’ll only tell a few souls.”
You should have kept your mouth shut. You really should have. But you were tipsy, and warm, and tired of pretending you didn’t glance toward the kitchen every time Tucker moved.
So you sank lower into the couch, smiled into your cup, and said, “John. Obviously.”
The reaction was immediate.
Dean sat up straight. Garrett made a noise like someone had handed him a gift. Allie’s brows shot up. Hannah blinked, then turned toward the kitchen, then back to you like she was putting something together too late.
And from somewhere near the hall, Logan looked over.
“Me?” he asked.
Your smile faltered.
Dean burst out laughing. “Logan?”
Garrett pointed at him. “Did not see that coming.”
Logan looked delighted and confused at the same time. “I mean, I’m flattered.”
You stared at him, trying to make the room slow down enough for your brain to catch up. “What?”
“You said John,” Dean said, like this explained everything.
“There are two Johns,” Hannah said carefully.
Dean waved that off. “Yeah, but nobody calls Tucker John.”
Your eyes shot to the kitchen.
Tucker had gone still with a bottle in his hand. Not dramatically. He didn’t freeze in the middle of the room or make some big scene. His posture barely changed, but you saw it because you were always looking at him more than you should have been. His shoulders set a little tighter. His mouth softened out of its smile.
Then he dropped the bottle into the trash bag and looked away.
Your stomach twisted.
“No,” you said, but it came out too soft under all the noise.
Logan raised both hands, grinning. “Hey, I’m not complaining.”
“You should be,” Garrett said. “This is the first time anyone’s ever chosen you while drunk and meant it.”
“Rude.”
Dean leaned back, laughing. “Well, this changes everything.”
“It changes nothing,” you said.
“Sounds like something a woman with a Logan crush would say.”
“I don’t have a Logan crush.”
Logan placed a hand over his chest. “Now that hurt.”
The room kept moving around you, loud and amused, everyone turning the moment into a joke before you could untangle it. You looked toward Tucker again, but he was already turning toward the fridge, pulling out a water bottle.
A minute later, he crossed the living room and handed it to you.
“Here,” he said.
Your fingers brushed his.
Even tipsy, even embarrassed, you could tell he was pulling himself back from you. Tucker was still being kind. Still careful. But there was distance in his expression now, a quietness that hadn’t been there before.
You held the bottle with both hands. “You’re mad at me.”
His gaze flicked over your face. “No, sweetheart.”
“You are.”
“I’m not mad.” His voice stayed gentle, which somehow made it worse. “Drink some water for me, all right?”
For me.
You wanted to grab onto the words and make them mean what you wanted. Instead, you twisted the cap off and took a sip.
Dean was still laughing with Garrett. Logan was still pretending to be smug. No one else noticed the way Tucker’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
You noticed.
Of course you noticed.
Later, when the party thinned and the floor felt a little less steady beneath your feet, Tucker was the one who found your jacket. He was the one who tugged it around your shoulders when you kept missing the sleeve. He was the one who crouched in front of you by the entryway, holding your shoe steady so you could slip your foot inside without tipping over.
“You don’t have to do all this,” you mumbled.
“I know.”
“You always do that.”
His hands paused at the laces. “Do what?”
“Take care of everybody.”
He tied the knot, then sat back on his heels and looked up at you. His face was softer from that angle, the party lights warm on his skin.
“Somebody’s gotta do it.”
You wanted to tell him that wasn’t why he did it. You wanted to tell him he took care of people because it was built into him, quiet and stubborn and good. You wanted to tell him you said John because you meant the one in front of you.
Instead, you touched his shoulder lightly and said, “I said John.”
Something shifted in his face.
“I know,” he said.
But he didn’t know. Not really.
And before you could make your mouth explain it properly, Hannah came over with your bag, and Tucker stood, and the moment slipped away into the cold night air.
He walked you home because he insisted, keeping his hands to himself except when you stumbled on the curb and he caught your elbow.
At your door, you looked up at him, still fuzzy and frustrated and aching with something you didn’t know how to name.
“Tuck.”
His eyes moved over your face.
“Get some sleep,” he said softly. “We’ll talk when you’re sober.”
Then he waited until you were inside before he left.
By morning, you had a headache, a dry mouth, and a terrible feeling that something had gone very wrong.
The Advil on your nightstand helped with the first two.
The third got worse when you checked your phone and found a text from Hannah.
hannah: before you panic, you didn’t do anything bad
hannah: but you may need to clarify something
you: oh god
hannah: yeah
You stared at the screen for a full minute, slowly remembering flashes of the night before. Dean being nosy. Allie laughing. Logan looking over.
John.
Obviously.
Your eyes closed.
“Oh no.”
By the time you made it back to the hockey house later that afternoon, your stomach was tied in knots. You had planned to talk to Tucker privately. That was the mature thing. The adult thing. The thing you were absolutely going to do as soon as you stopped wanting to walk into traffic.
Unfortunately, Dean opened the door.
His grin started before he even said hello.
“Well, well, well.”
“Don’t.”
He stepped aside to let you in. “Our girl returns.”
“I’m not your girl.”
“Logan’s girl, apparently.”
You stopped in the entryway. “I am going to kill everyone in this house.”
From the living room, Logan called, “Not me, I’m the victim.”
“You are not the victim.”
He appeared over the back of the couch, all lazy grin and bright eyes. “I had a beautiful woman confess her feelings and then immediately take it back. I’m wounded.”
“I didn’t confess my feelings to you.”
Garrett walked in from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal. “That’s not what we heard.”
You looked around, heat crawling up your neck. “Where’s Tucker?”
The room went a little too quiet.
That was when you realized he was standing at the far end of the hall, one hand on the laundry room door, his gaze fixed on you.
He had heard you.
Of course he had.
Dean, sensing blood in the water, leaned against the wall. “Why do you need Tucker? Thought you were here for your man John.”
“I was,” you snapped, then immediately wanted to disappear.
Logan’s grin dropped into open delight. Garrett choked on his cereal.
Tucker did not move.
Dean blinked. “Wait.”
You pressed your hands over your face. “I meant Tucker.”
Silence.
Then Logan said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“I meant Tucker,” you repeated, quieter this time, but clear enough that no one missed it. “Last night. When I said John. I meant John Tucker.”
Garrett started laughing first. Dean followed a second later, so loud and delighted you wanted to throw something at his head. Logan looked between you and Tucker, offended in the most dramatic way possible.
“So I was collateral damage?” Logan asked.
“Yes,” you said.
Dean clapped a hand over his mouth like he was trying and failing to control himself. “The wrong John got the ego boost.”
You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.
Tucker still hadn’t said anything.
His expression was unreadable in that quiet Tucker way, but his eyes were locked on you now. Not distant like last night. Not hurt. Careful, maybe. Like he was trying to decide whether he could believe what he had just heard.
The laughter around you faded into a dull buzz.
Then Tucker nodded once toward the hall.
“Come here a second?”
Your heart climbed into your throat.
Dean made a low, obnoxious sound, and Garrett slapped his arm.
“Shut up,” Garrett said, still smiling.
You walked past them without looking back.
Tucker led you down the hall, not touching you, and stopped just outside his room. The door was open behind him. You could see the navy comforter on his bed, a folded hoodie on the desk chair, a pair of sneakers lined neatly near the closet. Everything about it was so Tucker that your chest hurt.
He turned to face you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you said, “I’m sorry.”
His brows pulled together. “What are you sorry for?”
“For last night. For making it weird.”
“You didn’t make it weird.”
“Tucker.”
“All right,” he said, mouth twitching faintly. “Maybe a little weird.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. It came out nervous.
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” you said. “I thought it was obvious.”
“That you meant Logan?”
Your eyes widened. “No.”
“Because it sounded pretty obvious to everyone else.”
“That’s because everyone else is stupid.”
His smile showed for half a second, then faded into something softer. “You said John.”
“Your name is John.”
“Nobody calls me John.”
“I know.” You rubbed your palms against your jeans, hating how shy you suddenly felt. “That’s why I thought it would be obvious.”
Tucker stared at you.
Then he huffed a quiet laugh and looked down, shaking his head. “You’ve had a crush on me long enough to start using my government name?”
Your face went hot. “Don’t say it like that.”
“How should I say it?”
“You shouldn’t.”
He stepped a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough that you noticed. You noticed everything when it came to him.
“Were you serious?” he asked.
The teasing was gone now.
You swallowed. “Yes.”
His gaze searched yours. “You were pretty drunk.”
“I was tipsy.”
“You were drunk enough that Dean almost made sense.”
“That is not fair.”
“It’s a little fair.”
You smiled, but Tucker didn’t. Not really. His eyes stayed steady on your face, gentle and cautious in a way that made your heart squeeze.
“I’m not gonna do anything because of something you said last night,” he said. “Not unless I know you mean it now.”
Your breath caught.
