John Carter had never experienced true affection, not even as a young boy. His childhood was overseen primarily by nannies and boarding school dorm parents. His sister was uninterested in him, his brother took out his anger on him, and their family was never the same after his passing. 

The only person he really felt connected to was his Gamma, although she was still a woman of class. She’d hug him stiffly, kiss his cheek in greeting, but that was the extent. She wasn’t overly warm, or snuggly, like some grandmas were. As a kid, he’d see his friends get picked up from school, or at their baseball games with their parents cheering them on in the stands. Forehead smooches were wiped away in disgust, hugs shrugged off in embarrassment. And John couldn’t understand exactly why those sights always left him feeling just a bit hollow.

He’d never had affection, so he didn’t realize how much he missed it.

Until you.

When he met you, it was head over heels. Love at first sight. Ironic, seeing as you didn’t believe in those things, but he did. He knew they did because it had happened to him.

You were a paramedic, newly trained, and brought onto the scene as Riley’s partner when Shep moved out of the county. You knew there was history between Shep and Carol, who you became fast friends with. You didn’t prod. But Carter could feel Carol relax as you proved yourself time and time again to be the opposite of what Shep was. You were kind, steady, and always willing to help. You could take someone down if you needed to, but only then, and you were wonderful at getting through to the patients reluctant to ask for help.

And you were gorgeous. It always baffled Carter how you could look so ethereal after spending hours running around, sweating in the heat. Your uniform was drab, but on you? Carter loved to see it. Though, he’d love to see you in a potato sack, for all he cared. The look of concentration that fell over your face while working drove him nuts, and he’d been distracted by it more than once. Then you’d yell at him to focus up, and he’d get his head together.

See, you were witty and not afraid to make a joke, but when you had a patient in front of you, that was the priority. There was no pulling you from someone in need. While Carter certainly admired you for that, it made it difficult for him to find a natural time to talk to you, get to know you, and ultimately, confess his undying love for you in a relaxed, breezy type of way.

Because Carter was sure about you. You met on one of the first true spring days of the season, with an open ankle fracture and Benton breathing down your neck. Just four or five months of inane stuttering and acute fits of idiocy in your presence, and Carter finally summoned the courage to ask you out on a real date, and the rest was history.

A few months in, Carter was proving to be the sweetest boyfriend you could have hoped for. Attentive, loving, considerate, he regularly went out of his way just to make your life the tiniest bit easier. He saved your favorite recipes to cook, picked up the book you mentioned weeks ago on his day off, brought you little gifts just because they reminded him of you. But you noticed one thing he seemed to struggle with.

Touch.

Now, in the bedroom, all was good and well. In fact, a little better than that. But despite what he did in the sheets, he still asked to hold your hand. Still apologized if your legs brushed sitting next to each other on the couch. Still slid over to his side of the bed when you spent the night, allowing at least a foot of room between you.

The strangest thing was, he seemed to like touch. When you did hold his hand, he lit up like a Christmas tree, and if you scratched his head, he’d close his eyes and lean into you. He just seemed hesitant to initiate it, as if he was afraid of bothering you, or scaring you off. You tried to be patient, let him go at his own pace, but sometimes you just wanted to cuddle your boyfriend after a hard shift.

So one day, you decided to clear the air, for good measure.

“You know,” you said lightly, one night, over chinese takeout and Jeopardy. “You don’t have to ask to hold my hand. You can just hold it.”

He glanced over at you, eyebrows raised.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, setting your chopsticks down, growing smile on your face. “I mean, it’s very polite. I appreciate it. But… I like it when you hold my hand. I’ll never say no.”

He broke into a bashful smile, cheeks tinting pink, and he looked down at his noodles. You scootched over a bit closer to him, and ran a finger over his brow fondly.

“I just don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable,” he said, eyes still down.

“That’s sweet,” you said, heart burning for the softness in his voice. “But consider this a standing acceptance to hand holding. Or anything. If I’m not in the mood, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

He nodded timidly, and you kissed his cheek and picked up your chopsticks again. You let your attention turn back to Alex Trebek. Sometimes the contestants were so stupid, they made you want to try and get on the show. But as you shouted out answers, you felt Carter’s warm, slightly clammy hand inching up under your arm. You let your hand fall away from your box of food and he threaded his fingers through yours.

You didn’t look at each other, just grasped each other's hands tight and watched your show.

That was the start. Hand holding. At first, he was still a little nervous. Still working to accept what you said as true, that you wouldn’t be mad, or annoyed, or disgusted by his spontaneous touch.

After the third or fourth time, it was like a dam broke. At every turn, there he was grabbing your hand. He would wake up early on his days off just so he could hold it as he walked you to work. In bed, on the couch, on dates, even at work sometimes, you could always find his hands linked with yours. Even just pinkies crooked together under a table if there were people around. 

Eventually, as much as you hated it, you couldn’t keep holding things up for it. You couldn’t stop cooking, or reading, or fixing the showerhead to hold hands with him. So he expanded. He started keeping a hand on your lower back, or linking your arm through his, or running his hands up and down your sides. He’d dig his fingers in if he wanted to hear your laugh.

Soon enough, there was a constant point of contact between the two of you. Arms hooked, heads on shoulders, legs wound together. You found yourself with less of a boyfriend, and more of a koala. He’d cling to you like his life depended on it, headbutting you until you ran your hands through his hair.