Sweet, decent Tucker, making sure there was solid ground beneath both of you before he took a single step.
You looked at him and felt every bit of your embarrassment settle into something warmer.
“I mean it,” you said.
His jaw flexed.
“You sure?”
“I’m sober. I’m humiliated, but I’m sober.”
That got you another almost-smile.
“And you meant me?” he asked.
You tried to roll your eyes, but your voice came out softer than you wanted. “I said John.”
“There are two of us, sweetheart.”
“Yeah.” You held his gaze. “But there’s only one I wanted.”
The air between you changed.
It wasn’t loud or sudden. There was no dramatic shift, no big movement. Tucker just went very still, and for the first time since you had known him, you saw the restraint in him crack.
He stepped closer.
Not touching yet. Not quite.
“How long?” he asked.
You blinked. “What?”
“How long have you wanted me?”
You looked past him into his room, then back at his face. “A while.”
His eyes dipped to your mouth.
“I’ve been trying to be decent about it,” he said. “Thought I was doing a pretty good job until last night.”
“What happened last night?”
His mouth tilted, but there was still something bruised underneath it. “I had to listen to you say his name and pretend it didn’t bother me.”
You shook your head. “I said yours.”
Tucker’s hand lifted slowly, giving you time to move away. You didn’t. His fingers touched your jaw, warm and careful, his thumb brushing just beneath your cheek.
“Say it again.”
Your breath came in a little unsteady. “I meant you.”
His eyes held yours.
“Good,” he murmured.
Then he kissed you.
The first kiss was soft. Almost too soft. His mouth moved over yours like he was still asking, like he was giving you every chance to decide this wasn’t what you wanted after all.
You answered by fisting your hand in his shirt and pulling him closer.
The second kiss broke whatever careful thing he had been holding onto.
Tucker made a low sound against your mouth, one hand sliding to your waist as he stepped into you. Your back touched the doorframe. His body was warm and solid in front of yours, and the shock of finally having him this close went straight through you.
He kissed like he did everything else, steady until he wasn’t. Patient until he had a reason not to be. His hand held your waist, thumb pressing lightly through the fabric of your shirt, while the other tilted your face up for him.
When his mouth left yours, it only went as far as your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive place just below your ear.
“Tuck,” you breathed.
He paused.
The sound of his name seemed to do something to him. His fingers tightened at your waist, and his breath brushed hot against your skin.
“One more time,” he said.
You closed your eyes. “Tucker.”
He kissed your neck, slower now, open-mouthed and warm. Your knees weakened, and he noticed, of course he noticed, because his arm slid more firmly around you.
Behind you, the living room erupted in laughter over something completely unrelated, muffled by the hallway and the blood rushing in your ears.
Tucker lifted his head. His eyes had darkened, but his voice stayed low. “You want to stop?”
“No.”
“You want to go in?”
You nodded, then remembered he needed words. “Yes.”
His gaze softened for one brief second.
Then he reached past you, pushed his bedroom door open wider, and walked you backward inside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The sound was small, but it made your stomach tighten.
Tucker turned the lock, then faced you again. For a second, he just looked at you, like he was memorizing the sight of you standing in his room with kiss-swollen lips and nervous hands.
Then his eyes dropped to your mouth.
For a moment, he did not say anything. He just stood there with his hand still near the lock, jaw tight, chest rising a little too slow, like he was trying to decide how much restraint he had left.
Then he crossed the room.
You barely had time to breathe before his hands were on your waist and his mouth was on yours.
The kiss was not soft this time. It was deep, certain, his fingers pressing into your sides as he walked you backward toward the bed. You went with him, hands catching at his shoulders, your stomach flipping at the difference in him.
Tucker was always careful. Always steady.
Now he was steady in a way that felt dangerous.
Your legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he pulled back just enough to look at you.
“You meant me,” he said.
It was not really a question.
You swallowed. “Yes.”
His eyes moved over your face, then down to your mouth again.
“Good.”
Then he kissed you again.
His hands slid beneath your shirt, warm palms dragging up your bare skin. You shivered, and he noticed, but he did not stop to ask if you were cold. His mouth stayed on yours while his fingers curled into the hem.
“Arms up,” he murmured.
You obeyed before you could think better of it.
He pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion and tossed it aside. His eyes dropped to your chest, still covered by your bra, and the way he looked at you made your face warm.
Not because he looked shocked.
Because he looked focused.
Like every second of holding back had led him here.
“Tucker,” you whispered.
His gaze came back to yours. “Don’t get shy on me now.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” His thumb brushed over your ribs, just beneath the band of your bra. “But you don’t have to be.”
He reached behind you and unclasped it. The straps slipped down your arms, and he pulled it away slowly, adding it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.
You were bare from the waist up now, standing in front of him in only your jeans, and Tucker went quiet again.
“You’re staring,” you said, but your voice came out weaker than you wanted.
“I know.”
Your breath caught.
His mouth came back to your neck, then lower, open and warm over your collarbone. His hands held your waist as he kissed down your chest, taking his time with you in a way that made your knees feel unreliable.
You gripped his shoulders.
He smiled against your skin. “You wanted me quiet and sweet?”
“No.”
His mouth brushed over your breast, and your answer broke into a gasp.
“No?” he repeated.
You shook your head, fingers tightening in his shirt. “No.”
“Good.” He lifted his head. “Because I’m not feeling very sweet right now.”
The words sent heat straight through you.
You reached for his shirt, impatient now, tugging at the fabric. Tucker let you pull it up, then took over when your hands got clumsy. His shirt came off and landed somewhere near yours.
For one second, you forgot how to move.
He was all warm skin and hard muscle beneath your hands, his stomach tightening when your fingers dragged down the center of his chest. You had seen him shirtless before. Everyone had. But not like this. Not with his mouth still swollen from kissing you and his eyes fixed on yours like he wanted to watch you realize exactly what you had asked for.
Your hands went to his belt.
He caught your wrist before you could open it.
“Not yet.”
Your pulse jumped.
He sat you down on the edge of the bed, then dropped to his knees in front of you. His hands moved to the button of your jeans.
He opened them, dragged the zipper down, and pulled the denim over your hips. You lifted yourself enough to help, and he slid them down your legs. He pulled off one shoe, then the other, then removed your jeans completely and dropped them beside the bed.
You were left in your underwear.
Tucker’s hands settled on your knees.
He spread them apart slowly.
Your stomach tightened at the look on his face.
“There,” he said, voice low. “That’s better.”
Your fingers twisted in the comforter. “You’re being very smug.”
His hand slid up your thigh, his thumb pressing into the soft skin there.
“I spent too long pretending I didn’t want this,” he said. “I’m not pretending anymore.”
You reached for him, but he pushed your hand gently back to the mattress.
“Tuck.”
His eyes lifted.
“Say it again.”
You knew what he meant.
“Tucker.”
The tension in his face shifted into something darker.
He leaned in and kissed the inside of your thigh.
“Again.”
“Tucker.”
His mouth moved higher.
You sucked in a breath when his fingers hooked into your underwear.
He pulled them down slowly, eyes on yours until they passed your knees. Then he took them off completely and tossed them onto the floor with the rest of your clothes.
Now you were naked on the edge of his bed, and he was still kneeling in front of you in only his jeans.
The imbalance of it made your whole body burn.
Tucker noticed.
Of course he did.
His hands slid up your thighs, firm and warm, spreading you open again when your legs tried to close.
“Don’t hide.”
The words were quiet, but there was no uncertainty in them.
You let your knees fall apart.
His eyes dropped.
A rough breath left him.
Then he leaned in and put his mouth on you.
Your back arched instantly, one hand flying to his hair, the other gripping the sheets. Tucker’s hands locked around your thighs, holding you open as he licked into you with none of the hesitation he’d shown at the door. He was still controlled, still Tucker, but this was a different kind of control. The kind that let him take his time because he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Tucker,” you gasped.
He hummed against you, and the vibration made your hips jerk.
His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you where he wanted you.
“That’s it,” he murmured, mouth brushing against you. “That’s what I want to hear.”
You barely had time to process the words before his mouth returned.
He figured you out fast. What made your legs tremble, what stole your breath, what had you clutching his hair and murmuring his name like nothing else mattered.
When you tried to muffle yourself with your hand, he stopped just long enough to reach up and pull it away.
“No.”
You blinked down at him, dizzy. “They’ll hear.”
His thumb stroked over your wrist once before he pinned your hand gently to the mattress.
“Then they’ll know.”
Your body reacted before you could stop it, clenching around nothing, and Tucker saw it. His eyes darkened, mouth curving slightly before he lowered his head again.
This time, he added his fingers.
You cried out before you could catch it.
“There,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction.
He worked you with his mouth and hand until the room blurred at the edges, until the noise downstairs faded into nothing but a distant hum. He did not need to keep bringing up the mistake. The possessiveness was in the way he held you open, in the way he dragged your sounds out of you, in the way his eyes lifted every time you said his name.
You were close too quickly.
Tucker knew that too.
He curled his fingers, and your whole body tightened.
“Tuck,” you gasped.
He looked up at you.
“Come for me.”
You did.
It hit hard, rushing through you in a wave that made your thighs tremble around his shoulders. Tucker did not stop until you were shaking, until your hand had gone loose in his hair and your breathing had turned uneven.
Only then did he ease back.
He kissed your thigh once, slower now, almost gentle.
Then he stood.
You watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and the sight made heat bloom in you all over again.
His eyes stayed on yours as he undid his belt.
The buckle opened. Then the button. Then the zipper.
He pushed his jeans down his hips, taking his boxers with them, and kicked both aside. Now there was nothing between you except the few inches of space he crossed when he leaned over you again.
You reached for him, wrapping a hand around him, and Tucker’s breath caught hard.
His head dipped, mouth brushing your shoulder.
“Easy,” he said, voice strained.
You moved your hand again, slower this time, learning the weight and heat of him.
His hips pressed forward into your touch before he caught himself.
“Sweetheart.”
You liked how wrecked he sounded.
You did it again.
This time, his hand covered yours, stilling you.
“Condom,” he said, rough and breathless.
Even now, worked up and possessive and looking at you like he wanted to forget the rest of the house existed, Tucker remembered.
He reached over to the nightstand, yanked the drawer open, and pulled one out. The wrapper tore between his fingers, and you watched him roll it on, your mouth dry, your whole body aching.
When he looked back at you, something in his expression softened for half a second.
Then he moved over you.
He guided you farther up the mattress, settling between your thighs as you lay back beneath him. His body covered yours, warm and solid, one hand braced beside your head while the other hooked under your knee and pulled your leg higher around his waist.
The first press of him against you made you gasp.
Tucker’s eyes stayed on yours.
“You still want me?” he asked, quiet but direct.
“Yes.”
“Say my name.”
“Tucker.”
He pushed into you slowly.
Your mouth fell open, and no sound came out at first. The stretch was full and deep, enough that your fingers dug into his shoulders. Tucker moved inch by inch, jaw clenched, his breathing rough against your cheek.
When he was finally inside you completely, he stopped.
The pause made everything sharper. The weight of him. The feel of him. The way his hand held your thigh up against his side.
You wrapped your other leg around his waist.
“Move.”
His eyes flashed.
The first thrust was slow, deep, dragging the breath from your lungs. The second was firmer. By the third, your nails were in his back and his mouth was against your neck, breathing hard as he found a rhythm that made your thoughts scatter.
This was not soft, not exactly.
It was intimate because it was Tucker. Because he watched you. Because his hand slid under your back to hold you closer. Because every time your breathing changed, he noticed.
But it was rougher than you expected from him. More possessive. His hips drove into yours with a steady, controlled force, his hand firm on your thigh, keeping you open for him. His mouth moved against your jaw, your throat, your lips, like he could not decide where he wanted to claim you most.
“You feel that?” he murmured, voice low against your ear. “That’s what you do to me.”
You moaned, and his pace deepened.
His hand came to your jaw when you turned your face into his shoulder, guiding you back to him.
“No hiding from me.”
“They’ll hear.”
His eyes held yours.
“Let them.”
Your body clenched around him.
A rough sound left his throat, his forehead dropping near yours.
“You liked that,” he breathed.
You could not deny it. Not with him still inside you. Not with his hand on your face and his hips pressed tight to yours.
So you whispered, “Maybe.”
His mouth curved.
Then he moved again, slower this time, deeper, making your back arch.
“Good,” he said. “Then let me hear you.”
His name slipped out louder this time, and Tucker rewarded it with a thrust that made your legs tighten around him. He kept that rhythm, deep and deliberate, his hand sliding between your bodies to touch you where you were still sensitive from his mouth.
The pleasure sparked fast.
“Tuck.”
“I’ve got you.”
His fingers moved in time with his hips, and suddenly you were right there again, clinging to him, breathing his name against his mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Come on, sweetheart.”
You came hard, your whole body tightening around him, a broken sound leaving you as he held you through it. Tucker cursed softly, his rhythm faltering, his face burying against your neck.
A few thrusts later, he followed, pressing deep as his body went tense over yours.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
You could feel his heartbeat against your chest. His breathing was uneven, his hand still curled around your thigh, but the roughness in him had gone quiet.
He kissed your shoulder, then your cheek.
“You okay?” he asked, softer now.
You opened your eyes and found him watching you, warm and serious beneath the mess of his hair.
“Very okay.”
“Good.”
He kissed you once, slow and careful, then eased out of you. He disappeared only long enough to take care of the condom, then came back with tissues, a bottle of water, and one of his shirts.
You sat up, still unsteady, and he helped clean you up without making a big deal of it. Then he slipped the shirt over your head, pulling it down around your thighs.
From downstairs, Logan’s voice carried faintly through the floor.
“Tell her I forgive her!”
You covered your face. “Oh my god.”
Tucker laughed quietly and pulled you into his side.
“Don’t worry,” he said, kissing your hair. “I’ll handle him.”
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Summary: Will presents the idea to go to the local cafe, which turns into lowkey people watching and intense debates.
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings: language, blue eyes, Will's biceps
Will launches onto the bed, causing you to drop the book in your hand and, ultimately, your spot.
A nervous smile crosses his face, genuine regret in it. “Sorry, baby.”
You sigh lightly, picking it up, and thumb through the pages until you reach the one you were on. Luckily, you just glimpsed at the number, mostly so you could figure out how many more pages you got with these characters. You file the random piece of paper between the pages and close it shut.
Will’s now gazing at you intently, softly, the blue in his eyes sparkled from the light gleaming through the window and semi-sheer curtains. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread on your lips. You could sense he was gauging your mood, a question on the tip of his tongue.
“You want to ask something, don’t you? I can sense it.”
He giggles under his breath, breaking eye contact, and readjusts his backward baseball cap; his hair grew out a little from the season, so it was much fluffier underneath. Damn he looks good.
“The coffee shop nearby? Sit there for a bit?”
You bite your lip. A well made hot drink did sound undeniably great right now. “Yeah, sure.”
***
The two of you settle at one of the few bistro tables outside. It’s a little breezy, a beautiful 60s temperature; it was considered cold for Cali. Will takes the lid off his tea and brings it to his lips to blow on it. His gaze wasn’t on the liquid, his eyes peered over it at the surroundings.
Ah, the real reason he wants to be here.
“Don’t be so obvious over there,” you muse, taking the lid off your own drink. Then you pull out the banana bread he insisted on getting to share and split it in half, centering it on the table.
His smile is jubilant with a hint of deviousness. “Quiet. Why’d you bring the book? I know you’re not about to read it.”
You roll your eyes, though a rush of heat floods your cheeks; he knows you too well, more than you know yourself. Rather than dignifying it with a verbal response, you break off a piece of your half and stuff it into your mouth.
A man who looked to be in his 30s came striding by, dressed in a full navy suit and a gray thicker-than-necessary long coat, on the phone for what sounded like a serious deal. He did have a leather satchel thrown over his shoulder so that indicated to you he’s probably a CEO or lawyer. Or a wannabe trust fund kid. You snort at the thought of him actually talking to a finance bro about bitcoin and NFTs.
“Get a load of that guy,” Will scoffs, gesturing at the guy after he disappeared into the shop. “His outfit looks ridiculous.”
“What do you mean? You wear those exact getups on game day.” You raise both brows at him.
He playfully rolls his eyes. “I know. But I mean… He’s just all business and gives off that I'm an important rich person. Get out of my way everyone.”
“You're an important rich person.” You couldn’t resist pointing it out to tease. You giggle under your breath when he sends a small glare, though it didn’t last long. “Would it help if I added that you look very handsome when you’re all dolled up?”
A rosy hue appears in his cheeks. “Yeah, well…” He takes a sip of his tea before placing the lid on it again.
Two girls deep in conversation walk by, both dressed in alternative clothing. Black fishnets, cut off shorts, baggy cargo pants, long sleeve graphic tees. At least, what most would consider alternative, however one of them is wearing platform crocs and that was a choice. The style itself was fine, the shoe choice is what lowkey engrained on you. It shouldn’t however, other random people’s choices are lowkey none of your business.
“Just say it,” Will teases. “It’s your turn to sound like an ass.”
You shake your head. “Nope.”
He reaches across to poke your arm. “Come on, babe.”
Your lips press in a firm line, then you huff. “Those platform crocs are… insane. An actual choice she made. Everything else was cute and she’s pretty. Just…”
“Doesn’t your best friend, (name), have crocs?” He peels off a piece of bread and tosses it into his mouth.
You groan. “Yes, don’t remind me. We’ve already had a serious conversation about her sanity. A genuine mid-life crisis after the breakup.”