You complained. But you didn’t mean it.

“John,” you said, as he nuzzled into your neck. “I’m trying — Johnny!”

He just hummed, hands running all along your body, your thighs, your butt, your tummy, your boobs, your armpits — any spot he could find. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pressed lazy kisses to your neck, which really undercut your stern tone.

“I’m trying to read this article!”

“Then read,” he drawled, and you could feel his grin against your skin. “I’m not stopping you.”

You huffed, amused, and playfully pushed his head away. To your surprise, and slight disappointment, it appeared to work, as he pulled back. But as you craned your head to see him at the foot of the bed, he began tugging on the bottom of your hoodie. You squealed as his cool cheeks pressed against your bare stomach, as he shoved his head right underneath the oversized sweater. You let your paper fall to the side as he pulled himself through and rested his head on your chest, eyes just barely peaking out from the collar. His arms followed, and his hands went right to your chest too.

You sighed.

“This is your sweatshirt, you know,” you said, pretending to be indignant. “So if you stretch it out —!”

“Worth it,” he mumbled, nosing your clavicular notch.

You wrapped your arms and legs around his sleepy weight and let yourself relax. He was warm, and soft, and grounding. It didn’t take long for his snores to lull you into a slumber of your own.

It was an amazing thing to Carter that he could feel such comfort whenever he wanted. That not only did he find an amazing woman to fall in love with, she loved him back. And you did. Every time you gave him a scalp massage, or kissed a pout off of his lips, or gave his bum a waggish squeeze as he made dinner, he could feel his heart swell.

Although to date you had never turned down his touch, whether loving, teasing, scandalous, or comforting, there were of course external factors to consider. Too many times would your lovely face distract Carter from work. He’d think about wrapping all his limbs around you, feeling you everywhere, senses completely filled by you. It was an intoxicating daydream.

“Carter!” Benton would yell. “Get your ass up and make yourself useful!”

Carter would mutter an embarrassed apology and rush off, not before catching the mirthful glint in your eye.

Carter spent most of his time at your apartment by the time you reached the six month mark. It wasn’t bigger than his, the heating and air conditioning went out at less than convenient times, and the washer and dryer were five floors down in a creepy basement. But it was homey, with tokens of your treasured memories adorning every possible surface, the fridge plastered with photos under souvenir magnets from all the places you’d visited. Home knit blankets, mismatched mugs, and movie posters painted the dingy apartment into something comforting.

He never wanted to leave. He loved knowing that you were never more than 15 steps away from him. Your sheets smelled like you. He used your lotion just to keep part of you with him throughout the day. You scolded him for it, but after hard days you’d smooth your most expensive face masks on him in the tub, and let him use as much of that lotion as he wanted.

One Saturday, the last free night you had together before some back to back shifts, he was getting ready for bed, and realized — the two of you had built a happy home. It was welcoming, and warm, everything his childhood home wasn’t. Yours was full of love and laughter, dancing in the glow of the refrigerator, and shopping together in pajamas. It was everything he never dared to let himself dream of.

And he didn’t ever want to live without it.

He turned to you, where you sat under the covers, reading an Agatha Christie book you’d read a million times before, eye mask ready on your head, hair up, a spot of zit cream on your face, and he could feel it in his whole body.

His eyes never left you as he crawled under the comforter on his designated side of the bed. He didn’t need to look to know his watch, tattered book, and vitamins were on the nightstand, and he knew his blue toothbrush was sitting next to your green one in the bathroom. As he settled down, you set Agatha aside and grabbed vaseline from your table.

It had become a sort of night time ritual, you moisturizing his hands with vaseline. You knew he never did it himself, just kept using hand sanitizer and antibacterial soap on his poor hands, which were already strained pushing meds, lifting patients, and suturing. You rubbed the vaseline into his cracked skin with such gentle care, and right now, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Your tired ones met his, and you smiled suspiciously.

“What are you looking at?”

“Just —” he sighed, eyes wide as saucers, in awe of you, of the privilege it was to see you like this. “Let’s live together.”

You froze, mouth parting a bit. “What?”

He scooted closer to you, removing his hands from your grip to cradle your waist. He was nervous, but smiling like an idiot.

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been,” he said. “And whenever I go back to my place, I — I feel so homesick. I can’t live when you’re not around.”

You just stared at him.

“You’re crazy,” you said, but it came out mushy.

“I don’t care,” he said, pulling you fully into his lap. “I really don’t. I just want you. More than anything.”

You couldn’t control your smile as he kissed your face.

“We’ve only been going out, what — six months?”

“And seventeen days,” he said, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck. “Look, I totally understand if you don’t want to. I just want you to know that I’m ready whenever you are.”

“I’m ready,” you breathed. “But are you sure you want to move in here? I wasn’t sure I was gonna renew the lease, and —”

He didn’t even wait for you to finish before he pulled you into a heated kiss. One hand roved under the almost ten year old high school softball tee you wore, while the other teased the edge of your granny panties, the cute ones with the polka dots. He knew you were always self conscious in them, but he might have preferred them to the white lacy pair you wore on Valentines Day.

He pulled back just to take a breath and pant, “We can move into a new place.”

You were smiling almost as wide as he was.