Now pity creases his expression. “Right, kinda forgot about that. But, she can’t be having a mid-life crisis in her early 20s.”
“Why not?” you scoff, shoving the last of the treat into your mouth and wipe off your hands. “I don’t think there’s an age restriction against it, babe.”
He looks at you incredulously, as if you said the most offensive thing imaginable. His hands make appointive gestures as he speaks, “(y/n), it’s mid-life. Mid-life implies the middle of a person’s life. Unless she’s planning to die in her 40s…” He takes in a breath between clenched teeth. “Okay, sorry, that got dark. But you know what I mean.”
“Will, to us women, and probably other men, mid-life crisis is just a placeholder for a huge breakdown and losing our sanity for a while, do something crazy that’s out of the ordinary.”
He makes a clicking sound, shaking his head. “Nooo.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutey not.”
“Mmhm. It is.”
“I refuse to believe it.” He crosses his arms, bulking up his biceps underneath the fabric of his long sleeve. Distracting you temporarily before you remember what you’re debating about.
“Babe, you’re so fucking stubborn.” You pull out your favorite lip balm and lather it around on your lips before rubbing them together. You notice Will no-so-subtly staring at your mouth, his lips parting just slightly.
He readjusts himself in the chair, clearing his throat. “This isn’t me being stubborn. It’s just facts.”
“Okay, Mr. Suitman,” you mock in a deeper tone.
Will tries to hide the smile that cracked with his hand.
The two of you enjoy another half hour or so of sitting at the table, talking about random items in your vicinity. It was pleasant, adding to the beautiful mid November day. On top of that, Will’s cream sweater makes you so giddy because he’s just a cuddly teddy bear. Eventually, you toss your trash into their respectable bins and hold hands with Will as you trail back towards the apartment.
“Babe, you can have a great idea sometimes,” you remark, bumping your arm into his.
Keeping your fingers laced with his, he wraps his arm around your shoulders and places a kiss on your cheek.
You smile into his touch. “See? Good idea.”
“I’m gonna try to not be offended by that.”
“They’re usually better than Mack’s. He’s never allowed to plan an outing again.”
He chuckles. “He would have a mid-life crisis if you told him that. Might screw up his game.”
You smirk, knowing he finally let you have that win. Mack was a year younger than you guys, and sightly less composed than Will at times. “Hmm… Definitely worse than buying a pair of crocs.”
“Far worse.” He pauses momentarily, a devilish grin crossing his face. “Should we tell him?”
-18+, arranged marriage, forced proximity!!!, husband!aerion loves pussy, controlling behavior, power imbalance, dornish/targaryen political tension, apology through sexual intimacy, oral f receiving, cum eating, aerion begging, dubcon-ish, no full intercourse!!
aerion targaryen had not wanted a martell bride, that was the simple truth of it.
when the match had first been proposed, he had regarded it as what it was, another arrangement crafted by older, wiser people who believed they knew what was best for the realm.
best for him.
he remembered standing beside a window overlooking blackwater bay when the news had been delivered. "a princess of dorne?" he had said flatly.
his father had given him a look. "a beautiful princess of dorne."
"i do not particularly care." and at the time, he had meant it, or at least he had thought he did.
then he met you and, unfortunately for aerion, everything became much more difficult, because you were beautiful, not merely beautiful in the way courtiers described ladies to secure favor, you were genuinely, devastatingly beautiful.
you were kind.
gods, he hated how much he liked that. your confidence, your sweetness, your fire…
the trouble began when they were forced to spend time together, before marriage there had been dinners, walks, appearances and conversations neither of you could reasonably escape.
at first aerion had expected them to be tedious, instead he discovered that you were clever. you challenged him, argued with him and even laughed at him. the first time you laughed directly at one of his dramatic declarations, he had stared at you in complete disbelief. "how dare you laugh."
"because you sound absurd!!”
aerion's jaw tightened at your insolence, but something in him stirred at the sight of your unapologetic smile. no one- no one- dared speak to a targaryen so, let alone laugh at their pronouncements.
"you find me absurd?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
"i find your declaration that 'all lesser houses should bow before the might of dragons' rather theatrical for a supper conversation," you replied, taking a sip of wine. "especially when the only dragon present is the one carved into your knife handle."
he stared at you, speechless for a moment. the courtiers nearby had gone silent, their eyes darting between you both like spectators at a tourney.
"you walk a dangerous line, princess," aerion finally managed, though he couldn't keep the faint hint of amusement from his voice.
“and i must admit, your family's reputation precedes you." you said with a shrug.
a flicker of his old arrogance returned. "as it should."
"as it should," you agreed, much to his surprise. "but reputations are often exaggerated. i prefer to judge people by their actions rather than their bloodlines."
"and what have my actions told you so far?"
"that you enjoy being admired," you said thoughtfully. "that you're accustomed to getting what you want. and that beneath all that targaryen pride, there's a man who doesn't particularly enjoy being laughed at."
he leaned forward, "and what else have you discovered?"
"that you're lonely," you said simply.
his immediate instinct was to deny it, to push back with some cutting remark about dornish impertinence, but the truth of your statement left him momentarily defenseless. "i have a family," he said finally. "a dynasty."
"a family is not the same as companionship," you replied, your voice softer now. "a dynasty is a burden. a companion is a choice."
the evening ended with an unspoken understanding between you. as you parted ways, aerion found himself watching you retreat, the sway of your dark hair against your vibrant silks, the confidence in your stride. he had come to this marriage expecting to endure it, to fulfill his duty and nothing more.
now, for the first time, he wondered if duty might not be such a burden after all.
then came marriage and forced proximity finished what attraction had started because now you were everywhere.
at breakfast.
at supper.
reading by the window.
laughing with your ladies.
sleeping beside him….
the chambers that had once belonged solely to aerion suddenly felt empty whenever you left them. you had somehow become part of every routine, and months later, the transformation was complete. aerion adored you. there was no point denying it anymore, the servants knew, everyone with eyes knew, he followed you around the red keep whenever possible.
if you entered a room, somehow aerion appeared shortly afterward, if you mentioned liking something once, it mysteriously arrived days later.
flowers. spices. books. rare dornish wines.
anything.
everything.
the greatest shock, however, was how gentle he became with you…true, aerion targaryen would never be soft, but he was gentle. his hand always found the small of your back, he noticed when you were tired, when you were cold, when court became too much. it was as though he had developed an awareness of you that bordered on obsession.
yours and his first major argument had been simmering for days. you wanted to visit your family in dorne for the harvest festival- a reasonable request, in your estimation. aerion, however, saw it differently.
"you are my wife," he'd stated, his voice dangerously quiet. "your place is here. with me."
"and i am your wife, not your prisoner," you'd retorted, "i have not seen my siblings in nearly a year. my mother sent a raven specifically requesting my presence."
that night in your chambers, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. you stood by the hearth, arms crossed, while he paced before you like a caged dragon.
"it is not safe," he insisted. "the roads are perilous this time of year. and i do not trust dornish hospitality toward a targaryen princess."
"my family would never harm me," you said, exasperated. "this is not about safety. this is about control."
he stopped pacing and faced you, his eyes blazing. "i have given you everything- books, wines, silks from across the narrow sea. is that not enough? must you always test the limits of my generosity?"
"generosity?" you laughed without humor. "you give me trinkets while denying me the one thing i truly want- a connection to my home, my family. these gifts are chains, aerion. beautiful, expensive chains."
“you will not go and that is final.”
the finality in his tone was absolute, a royal command that brooked no argument. he stood before you, not as the gentle man who brought you rare wines, but as the targaryen prince who expected obedience.
for a long moment, you said nothing. you simply looked at him.
"very well, husband," you said, your voice dangerously soft. you turned away from him and walked to the window, gazing out at the darkened gardens of the red keep. "as you have commanded me."
a flicker of triumph crossed his face, quickly replaced by confusion. this was too easy. he had expected tears, pleading, another sharp retort. he had not expected this quiet, hollow acceptance.
"good," he said, his voice gruff. "it is for your own protection."
you didn't turn around. "of course. everything is for my own good. i am a fragile thing, after all. a targaryen princess who must be kept in a gilded cage, lest i break."
the sarcasm in your tone was a subtle poison. he took a step toward you. "that is not what i meant."
"isn't it?" you finally turned, your face a mask of serene indifference that was more cutting than any glare could have been. "you do not trust me. you do not trust my family. you do not trust my judgment. you only trust your own will."
you walked past him toward the adjoining dressing chamber.
"where are you going?" he demanded, his voice tight.
"to bed," you replied without looking back. "alone. i find i am not in the mood for company tonight."
you disappeared behind the screen, leaving him standing alone in the grand chamber. the silence that fell was heavier than any shouted words.
he stood there for a long time, the silence in the chambers growing heavier with each passing moment. the victory felt sour, hollow. he had won the argument, but in doing so, he had lost something far more valuable. the rooms, once filled with your vibrant presence, now felt cavernous and cold. the fire crackled, but it offered no warmth.
an hour passed.
the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting silver shadows across the rugs. he could not sleep. he could not think. all he could do was feel the vast, empty space you had left beside him. he was a dragon prince, heir to a dynasty, and he was being tormented by the absence of his wife.
finally, with a low growl of frustration, he pushed himself away from the chair and strode toward the dressing chamber. he didn't bother to knock. he threw the door open with enough force to make it slam against the stone wall.
you were curled up on your side in the smaller, simpler bed, facing away from the door. the room was dark, save for a single candle burning low on a table. you didn't startle at the intrusion. you didn't even move. you had been expecting him.
"get up," his voice was a low command, rough with exhaustion and anger.
you remained still, your breathing even. "i am comfortable here."
"i did not ask for your comfort. i gave you an order," he said, taking a menacing step into the room. "you will not sleep in here like a scorned servant. you are my wife. you will sleep in my bed."
slowly, you rolled over to face him. your face was illuminated by the flickering candlelight, serene and utterly devoid of the passion he so often provoked in you. "i am obeying your command, husband. you commanded i not go to dorne. you commanded i stay here. i am staying here. is this not what you wanted?"
his jaw tightened. "you know what i meant. do not play these games with me."
"i am not playing a game," you said, your voice quiet but clear. "you made it clear that my will, my desires, my home- they mean nothing. you have decided what is best for me. so i have decided what is best for me tonight. and that is to sleep alone."
the calmness of your response was infuriating he had not expected this quiet, unassailable wall of indifference. it was a rejection far more profound than any shouted insult could ever be.
he crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not bruising. "i will not be made a fool in my own home. you will come with me now."
you allowed him to pull you to a sitting position, your body pliant, but your eyes remained locked on his, filled with a chilling resolve. "drag me if you must, husband," you said softly. "force me back to the bed you wish to share. but know this. you can command my body to be there, but you cannot command my heart to follow."
his grip on your arm loosened. he looked down at you, at the woman he adored, who was now looking at him with the weary resignation of a prisoner.
he stood there, torn between the urge to throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to bed or leave you be.
"it was not my intent to make you angry with me." he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.
it was a pathetic attempt at an apology. he wasn't truly sorry about the slight, just sorry that you were upset, and you knew it.
"i am not in the mood for your excuses, aerion," you replied.
the thought of sleeping apart- of a night without your warmth, your scent, your skin pressed against his- was unbearable.
"please," he breathed, reaching out to gently take your hand. he pressed his lips to your knuckles, kissing them with a reverence that made his usual arrogance seem distant.
the targaryen pride that usually demanded submission from others suddenly bent its spine for you. he released your hand and dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor of the chambers, the silence of the castle amplifying the sound.
he reached for the hem of your sleeping gown, his hands shaking slightly as he worked the silk upward, exposing your legs to the golden glow of the firelight. aerion didn't waste a moment, he pressed his lips to the inside of your knee, his mouth hot and eager against your skin.
he worked his way down slowly, kissing his way along your calf, his tongue darting out to trace the path, his breathing growing heavier. he reached your ankle and gently kissed your bare foot.
"lay back, my darling," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing the boyish panic for a more settled, desperate need.
you obeyed, sinking into the softness of the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin. "you are not to make love to me tonight," you reminded him, your voice breathless as he settled between your spread thighs.
he froze, his mouth hovering just above your skin, his breath warm against your inner thigh. the command was a stone wall thrown up in the middle of his desperate supplication. for a moment, the arrogant prince warred with the pleading man. he had come here to conquer this silence, to erase the distance with the one language he knew you both spoke fluently. to be denied it now, when he was on his knees, was a humiliation he hadn't anticipated.
he lifted his head, his eyes locking with yours in the dim light. they were dark with a mixture of frustration and a raw, aching need. "you would punish me so?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "you would have me worship you and then be denied?"
"i would have you understand," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. "you cannot buy my forgiveness with pleasure. you cannot command my affection with your hands or your mouth. you denied me my will. tonight, you will be denied yours."
he stared at you, and you saw the moment he understood. this was not just about sleeping arrangements. this was about power, about respect, about the very foundation of the strange, fierce love you had built. he had tried to wield his authority like a sword, and you had just turned it back on him, showing him its edge.
slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head again.
for a long moment, he remained perfectly still, his forehead pressed against your thigh, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. then, slowly, as if testing the boundaries of his new submission, he turned his head. his lips, soft and reverent, brushed against your inner thigh, a question asked without words.
when you did not pull away, he grew bolder. his kisses became open-mouthed, his tongue tracing lazy circles against your skin, tasting the salt of you. he was worshiping, just as he had promised, but with a new, desperate humility. his hands, which had been clenched at his sides, came up to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there, a silent plea for permission.
"let me," he breathed against your skin, his voice thick with a need that went far beyond the physical. "let me show you."
you remained silent, your body still, but you did not stop him. that was all the encouragement he needed. he shifted, settling more comfortably between your thighs, his shoulders pushing them wider. the firelight gilded the white-silver of his hair as he lowered his head, and then his mouth was on you.
there was nothing hesitant about it.
it was a hungry and desperate.
aerion targaryen, the proud prince, was a man starved, and you were his feast. his tongue flattened against your folds, a broad, firm stroke that made your back arch off the bed. a soft gasp escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't contain. he heard it, and a low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive flesh.
"gods, you taste like honeyed syrup," he slurred, his words muffled against your cunt. he was messy, unrefined, his usual aristocratic grace completely abandoned. he ate you like a man dying of thirst, his tongue delving inside you, fucking you with it before moving up to circle your clit with a devastating precision.
he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked, hard. your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands, holding him to you. he took it as encouragement, his enthusiasm redoubling. he alternated between sucking and flicking his tongue rapidly against you, one of his hands moving from your hip to slide two fingers inside you.
"is this for me?" he growled, pumping his fingers in and out of your slick heat, his mouth never ceasing its assault. "this sweet, perfect cunt? all for me, my love?"
you could only whimper in response, your hips rocking against his face, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly giving.
he was a mess, his face slick with your arousal, his chin dripping. he looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and adoration, and the sight of him- your proud husband on his knees, his face buried in your cunt, worshiping you with his entire being- sent a bolt of pure ecstasy through you.
"that's it, my darling," he coaxed, his voice a husky whisper. "let me taste you. give me your forgiveness, pretty girl."
he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made your vision white out, and sealed his mouth over your clit, sucking with a relentless, rhythmic pressure.
“please? please?…” he continued to beg, his voice sounding whinier and whinier. "sleep with me in bed, come back to me..."
the tension that had been coiling in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. you cried out his name, your body convulsing, your thighs clamping around his head as you came.
he stayed with you through it all, his tongue lapping gently, his fingers stilling inside you as you shuddered through the aftershocks. when you finally went limp against the sheets, he gently withdrew his fingers and placed one last, lingering kiss on your swollen, sensitive flesh.
he crawled up your body, not to lie beside you, but to hover over you, his arms braced on either side of your head. he didn't try to kiss your lips. instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling slightly. he was still hard, a testament to his own desire, but he made no move to seek his own release.
"i am asking for forgiveness" he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse, “i am regretful, my love.” it was different from his earlier attempt. this was not an excuse. it was a true apology of a sort, stripped of all pride, offered in the aftermath of his complete surrender. "not for making you angry. for taking your will."
he lifted his head, his face still glistening with your essence, his dark eyes searching yours. "i will spend the rest of my nights proving my respect to you, if you will let me."
aerion looked at you as though you had hung the stars over king's landing with your own hands and perhaps, in his mind, you had.
his beautiful martell princess with your warm smile and clever tongue and impossible ability to make him love you- aerion targaryen had long since discovered there was only one thing he could never bear losing.
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Reader
Rating: PG. Fluff. Rich boy problems 💔
Words: 549
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“Take it,” Dean had insisted before the event, sliding his credit card across your dorm room desk. “Loads of people are going to want me, but I don’t want anyone but my girl winning.”
You had known he was right to be this cocky, but part of you knew he could do with a little humbling.
“Spend whatever it takes,” he continued.
‘Whatever it takes,’ you had echoed in your head.
You had then smiled at him, pocketing the card with a devious plan already forming in your mind.
Now, the athletics department’s annual charity-date-auction was in full swing. Every single hockey player that had stepped on stage was met with excited screams, and people were spending a lot. You were sitting in the middle row, casually sipping your drink when the host called out the next name.
“Up next, we have senior defenseman, Dean Di Laurentis!”
The room broke out into cheers again. Dean stepped out from behind the curtains and onto the stage, his walk dripping with confidence. He was wearing a tailored suit that probably cost more than your tuition.
Hands casually tucked into his pockets; his eyes scanned the crowd until they locked onto you. He gave you a confident wink. ‘The fool,’ you giggled to yourself.