“With both our salaries combined we could probably get a bigger place,” he said. “Maybe even with a washer and dryer in the apartment.”

You giggled.

“Closer to work, too,” you said, as John began kissing down your neck. “Oh, and pet friendly! I’ve always wanted a cat.”

He resurfaced to raise a brow.

“Can’t we get a dog?”

You scoffed.

“When would we have the time to take care of a dog?” you snorted. “Besides, you’re a cat person, you just don’t know it yet. I had a cat growing up. She was my best friend. And she lived for like twenty years, too!”

“Thelma,” he nodded with a smirk. “I remember.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and he leaned back against the headboard, one hand still exploring under your top, in a domestic, familiar way, somehow.

“I promise you’ll love our cat,” you said, rubbing your nose against his freshly shaven cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, absorbing your touch. “I’ll give you a cat. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Three months later, you sat on the mattress of your partially furnished apartment. It was so close to work you could hear the L echoing in the distance, which Carter was worried about, but you loved. Your “bed” wasn’t really a “bed” yet, as you were still missing a frame. It was flat on the floor for now. 

The couch was up, which Doug and Mark were only too happy to complain about as they helped Carter lug it up the steps. Apparently, according to Carter, you were too pretty to do grunt work on a hot summer day. You were inclined to agree, so you worked on building some shelves for the living room.

There were still pizza boxes on the floor, and clothes in piles in laundry baskets, but you didn’t care. You were tangled up together in bed, compensating for the body heat with three fans pointed at you and no sheets; and between you lay a little sleeping kitten. Louise, Carter had named her.

You watched smugly as your Johnny gently stroked the kitty between the eyes, watching her with pure adoration. You were fairly certain he was minutes away from tears of joy.

“I told you,” you whispered sleepily, but proudly. “You love her.”

Without ceasing his petting, lest Louise protest, he squished his face right next to yours.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I love you more.”

---

a/n - would ppl be interested in a meet cute blurb with paramedic!reader? i actually kinda love that dynamic

requests open!

Your families always joked how you and John would marry each other someday. But that was just gross. John Carter was a smelly boy! While he was good for playing with...marrying him was a whole other story.

Your bond only became more solidified when you were eight, and John's brother, Bobby, died. Your mother explained that he had been very sick. You were allowed to leave school for a while to spend time with John. He didn't want to play anymore. So you just sat in his room reading books and colouring. You were happy to be a friend.

"Maybe I could go to school with John next year?" you suggest to your parents that summer.

But your school was one of the best in the country and your parents have secured your spot there until you graduate for college. So moving isn't an option. So school holidays are even more precious.

"I wanna be a doctor," John whispers one night as you camp in your back garden under the stars. "So I can help people like Bobby."

You grin, "You'll be the best doctor."

One summer, you come home, and something has changed. John has changed. He doesn't want to play anymore.

"I'm not a kid," he tells you with a sniff. His knees are cut from falling over during a game of tag in school.

"You're eleven," you point out with a pout.

You feel stupid because he's more mature all of a sudden. You don't like the new maid the Carters have hired. But John just loves her. So you stomp back to your own house. John'll come around.

"Are you two dating?" your friend asks when she joins you for a week at your lakehouse one summer.

You're sixteen, and John Carter has stretched since the last time you saw him. But he's still your annoying best friend. So you just shake your head even though you get butterflies when you see him. His friend is here too, and he calls him Carter.

"Carter?" you ask as you sip at your drink. "Never!"

What you don't expect is the way your stomach sinks when you walk in on John Carter kissing your friend. He's your Carter. Why is he kissing her?

You haven't kissed anyone...Are you falling behind? You're not sure if it's an act of revenge or because you like the boy John brought home from school. But you let him press his too wet lips against yours. If this is kissing you don't see the fuss.

You're thankful when you and John are left alone for the rest of the summer. Neither of you broach the subject of kissing. Why would you? That's gross. It would be like kissing your brother.

"You've never once kissed?" another friend asks the next summer.

You shake your head, "That's gross. We've literally known each other since we were in diapers. He's like family."

That's how you explain why you feel like throwing up when you hear the creaks of the mattress in Carter's room at the lakehouse. You turn to see the bed your friend was sleeping in empty. Why does he keep doing this?

You yell those words at him when you're finally alone.

"What do you mean?" he asks as he holds the neck of his beer bottle.

"Why do you keep kissing my friends? And...what you did with Nancy!"

"Sex?" he asks with a soft laugh.

You physically cringe when the words come out of his mouth. Why would he say that?

"Are you jealous?" he asks, his eyebrows shooting up.

"No!" you yell. "But it's fucked up! You're doing that with my friends!"

Carter just laughs and shakes his head at you.

You're both about to turn eighteen. Your parents love having joint birthday parties for you, even though they could definitely afford to host two! Carter looks at you and bites his lip.

"I got into pre-med," he tells you with a half smile that makes your stomach do a flip.

You throw your arms around him and hug him close. You haven't hugged like this since you were kids.

"Congrats John!" you tell him. You haven't called him John in so long, all his friends call him Carter.

"But I gotta go do extra classes in Pennsylvania this summer. So I...."

"You won't be around," you whisper, pulling back.

But his hands don't let you go. Your eyes meet his. When was the last time you were this close? When you were kids camping out in your backyard? Definitely before he started growing hair on his face. Definitely before his hair fell into his eyes like that. And definitely before he had his growth spurt that saw him tower over you.