“Let’s start the bidding at a hundred dollars,” the auctioneer said.
Paddles shot into the air instantly and the numbers climbed rapidly. Five hundred. Eight hundred. One thousand. One of the puck bunnies in the front row aggressively shouted out, “fifteen hundred!”
Dean didn’t even blink. He just looked at you, tilting his head toward the stage as if to say, well, what are you waiting for?
You grinned, lifted up your paddle, and called out, “two thousand!”
Dean’s smile widened. But the bunny in the front row wasn’t backing down, as you knew she wouldn’t. “Two thousand, five hundred!”
Dean looked at you again, waiting for you to shout a higher number. Instead, you slowly lowered your paddle, pouting and pretending to look defeated. Dean’s jaw dropped. His eyes widening in panic.
“Twenty-five hundred going once, going twice... sold to the front row,” the auctioneer said as he banged the gavel.
Dean was ushered off the stage by a very smug-looking puck bunny. He glared at you the entire way off, but you weren’t done yet. Two people later, the team captain stepped into the spotlight.
“Up next, team captain Garrett Graham!”
Unsurprisingly, the crowd went wild. The auctioneer had barely gotten his sentence out before you raised your paddle high.
“Five thousand dollars!” you shouted clearly.
The entire auditorium went silent. Up on stage, Garrett choked on his own spit, his head snapping toward you in complete disbelief. Behind the curtains, you could see Dean poking his head out, his face a mixture of betrayal and horror.
“F-five thousand?” the auctioneer stammered, looking around the stunned room before composing himself. “Going once... twice... Sold to the middle row!”
As you walked down the aisle to collect your date voucher, Dean intercepted you in the hallway, “Graham?! You brought Graham?” he gasped, pointing a finger at his captain. “With my card?”
You patted his cheek. “It’s for charity, sweetheart. Besides, Garrett promised to teach me some basic hockey moves. You can tag along if you’re any good.”
💭: LOVED doing Dean for this one, felt so right hahaha! if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc, it means a lot xx
Summary: With Valentine’s Day around the corner the girls are talking about their plans with their mans. You are planning to spend another Valentine’s Day single… Right?
Pairing: John Tucker x Oblivious!Reader
Warning: None. Reader is just a lil naive
Note: This is an actual story based off my friend. I’ve officially now posted a fic for every boy except Beau. I need to hop on that if anyone has suggestions for him or even Justin? Hope y’all enjoy 🫶
The living room rug was a disaster zone of pink felt, glitter glue, and half-empty wine glasses.
"I'm just saying," Allie said, holding up a crookedly cut paper heart, "if Dean thinks he's getting away with just a reservation this year, he’s sorely mistaken. I want the whole cliché. Flowers. Chocolates. The works."
"Garrett already hinted he bought something," Hannah laughed, taking a sip of her Pinot Noir. "Though knowing him, it’s probably a new pair of skates or a jersey for me."
Grace giggled as she cut out a heart. “I think Logan was planning on hot wheeling my car and taking me out for a drive.”
You smiled, carefully hot-gluing a ribbon onto a homemade Valentine's card for your mom. "Well, I think it’s sweet. You guys all have such cute plans. I’ll probably just order a massive pizza, put on some romcom movies, and enjoy having the bed to myself."
The room went dead silent.
Grace paused mid-snip, her scissors hovering in the air. Hannah slowly lowered her wine glass, while Allie just blinked at you.
"What?" you asked, looking between them, suddenly self-conscious. "Is pizza on Valentine's Day a crime now?"
"Sweetie," Grace said gently, the way one might speak to a confused toddler. "Why would you be eating pizza alone? What about Tucker?"
You blinked. "Tucker? What about him?"
"Your Valentine's plans," Hannah pressed, her eyebrows knitting together. "Are you guys doing something the day before instead? Because of his game schedule?"
"Oh. I mean, we haven't talked about it," you said with a shrug, reaching for another piece of felt. "I assume he’ll be hanging out with the guys, or practicing. I’m sorry- Why would we have plans on Valentine’s Day?"
Allie let out a loud snort, shaking her head. "Okay, very funny. You totally had me for a second. The deadpan delivery was a ten out of ten."
"I'm not joking," you said honestly, your face warming up. "Why would I have Valentine's plans with Tucker?"
The three girls exchanged a long, deeply concerned look.
"Because," Hannah said slowly, leaning forward, "he is your boyfriend."
You let out a soft, genuine laugh. "What? No, he's not! Tucker and I are just really, really good friends."
"Good friends?" Grace squeaked. "You flew to Texas with him over Thanksgiving break to meet his mother!"
"Well, yeah, because I didn't have anywhere else to go, and he's a sweetheart! He didn't want me to be alone."
"He bought you that vintage record player you wanted for Christmas," Allie countered, her eyes wide. "And he literally drives twenty minutes out of his way every single Tuesday morning just to drop off that ridiculous, extra-sweet iced caramel macchiato you like before your 8:00 AM lecture."
"Because he’s a southern gentleman," you insisted, your naive optimism completely unshakeable. "Tucker is just naturally chivalrous. He expects the best out of everyone, so I try to do the same. He’s just being a good guy."
Hannah looked like her brain was short-circuiting. Without a word, she grabbed her phone and hit FaceTime. It rang twice before Garrett’s face filled the screen. He was sitting on the Briar hockey house couch, with Logan and Dean hovering over his shoulder playing a video game.
"Hey, babe," Garrett answered. "What's up? We're right in the middle of—"
"Garrett, put me on speaker. I need a collective consensus from the room," Hannah interrupted flatly.
Garrett’s face shifted to one of pure caution. "Uh, okay. You're on speaker. Logan and Dean are here."
"Great. Boys, quick question," Hannah said, angling the phone so the camera pointed directly at you. "What is the official relationship status between Tucker and y/n?"
Dean didn't even look up from the screen. "They're dating. Obviously. Tucker’s been whipped for like four months."
"Bro, he skipped Sunday football three weeks ago just to stay in bed and cuddle her because she had a head cold," Logan chimed in, shouting over his shoulder. "Why are you asking stupid questions, Wellsy?"
You leaned into the frame, your cheeks burning. "Wait, guys, no. We aren't dating! We've never had the talk. We're just… really close friends!"
On the screen, all three boys froze. Garrett leaned so close to the camera his nose was distorted. "Wait. Hold on. Are you serious right now? Y/n, you literally sleep at our house at least four nights a week. You hold hands in public. He knows your entire five-year career plan, your worst fears, and he practically threatens to murder anyone who breathes too loud near you. You're his girlfriend."
"But he never asked me!" you protested, your voice small. "I thought… I just thought he was being really nice!"
"Oh my god," Dean muttered, finally dropping his controller. "She actually didn't know. Someone text Tuck right now, this is a code red."
Before you could scramble to grab Hannah’s phone to stop them, the front door lock clicked.
The heavy oak door swung open, and John Tucker walked in. He was wearing his Briar hockey hoodie, his hair slightly damp from the snow outside, holding a brown paper bag from the bakery down the street. He looked like a literal textbook definition of a perfect boyfriend.
"Hey, darlin'," Tucker murmured, his deep southern drawl instantly melting through the tension in the room. "Brought those cinnamon rolls you like." He paused, looking at the girls scrambled on the floor and the FaceTime call still blaring from Hannah's phone. "What's going on?"
Hannah, Allie, and Grace immediately grabbed their purses, scrambling to their feet with terrifying speed.
"We're leaving!" Allie announced. "Good luck!" Grace added. "Talk to your woman, Tucker!" Hannah yelled, hanging up the phone and sprinting out the door behind them.
The door slammed shut, leaving a heavy, bewildered silence in the apartment.
Tucker slowly set the bakery bag on the counter, his brow furrowed as he walked over to where you were still sitting on the floor. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his large hands immediately coming to rest on your thighs.
"Hey," he said softly, his dark eyes searching yours. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
You swallowed hard, looking at his beautiful, kind face. "Tucker… can I ask you a question?"
"Anything, darlin'."
"Are we… are we dating?"
Tucker blinked. Once. Twice. The easy, confident smile he usually wore completely vanished. He slowly pulled his hands back, his shoulders squaring as a shadow of hurt crossed his features.
"Are you serious?" Tucker’s voice lost its usual warmth, turning quiet and strained. "Is this a joke?"
"No! I'm not joking," you said quickly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he subtly pulled away, standing up.
"We've been together for four months, y/n," Tucker said, rubbing the back of his neck, his jaw tight. He looked genuinely upset, a rare sight for the usually unshakeable cowboy. "I took you home to Texas. You met my mama. I sleep in your bed almost every night. I haven't looked at another girl since the moment I met you." He let out a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. "I thought… I thought we were completely on the same page. Do you really think so little of me that you thought I was just doing all that for a casual friend?"