You feel like you can't move until the door opens, and you both jump away from each other. John's grandmother, Gamma, is standing there, and he scampers after him.

You expect to see Carter when you come home from college for winter break. But you don't. He's fast-tracking his undergrad to get to med school. While you both write and sometimes talk on the phone, you don't see each other. You're both adults now, both in college, both spreading your wings.

You move to Italy, France, England, you travel the world. But when you get an invite from the Carters for a charity event for children's cancer, you know it's time to come back to Chicago.

When you walk into the event at the Carter mansion, you feel overwhelmed. It's been years since you've been here, and you're not sure what to expect.

You sip happily at a glass of champagne as you mingle with those in attendance. When you see Gamma, you rush over to hug her.

"It's been so long, Mrs Carter," you tell her. "I'm sorry I haven't visited."

"You know to call me Gamma," she responds, smoothing down your hair. "But you're here now and John will be so happy to see you."

"Is he here?" you ask with a shy smile.

"Who do you think invited you?" she responds before nodding over to the other side of the room.

You don't know how you didn't spot him right away. But as soon as you see his brown eyes, you feel like you're five years old again, playing in the trees. You cross the room to him, and he just smiles at you.

Your name tumbles off his tongue like a precious thing. It's been too long. He's grown up so much it makes your heart ache. You missed him in a way you can't describe. Not being with him was like missing a part of yourself.

"Do you wanna maybe go somewhere quiet to talk?" he finally suggests.

He leads you outside into the hot summer air and through the garden. You know exactly where he's going - to your favourite place in the woods between your house and his. You're a bit bigger than you were the last time you squeezed into the space between two trees. Your dress doesn't help.

"So," you begin, a smile playing on your lips.

John Carter is all grown up. And he's handsome. Fuck. Was he always this handsome? Well, all your friends were in love with him. So maybe. Maybe you just needed a few years apart to see that.

You have no idea that John Carter has always thought you were beautiful. But he never knew how to tell you. So he just put all that awkward teenage energy into practising on girls...including your friends. Look, he wasn't very smart when it came to girls. He still wasn't now in his twenties.

"Should I call you Dr Carter?" you ask as you sit on your tree stump. The one you presided over your fairy court as kids.

"I guess. Although John is fine. Or just Carter..." he tells you.

"Okay John," you whisper with a smile.

"I'm working in County," he tells you.

"County? Not one of those fancy schmancy private hospitals that would pay you an arm and a leg?" you ask.

He shakes his head, "Naw. I want to help the most people. And I'm doing my surgical internship right now."

You wrinkle your nose, "Surgery? You're so clumsy."

"Clumsy?!" John asks incredulously, giving your shoulder a light push.

"Yea, you heard me!" you tease pushing him back and causing him to stumble over his feet. "Case in point!"

"How long are you back for?" he asks then. "I moved home five years ago and I thought I'd see you around..."

You shrug, "I was travelling. Dropped out of college, I never had your brains, John. I wanted to see the world. I didn't know you were home. I woulda come back sooner."

He shakes his head, "You shouldn't change your plans for me."

"I'm ready to come home. Maybe figure out what I want to do with my life now," you tell him.

The rest of the night goes like this, reminiscing about old times. Talking about your life now. You end up lying on the ground watching the stars. And that's how you wake up, with your head on John Carter's chest and his arms wrapped around you. You feel yourself flush as you try to untangle yourself without waking him. But your movement stirs him and he all but jumps away from you.

"Shit...sorry!" he tells you.

Your mother watches you one evening as you get ready to meet Carter after work.

"It's like you're kids again. Inseparable," she tells you.

"I missed him. He's my best friend," you remind her before slipping out.

You've spent every day with him since the fundraiser. After work or, when you're lucky, the whole day when he's not on shift. But today he's invited you to drinks with some of his friends. You don't expect so many of his "friends" to be women. And you can't help how jealous you are when you arrive and see him speaking closely to a blonde woman who eventually introduces herself as Anna. There's Susan as well. And Carol. And Maggie. And you want to shoot yourself because you're just another girl on Carter's apparently very long list.

You're gathering your things when Carter stops you.

"Where are you going? You just got here!" he argues.

"Look, Carter," you begin, he looks wounded when you call him by his last name. "I didn't realise you had a harem and I'm not in the mood to join it."

You pull your jacket on and storm outside. John is hot on your tail.

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

"All those women in there! You're like...I don't even know. Look if you and Anna are dating..."

He shakes his head, "We're not. I'm not-"

"Okay well Susan then! Or Maggie! Whoever you're dating that's fine I just don't wanna get mixed up in all this. You hooked up with all my friends when we were teenagers and I'm not in the mood to watch you kiss someone else again. Especially while I have to sit there like a fuckin'-"

This time when he interrupts you, it's with his lips against yours. He grabs your waist and pulls you close to him. He's wanted to know what you taste like since he was a kid. He always imagined his first kiss would be with you. But you were always so repulsed by the idea. But when you kiss him back, your hands untuck from the fists they'd balled into as you yelled at him and tangling into his hair, he relaxes. You're both in your twenties now, the idea of being more than just friends isn't scary anymore.