"No! No, Tucker, please listen to me," you cried, scrambling to your feet and stepping right into his space, forcing him to look down at you. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, gripping him tightly. "I am just incredibly stupid. I'm naive, okay? Everyone always tells me I am. I just… you never explicitly said the words 'will you be my girlfriend,' and I didn't want to assume and ruin the amazing thing we had."
Tucker stared down at you, the hurt in his eyes still visible, but softening slightly at the desperation in your voice. "You really didn't know?"
"I didn't," you whispered, looking up at him with total embarrassment. "I thought I was just the luckiest girl in the world because this incredibly handsome, amazing hockey player wanted to spend all his time with me. I didn't think it could be real."
Tucker let out a long, heavy breath, the tension finally draining from his broad shoulders. A faint, amused, yet completely exasperated smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You are a little piece of work, you know that?" he murmured, stepping forward and wrapping his large arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.
"I'm sorry," you mumbled into his hoodie.
"Don't be sorry," Tucker sighed, resting his chin on the top of your head. "But just to make it crystal clear, so there's absolutely no doubt in that sweet, beautiful head of yours..." He pulled back just enough to cup your face in both of his warm hands, his thumb gently wiping a stray piece of glitter from your cheek.
"Y/n, you are my girlfriend. I am your boyfriend. And I'm cooking you a massive, fancy dinner on Valentine's Day. Clear?"
You beamed, a rush of pure relief and happiness washing over you as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Crystal clear, Tucker."
Tucker migrated you both from the glitter-strewn floor to the couch. He sat back against the cushions, his long legs stretched out, with you tucked securely between them. Your back was pressed against his broad chest, and his powerful arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, anchoring you to him.
On the coffee table sat the brown paper bag he’d brought, now holding two perfectly warmed cinnamon rolls, but neither of you had touched them yet. Instead, Tucker was busy tracing slow, soothing circles over your hip bones with his thumbs.
"Hey," Tucker murmured, his deep voice vibrating right through your back. "You’ve been quiet for a solid five minutes, darlin’. What’s bouncing around in that head of yours?"
You let out a soft sigh, staring down at your hands, which were resting over his large ones. A familiar wave of embarrassment and lingering guilt washed over you. "I just... I still feel so bad, Tuck. I feel incredibly stupid."
Tucker paused his hands, tightening his grip on you slightly. "We're not still dwelling on that, are we?"
"But I hurt your feelings," you said, turning your head slightly so you could see his sharp jawline. "When I asked you if we were dating, the look on your face... it broke my heart. I can’t believe I was so oblivious. You’ve been treating me like a queen for months, doing all these incredibly sweet, devoted things, and I just thought you were being a nice friend. I feel like an idiot for making you feel, even for a second, like I didn't appreciate you."
Tucker let out a soft, low chuckle—the kind that rolled from deep in his chest. He shifted, pulling you around so you were sitting sideways across his lap, forcing you to look him in the eye. His dark eyes were soft, utterly devoid of any lingering hurt.
"Look at me," he commanded gently, cupping your chin with his hand. "Y/n, you are the sweetest, most genuine girl I have ever met in my entire life. That’s exactly why I fell for you. In a world where everyone is always looking for an angle or playing games, you just... you see the absolute best in people. You didn’t assume we were dating because you’re modest, and because you didn't want to demand anything from me. It’s one of the things I love most about you."
Your heart skipped a beat at the word love, your cheeks flushing a pretty pink.
"So do not spend another second feeling remorseful," Tucker continued, his thumb wiping a soft line across your cheekbone. "I’m not hurt. If anything, it just means I get to spend the rest of our lives making sure there is absolutely, 100% no doubt in your mind that you belong to me. Deal?"
"Deal," you whispered, a tear of pure relief threatening to spill. You leaned forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the crisp, wintry scent of the snow mixed with his familiar, warm cologne.
Tucker wrapped his arms fully around you, completely spoiling you with his undivided warmth and affection. He kissed the top of your head, then your temple, his lips lingering against your skin. "Good. Now, are we gonna eat these cinnamon rolls, or are you just gonna use me as a pillow all night? Not that I’m complaining about the view."
The sweet, emotional weight in the room began to shift, a playful spark taking its place. You pulled back just enough to look at him, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, so now you're complaining about holding your official girlfriend?"
if you want can you please do one where the reader wakes up in the middle of the night hungry. She turns around notice that Quinn is asleep and didn't have the heart to wake him up, so she sneaks out of the room.
She walks down stairs and sees the kitchen lights on, she went to see who is in the kitchen. When she walks in she sees Luke staring at the refrigerator she ask him if he found something to eat and he say no. Then she ask him if he want to go out and eat fast food. When they get back Jack and Quinn were waiting for them, Jack had a face of betrayal and Quinn of relief.
Sorry for how long it is.
Midnight Snack - Quinn Hughes
pairing: Quinn Hughes x female reader
summary: You and Luke go on a late night fast food adventure which results in Quinn worrying about your whereabouts.
CW: Fluff
The digital clock on your nightstand reads 2:47 AM when your stomach growls loudly enough to wake the dead, or at least, you. Rolling over you find Quinn asleep beside you, his face peaceful in the moonlight filtering through the blinds. His dark hair is messy against the pillow and his lips are slightly parted as he breathes deeply. You consider waking him for a moment, but he looks so exhausted that you can't bring yourself to disturb him.
Carefully, you slip out from under the covers, placing your feet silently on the wooden floor. Quinn stirs slightly but doesn't wake as you tiptoe out of the bedroom, pulling the door close behind you.
The house is eerily quiet as you make your way downstairs, your bare feet padding softly on the steps. As you approach the kitchen, you notice the lights are on, which is strange for this hour. Peeking around the corner, you see a tall figure standing in front of the open refrigerator, the cool light illuminating his back.
"Find anything good?" you ask softly, recognizing the familiar frame of Quinn's younger brother.
Luke jumps slightly, turning around with a guilty expression. "Jesus, you scared me," he says, running a hand through his hair. "And no, just staring at all this food but nothing looks good."
You laugh quietly, stepping further into the kitchen. "That's the problem with being hungry in the middle of the night. Nothing ever satisfies the craving."
"Tell me about it," Luke sighs, closing the refrigerator door. "I was thinking about making a sandwich but that feels like too much effort right now."
An idea strikes you. "How about we go out for fast food? There's a 24-hour McDonald's not far from here."
Luke's eyes light up at the suggestion. "Seriously? You'd do that?"
"Sure," you shrug. "Just let me get some shoes on. And try not to wake anyone."
"Deal," he grins, already reaching for his jacket by the back door.
Ten minutes later, you're pulling out of the driveway in Luke's car, the radio playing softly as you drive through the deserted streets. The conversation flows easily between you two as you discuss everything from hockey to your favorite late-night snacks.
When you return twenty minutes later with bags of greasy food, you're surprised to find both Jack and Quinn waiting in the living room. Jack is sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, wearing an exaggerated expression of betrayal.
"You went to McDonald's without me?" he accuses, his voice full of mock hurt. "I can't believe this. My own brother and my brother's girlfriend, betraying me like this."
You can't help but laugh at his dramatics. "We didn't want to wake you."
"Next time, wake me," Jack insists, though his eyes are already fixated on the food bags in your hands. "Is that a Big Mac I smell?"
Quinn, however, doesn't share Jack's playful anger. He's standing by the doorway, relief evident in his expression as he pulls you into a hug. "I woke up and you weren't there," he murmurs into your hair. "I was worried."
"I'm sorry," you say softly, pulling back to look at him. "I was hungry but didn't want to wake you. I ran into Luke and we decided to grab food."
He nods, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Just next time, leave a note or something. My heart almost stopped when I reached for you and found an empty spot."
"I promise," you say, leaning in to kiss him quickly. "Now, are you guys going to help us eat all this food before it gets cold?"
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Prompt: at your cousins wedding fraser watches you walk down the aisle, watches you help the bride with anything she needs, and he can’t help but picture what your life would look like if you were the bride and he were the groom
requested!
For the last couple weeks your life has been a consistent storm of flowers, decorations, memorizing who’s sitting where, and why uncle Mike is not allowed near uncle Dan.
So when it was finally the cool spring morning that your favorite cousin has been waiting for the last year and a half, you kissed Fraser goodbye before the sun rose, and left the apartment.
He has texted you periodically of course. And your answers usually consisted of telling him something that managed to already go wrong, or about some family drama, a bridesmaid who stained her dress, or about how all you want is to be in his arms. You ended each text with an ‘I miss you.’ Before it was back to the silence.
So as ceremony begins, and the bridesmaids start walking down the aisle, Fraser could hardly contain himself. Because he knows the order, he knows you’re going to be walking out any second in the dusty blue dress you tried on in front of him a few weeks ago.
The music continues, and as Fraser’s standing he feels the need to grab the back of his chair, or anyone’s chair, as he sees you. Your hair is swept up in an elegant updo, the small bouquet of flowers held in your hand, the other thrown around the arm of a groomsman.
As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes find Fraser. It doesn’t take any time, because at all times it feels like there is a magnet from him to you.
He’s standing in the row of seats along with mutual friends, and he looks damn good. His button down opened a bit at the top, the black shirt fitting him perfectly. His hair moves slightly in the breeze, and you give him a teasing wink before you walk past him.
Next walks the maid of honor, your cousins best friend. And while you feel like you should be focused on her, you cannot stop looking to a certain hockey player. And it just so happens that the hockey player also can’t stop looking at you.
And you can’t help as those thoughts of the future creep in. They’ve been doing that recently. When you see him making coffee in the morning, when you see him with kids at charity events or saying of course to taking pictures with them, when you think of Christmas, and see elderly couples at your favorite diner. And helping to plan this wedding? It’s taken its toll on you. It makes you think about what he would look like at the end of the aisle as you’re walking down. You wonder if he’d cry seeing you dressed in white. You wonder what his vows would be like, and wonder if Fraser would dip you in the aisle and kiss you in front of all the people who are important to you.
But then the music changes, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts to see your cousin making her way down the aisle. She looks stunning, and emotion tugs deep on your heart as you watch her and her very soon to be husband take each other in.
Fraser watches you from his seat, and he sucks in a breath as he realizes you’re trying not to cry. In fact, you promised him you weren’t going to cry. Because if you do, you’re going to end up starting some long chain reaction with the other bridesmaids. So in preparation for this, Fraser had to endure two weeks of you holding back tears from watching the ‘Top 20 movies that will make you ugly cry’. The list as he learned, did not lie.
You quickly and carefully wipe away a tear threatening to fall, standing up straight and focusing on what’s happening. Only your eyes keep straying back towards him, and his eyes you don’t doubt, had ever left yours.
—
As cocktail hour begins, you sneak to your boyfriend quickly before you’re summoned for pictures. He’s laughing in a small group of relatives and friends. Luckily, you have some very heavy Bruins fans in the family, and they are more than excited to talk Fraser’s ear off about games, strategy, and some comment about how Fraser needs to punch a Florida player, but you block that one out as you approach.
“Hey you.” You say, approaching him as he instantly opens his arm for you to slot yourself against him. He smiles at your words, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips.
Your aunts blush and look to the grass, but your uncle Mike continues his rant about physical violence on the ice.
“I’m sorry guys I really only have a second before pictures start, do you mind if I steal him away?” You ask your family, and your aunts nod of course.
“Bring him back in one piece, I still have ideas on strategies!” Uncle Mike yells to you as you and Fraser escape for a moment.
“Oh my god.” You say with a laugh, pulling Fraser to the edge of the tree line. “I’m sorry about that, has he been bothering you?” You ask with a slight cringe, and Fraser chuckles before shaking his head no.
“No, he’s been fine.” Fraser says, his voice warm as he looks at you. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”
“You’re going to make me red before the pictures.” You say, slapping his chest teasingly.
“Do you think the bride would notice if you come back without lipstick on?” Fraser asks, and you smirk as you bite your lip. You glance around for a second. The venue is completely outdoor, there are huge gardens and pavilions, and a private area by the trees that you guys are currently occupying. So when you’re confident that you’re out of sight, not wanting to make a scene at your cousins wedding of course, you respond.
“And what on earth would happen to my lipstick?” You ask, not able to help yourself when it comes to giving into his teasing.
“This.” He says, before leaning down to kiss you. He keeps it soft, keeps it respectful in the way one of his hands is under your chin, the other on the dip of your back. You pull back after a little while, even though you want nothing more than to kiss him and never stop.
He smiles, taking his thumb and rubbing just under your lip, where you’re sure your lipstick was smudged.
“You looked amazing up there.” He admits, and your heart does that stupid thing it does every time he compliments you. “I just, I couldn’t help but image what you would look like if that was us.”
The confession makes your heart stop, because if he didn’t say it to you, you would have been saying it to him.
“And maybe that’s too soon, or inappropriate to say at somebody else’s wedding.” He says as you laugh. “But I want this, Y/N. I want this all with you.”
You kiss him again, your lipstick be damned.
“I’m so glad you said that.” You whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You confirm. “Because I was thinking the exact same thing.”
Fraser lets out a relieved laugh, and he kisses you again. You guys must have been so lost in the moment, that you don’t hear the footsteps of your cousin coming up behind you.
She clears her throat, and you and Fraser pull apart like you’ve been caught, which in hindsight, you kind of have been. Your cousin smirks at you, her eyes traveling from your messed up lipstick to the possessive hand placed on your back.
“I hate to break this up.” She says, her finger moving between you two. “But I need to take her for some pictures.” Your cousin says, and Fraser smiles, his fingers running through his hair.
You smile at Fraser as you step up to her, and she loops her arm through yours as you both start making your way to where the photographers are waiting.
“Sorry Romeo!” Your cousin says, and Fraser laughs as you both make it out of eyesight of your boyfriend.
“So when are you going to plan for?” She asks you, and you furrow your eyes at her.
“What are you talking about?” You ask with a laugh.
“We’ve known each other for our entire lives, Y/N. I think I can tell when you’re in love. Plus, you only have to know him for 20 seconds before figuring out he’s got it bad for you.”
You gasp at your cousin, and if not for it being her wedding day and her looking gorgeous you would have lightly shoved her.
“Yes, I love him-“ You start, but she cuts you off.
“And he deserves you.” She says, and that comment makes you stop. “I see the way he looks at you. Hell, I think our mostly blind grandmother can see how much that man loves you.” She says, and she motions for you to wipe a bit of lipstick off the corner of your mouth. “All I’m trying to say is, you’ve deserve someone who is your best friend, you deserve someone who doesn’t make you question yourself. And honestly, I’ve never seen you more yourself than you are with him.”
“Don’t make me cry before your pictures.” You mumble, looking away from her.
“You deserve the sun and the stars, so marry him, because I know he’ll give them to you.”
—
True to her word, your cousin returns you back to Fraser after pictures are taken and as the reception starts. But after nearly six hours in these shoes, you’re starting to feel their wrath.
Fraser notices you walking back to him, but his smile drops slightly as he notices how you’re walking. He knows immediately why.
You make your way to him, and lean yourself into his chest, while you do that because you want to, you also do it because you need someone holding you up.
“You alright baby?” He asks silently so he doesn’t attract anyone’s attention.
“I think my feet are somewhere in that garden.” You mumble, and Fraser winces as he looks down to your heels. He knows you walk in them everyday at your job, but your job doesn’t have you walking through grass and on outdoor paths.
“Take them off for a while.” He says, and you look at him like he just said a cardinal sin.
“I can’t take them off.”
“Says who?” Fraser asks, eyebrows going up.
“Says me!” You exclaim with a laugh, but it’s cut off early as you adjust your weight to the other foot now.
“Baby.” He says. “No one’s going to notice if you slip them off. Your dress basically covers them, and I can’t stand the thought of you being in pain for the rest of the night.”
“People will notice that I’m almost four inches shorter.”
“No one will. And if anyone does they can answer to me.” He says jokingly, and you smile as he does.
“My savior.” You say, and he laughs before leading you away from the tables and out to one of the benches by the gardens.
“Sit.” He says, and you do not have to be told twice. You sit down, your blue dress blowing slightly in the breeze as Fraser kneels in front of you.
He takes your ankle in his one hand, the other going to unstrap the heels. You sigh in relief as they both come off, and the shoes hang off his finger tips by the backs.
“Fraser Minten, I think I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
“Good, if you weren’t, that would make this next part really embarrassing.” He says, and you give him a questioning look as he captures your chin in his free hand, and starts talking.
“I want this with you.” He starts, and your heart drums quickly in your chest. “I want the wedding, I want the family butting into our lives, I want the vows and the speeches, I want to marry you, baby.”
The setting sun behind him casts him in a golden light. And you notice from the shine of the sun that he’s got tears in his eyes.
“I want the family, and the house that we can chase our kids around in. I want the rink, and the little skates, or whatever sport they want to play.” He says and you laugh. “But mostly, I want you.”
“Frase.”
“It’s always been you. And seeing you up there today? God baby, I don’t even have the words to describe how beautiful you looked, how beautiful you are.”
“Fraser.” You say, your voice cracking with emotion.
“Don’t say anything.” He says, smiling down at you. “Just come dance with me.”
You don’t say a word, you only nod as Fraser leads you to the dance floor that’s filled with people slow dancing to some old romantic song.
“For the record,” You whisper in his ear, your feet balancing on his shoes as he continues to sway you both. “If you ask me someday, I already have my answer.”
You pull yourself back down to look into his eyes, and shakes his head, chuckling softly as he kisses you in the middle of the dance floor. Your shoes long forgotten by your chairs, your cousin so happily in love with her new husband, and you standing with your future husband, both imagining the life you’re going to give each other.