You're glad he drove into work and you gladly climb into the passenger seat of his Jeep. Although you pull him back into a kiss before he can drive you back to his house. His parents are away. You always remember how empty his house was when you were kids. If there was an adult, it was a member of staff or maybe John's grandparents.

You let him lead you to his bedroom. It's almost the exact same as it was when you last say it before he left for summer school before he went to college. And you love that about him.

You're fumbling him with the buttons his shirt, your lips glued to his as his tongue explores the inside of your mouth.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he asks when you pull away for air.

"I've never been so sure," you respond as you pull your dress over your head.

John almost falls to his knees right there and then. He's been with his fair share of women over his life but he's never expected to see you in his bedroom in your matching bra and panties. He pulls you back in for a desperate kiss as you push his braces down his shoulders and finally manage to get his shirt off. He helps you undo his pants and push them down. You giggle as you both fall onto his bed.

This is sweet. Everything about John Carter is sweet and you adore that about him. You let his soft hands roam over your body as you continue to kiss. Honestly you could kiss him all night. You have a lifetime of kisses to catch up on. But eventually his lips move down your body. He unhooks your bra and throws it across the room. His hot mouth spends what feels like hours exploring the swell of your breasts, hooking onto your peaked nipples and leaving soft bites over the skin.

Once satisified with the whimpers he's elicited, he continues down your body. He noses against the cotton of your panties. You've soaked through the fabric. Honestly you've been wet since you saw his mussed-up hair in the bar. He licks a stripe over your clothed core before he pulls your underwear off your body entirely. His cheeks are tinged pink as he takes in your entire naked body. He's ashamed to confess how many times he's fantasised about this moment. So he doesn't speak.

Instead he presses kisses against your soaking pussy. He lets out little content groans before he finds your clit and focuses his attention there. His hands snake up your body until they find your breasts. He plucks at your nipples as he sucks and slurps at your clit. Your eyes roll back in your head as the dam breaks and he brings you to orgasm. It's so perfect and sweet and beautiful. You could almost cry.

He gives you a boyish grin as he strokes your sides, bringing you down from your high.

"We don't have to do anything else," he tells you gently.

Your eyes drop to the tent in his blue boxers and the stain of precum.

"Oh baby, I wanna feel you inside me. I wanna make you feel good," you whisper, pulling him in for a kiss.

John could kiss you forever, but his cock is aching and he needs you. He finds a condom in his bedside locker and rolls it onto his cock.

"Just tell me if you wanna stop," he breathes, the tips of his ears now pink.

You pull him in for a reassuring kiss as he starts to sink into you. And fuck, the burn of him feels so good. You haven't had sex in so long. You hold each other for a moment when he bottoms out. And slowly he starts rocking his hips against you, his forehead pressed against yours. Each drag of his cock, hits against that sweet spot inside you. Your moans get louder and louder as you chase another release.

John holds your hips down as you start to rock them desperately.

"Gotta gimme a second," he begs.

He doesn't want to blow his load embarrassingly fast. But this has been his fantasy since he knew what sex was. It has always been you for him. Everything else was just a distraction.

"Fuck, I love you," he breathes as he feels his orgasm approach.

Your eyes go wide and you smile, big, just for him.

"I love you too, John," you breathe as your orgasm hits you.

He follows you over the edge.

Afterwards you lie together, wrapped in his arms, content and happy.

"Took you long enough," he finally breathes. "I've been waiting my whole life for you to realise that I'm in love with you."

You giggle.

You watch him retell this story, minus the sex, at your wedding.

"I'm a slow learner!" you argue with the biggest grin as your guests raise a toast to Dr and Mrs Carter.

a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @sweetashhh @orangecheescakeleftover @elenamoncadaibarra @joelmillrenthusiast @abbotaes

As Briar University’s lead sports reporter, you were obligated to attend as many sports events as possible. Oftentimes, you rode the bus with them to avoid being caught up trying to coordinate ride plans elsewhere, tonight being no different.

Directly behind you, you heard none other than John Logan mutter, “Could your phone be any fucking brighter? Some of us are trying to get some rest here instead of checking social media for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.”

You shifted in your seat until your head was facing the aisle. “Can I help you with something, Johnny? I forgot you need your 12 hours of beauty sleep to look at least halfway decent.”

“Oh, fuck off.” He scoffed. “And I told you to stop calling me Johnny. That’s reserved for people I actually like, not spoiled brats who think they’re better than the rest of us.”

That was one of the bigger problems that put you in the situation you were trying to work your way through. Once upon a time, you and Logan had truly been very close. You’d hang out often, sharing notes and conversations in between busy schedules.

One night and a little too much alcohol later, Jules caught you in a bad spot. The Hawks had lost a particularly tense matchup 2-1, with Logan specifically losing the puck more often than he usually did.

“So,” Jules started, sidling up to you at the kitchen island. “How do you think my brother did tonight?”

“Oh, I think he did great.” You slurred, colors blending as the room spun. “I know he messed up a few times, but he’s a great player…hic he’ll get ‘em next time.”

“So, you think my brother made some pretty big mistakes?” Jules teased, thoroughly amused with your drunken state.

“No, no, I never said that. Sure, that one blocked play he tried was pretty predictable, but they all kind of did the same things out there so it’s not his fault at all. He’s a great hockey player and I believe in him.”

You hadn’t noticed that Jules had been live on Fifth Line’s Instagram the entire time. Somehow, your words had been twisted beyond repair, to the point where the next morning articles and student body alike turned it into HAS STAR PLAYER JOHN LOGAN REALLY LOST HIS TOUCH? HEAD REPORTER WEIGHS IN!

Logan stopped talking to you after the incident, choosing to believe the misleading headlines out of stress and cutting you out of his life. Interactions at games and practices were colder than the ice he skated on, awkward silences and tension noticeable to anyone around. Your relationship turned bitter quickly, making you yearn for what you once had.

With a huff, you turned back around in your seat, steam practically exploding from your ears. A petty idea popped into your head, and with a sly little smirk, you reached for the lever beside your chair.

“What the hell? Put that back up!” Logan demanded as you reclined your seat back just enough to make it uncomfortable for him.

“Well, I’m a spoiled brat, remember? Might as well act like one.”

His response was interrupted by the bus driver making a hard right to go off the highway ramp. As the driver picked up his speaker to talk, your confusion only grew. You were still over an hour away from Briar.

“Sorry, folks. We’re gonna have to stop for the night.” His admission was met with a chorus of groans and protests. “I know you all want to get out of here, but I need to be able to keep you all safe and I can’t do that without being able to see the road ahead of us. There’s a hotel just up ahead, go ahead and pair up for rooming purposes. We’ll get back on the road in the early morning.”

You tensed, realizing you were one of only three women on the bus. The other was an athletic trainer near the back, but her husband was also aboard, so they’d undoubtedly be rooming together. Hannah had also accompanied the team, but she’d be rooming with Garrett, and you certainly didn’t want to share a room with those lovebirds.

“Tuck and I will room together.” Dean shouted, shooting Logan a smirk and a wink behind you.

“Hell no. There’s no way I’m rooming with Y/N.” Logan responded, shaking his head in protest.

“Well that’s too bad, because you’re going to.” Coach Jensen told him from where he stood in the aisle, helping make room arrangements. “Either you room with the poor girl or I bench you for the next game. Just get a room with two beds.”

As you gathered your belongings and headed toward the front of the bus, you caught Logan’s, “Fucking great. Now I have to room with the girl so stuck up she sees all our flaws and rips us to shreds over them.”

“C’mon, man.” Tucker chided. “I read some of the articles and it all seems like a bunch of bullshit. She was really saying she believed in you.”

“Yeah, sure she said that, and pigs flew above us as she did. I’m just ready for this night to be over with so I don’t have to deal with her anymore.”

Your shoulders deflated, head dropping slightly at his admission. If this was how he truly felt about you, it was bound to be the longest night of your life- for all the wrong reasons.  

Each pair proceeded forward slowly toward the welcome desk, feeling more like a cattle production line with each passing minute. You certainly felt like you were being led to slaughter, especially with the dirty looks Logan kept giving you and the scathing side remarks he uttered.

You were the last pair to be greeted, staring at the visibly overwhelmed receptionist with equally as unamused stares.

“Room for two, please. Two separate beds.” Logan told her before you could even open your mouth.

“Right, let me get right on that.” As she scrolled the computer, her frown continued to deepen, eyebrows pinching together. “Oh, it looks like I just gave the last double bed away to the boys before you. There’re only single California king rooms left.”

Tucker and Dean were just in front of you, the pair that had been given the last room with two beds. Noticing the issue, Dean laughed, shaking the keys in your direction teasingly.

“No, no, there must be some mistake. There has to be a room with two beds.” You pled with the receptionist, panic rising in your chest once more.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s only single-bed rooms left. If you’d like, I can send you up with an extra pillow and blanket. We don’t have air mattresses, unfortunately.”

Logan threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Oh, well that’s just great.” He turned to Dean with fire blazing in his eyes. “Give me that key right now.”

“I think not, buddy. Tucker snores in his sleep and I can’t rest without leg room.”

Exhausted from both the long day and their antics, you put a hand on Logan’s arm without thinking. “Stop it, guys. I just want some sleep and neither of you are helping solve anything.” Logan met your gaze, and for a split second, you felt the electricity from years past crackle back to life. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive, chocolate irises becoming molten pools of desire.

Breaking eye contact, you took the blanket from the frazzled-looking employee along with the key. “Thanks for all your help with this. I know it was stressful getting all of these college students last minute.”

Turning on your heel, you headed towards the sketchy-looking elevator without saying another word, leaving Logan to follow behind you like a (begrudging) lost puppy. Yeah, this was going to be a long night, after all.

The hotel you stopped at was an older location that evidently hadn’t been updated in quite some time, but you were so tired that even sleeping on a rock sounded desirable at this point.

As you unlocked the door and entered the room, your eyes wandered with subtle distaste. A thin layer of dust occupied the corners of the room and walls, stains of unknown origin leaving marks along the carpet. You were certain that if you squinted hard enough, a thin layer of grout could be seen on every appliance available.

With a sigh, you trudged into the room, throwing your bag haphazardly in the direction of the chair near the doorway. Logan followed suit, all remaining traces of anger having momentarily left him in favor of exhaustion.

“Alright, I’ll take the floor.” He said, throwing the pillow and blanket on the empty space to the left of the bed.

“What? No, absolutely not.” You protested. “You’re a bulky offenseman who has practice in less than 48 hours. Your back will kill you; I’ll take the floor. You take the bed.”

“I’ve slept on worse things than a dusty floor.”

“Yeah, when you were a dumb high school kid.” You snapped. “Now you’re a dumb college kid, apparently.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“Well, somebody has to.”

Logan scoffed, defensiveness laced in his tone. “You want to talk about arrogance and stupidity? Let’s talk about what you said, then.”

“Are you kidding me?” You laughed incredulously. “I had a conversation with your sibling while I was drunk off my ass. I had no clue whatsoever that Jules was live, and just like the damn vultures they are, half the Briar student body took the negative half of what I said and ran with it.”

Logan balled his fists at his sides, “You made me look like –”

“I made you look like nothing! You took something the gossip blogs made up and ran with it without even talking to me first. I thought we were friends, John, but friends don’t turn on each other like that. Only cowards do.”

A charged silence followed between the two of you, gazes locked in an intense stare battle.

The AC unit came to life suddenly with a loud rattle, startling the both of you apart. Your eyes left his briefly, but his stayed on your face.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, voice softer this time.

“Would you really have believed me?”

Your response made him look down, shoulders dropping slightly in guilt.

“Yeah, I thought so. I’m going to go shower before it gets too late; figure out whether you’re willing to sleep in bed with me like adults or if the dust bunnies will be your company on the floor tonight.”

The suspicious stains on the bathroom walls were hard to overlook and the pressure from the showerhead was less than pathetic, but the heat helped. You felt the tension in you loosening, thoughts of Logan still plaguing your mind but becoming more bearable the longer you stayed in the shower.

As you dried the last of the water droplets from your legs and stepped out of the bathroom, your breath caught in your throat at the sight that awaited you.

Logan had stripped himself of his shirt at some point, leaving the planes of his back and chest bare and open for you to ogle at. His back was turned to you as he stared out the window, bruise on his side from a particularly rough game as visible as the defined abs on his chest.

“That bruise looks pretty nasty.” Your words broke him from his trance, turning around to face you.

“It’s nothing.” He dismissed.

“C’mon, let me look at it, at least. I’m pretty sure I’ve got some Tylenol in my bag if you need some pain relief.”

“It’s just a bruise. I get bruises all the time.”

“Will you just listen to me, John? Or are we going to continue this fucked up dance until we eventually just lose each other forever?”

That rendered him speechless for once. His eyes met yours, wide gaze expressing both shock and guilt.

“I miss you, John. I lost my best friend that night and for no good reason whatsoever. I tried so badly to explain, to tell you that my words were twisted beyond belief, but you were so caught up in your anger and self-pity that you threw away the best thing that happened to either of us.”

“I know, sweetheart, I do.” He approached you slowly, as if you were a wounded animal that would scatter at even the slightest of sudden movements.

“You don’t though, and that’s the problem.” You wiped the few stubborn tears that had fallen from your cheeks angrily. “I’m tired, Logan. I’m tired of fighting.”

You noticed then that the space between you had shrunk increasingly, standing merely inches apart at that point. Your sleep shirt left your collarbone exposed as you shifted, Logan’s eyes following in interest. His scent and body warmth calmed you, coaxing a confession from your lips.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I should’ve just listened to you instead of being the biggest fucking idiot on the planet.” His words were genuinely apologetic, tone dropping and eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I wanted to tell you the truth.” You whispered. “You just wouldn’t let me.”

“Well, here’s the thing,” he laughed slightly. “If I had let you explain, then I would’ve had to admit sooner how wrong I truly was for behaving in the ways I did. I was so angry over nothing that I couldn’t see straight.”

His hand came up slowly, giving you time to pull away. When he was sure you wouldn’t, Logan’s hand came to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“That may be one of the most stupid excuses I’ve ever heard.”

That brought a ghost of a smile to his face as his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. His face drew closer to yours, breaths intermingling.

“Tell me to stop.” He murmured.

“You know I won’t do that.”

Your first kiss with John Logan was far from the perfect storybook moment. It was desperate, like he’d been aching to do this for far longer than he’d care to admit. His one hand found your waist, gripping it tight between his fingers, while his other hand cupped the nape of your neck.

He walked you backward slowly until you felt your back hitting the wall. He surrounded you- his scent, his body, his soul. His lips trailed the column of your throat, teeth gently grazing the most sensitive spots that made you gasp against him.

“Been waiting to do this for months.” He murmured, lips never once leaving your skin as he spoke.

“I thought you hated me.” Your response was breathy, as if a slight gust of wind would blow the statement away and leave you both wanting more.

“I wanted to, I really did.” His hands trailed up under your nightshirt, caressing gently above your ribs. His hands were warm, yet the gentleness of the action compared to his words sent a shiver up your spine regardless. “But I couldn’t. I never could bring myself to feel anything but want for you.”

“But, the article—” your words were cut off by yet another deep kiss.

“Fuck the article.” He snapped. “I don’t give a damn about some fabricated article when I’ve got everything I ever wanted standing right here in front of me.” His eyes trailed the length of your body, a mix of love and desire swirling in his eyes. “Christ, look at you.”

“Bed, now.”

He lifted you effortlessly, muscular arms circling your thighs as he led you to the bed in the center of the room. A bed that you would’ve hated to be in together an hour ago, but now only found yourself excited at the idea of sharing a bed with Logan.

“Say it again,” he groaned, setting you down gently and crawling atop you, covering every inch of your body like a blanket. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

“I swear, I never said anything like that.” You responded, hands finding his cheeks and pulling his gaze to your own intense one. “I love you, Logan.”

The smile that broke out across his face was nothing short of a brightness that rivaled the sun. Instead of responding verbally, he kissed you again, this time with a passion that knocked all the air out of your lungs and left you desperate for more.

You knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that Logan loved you back, and this unexpected union meant a fresh start. A beginning that only included warmth, desire, and love.

“Don’t think this means I forgive you just yet.” You sassed, pushing him away slightly.

“Baby, just name whatever you want me to do to make it up to you and consider it done.” He smiled, hands and mouth descending upon you once more.

“Hmm,” you teased. “I think I can come up with some ideas.”

<3

a/n: guys I am SO sorry for my mini hiatus! had a vacation and an illness set me back, but I'm back! working on more requests as we speak, but my inbox is always open! as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated.

The first time Kenny says it, you're standing in the diner. The place is quieter these days. It's not empty. It would never be empty. It's just quieter. Ever since Tian-Chen was taken from the town, it has been. From what you've been told, she was the life force of this place.

You run a rag over one of the tables while Kenny counts supplies behind the counter. Outside, the sun is beginning to set. Inside, everything feels soft.

"You know," Kenny says suddenly.

You glance up. "Hm?"

A small smile pulls at his lips. "My mom would've loved you."

Your chest tightens. You never got the chance to meet Tian-Chen. You know her from stories. From the way Boyd's face softens whenever he mentions her. From the way Jade still can't quite look at her house without getting emotional. From the way Kenny talks about her when he forgets he's talking.

He loves to talk about the way she used to sing while cooking, how she always worried everyone was hungry, and how she somehow knew when he was lying before he even opened his mouth.

You smile gently. "You think so?"

Kenny lets out a quiet laugh. "I know so." He closes the notebook in front of him. "She would've adopted you immediately."

You laugh. "Adopted me?"

"Immediately."

"That's dramatic."

"It's really not." He points at you. "You helped Kristi reorganize the clinic for three hours because she looked stressed."

You snort, because to you, it was the only reasonable option. "It was the right thing to do."

"You made Ethan that birthday cake."

"It was from a box."

"You still made it." You roll your eyes and Kenny grins. "And you bring people food when they're sad."

"Everyone does that."

"No." He shakes his head. "My mom did that." The smile slowly slips from his face. You see the grief underneath. It's always there. He always tries to hide it. He wants to be strong for the town, for you. He believes he has to be, but you don't want him to. He doesn't need to around you.

You walk around the counter and stop beside him. His hand immediately finds yours.

"I wish I could've met her," you admit softly.

"I wish you had too." His voice comes out rougher than expected. You squeeze his hand. Kenny stares down at your intertwined fingers. "My mom always worried about me."

You smile. "I think that's just called being a parent."

"No, I mean..." He laughs quietly. "She worried I'd end up alone."

Your heart breaks a little. "Kenny-"

"I'm serious." He shrugs. "She always said I was too busy taking care of them. That I spent too much time with my parents and no girl wants that."

You giggle. "She's not wrong."

"Hey." He bumps you with his shoulder, making you both laugh. Then he looks at you with that same expression he gets when he's trying to memorize something. "She would've been so happy when I told her about you."

You feel tears threatening. "Kenny..."

"She would've asked a million questions." His voice grows softer. "She would've wanted to know where you grew up." A smile tugs at his lips. "What your favorite food was." His hand comes up to cup your cheek. "If you were eating enough."

You laugh through the sting in your eyes. "That sounds familiar."

"Yeah." His own eyes glisten now. "She would've made you dinner." The words nearly break him. "She would've told everyone in town you were dating me."

You laugh. "Oh, absolutely."

"Like immediately. Within five minutes maximum." A shaky smile spreads across his face. Then he looks away. That's always the hardest part. The remembering. The daydreaming of what life could've been like. The realization that she's not here.

You step close enough that your forehead brushes his shoulder. "I would've loved her."

The room goes silent. Kenny swallows. Then he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him.

You feel him exhale. "Yeah," he whispers.

For a second, you imagine her standing behind the counter. She would be watching her son smile, watching him be loved.

And somehow, even though you've never met her, you think she'd be smiling too.

You tilt your head up. "I may not have gotten the chance to meet her, but I feel like I know her. Because of you." You cup his cheek. "She lives on through your stories," you continue softly. "Through the way you talk about her. Through all the little things you do without even realizing." A tear slips down his face "I love her without ever knowing her," you whisper. Your thumb brushes the tear away. "Because she made you. She raised the man I love."

For a moment, Kenny just stares at you. Then he lets out a shaky laugh, the kind that sounds dangerously close to crying, and he sniffles. "She would've loved hearing that."

You smile. "Then it's a good thing she's listening."

Kenny's eyes immediately fill. "Come here," he murmurs. You don't have to be told twice. His hands cup your face, wiping your tears the same way you did his. "I love you."

You hum, leaning in until you're only a breath away. "I love you more." You close the gap, his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft and tender.

His hands move from your face to your waist, and when he pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurts, you know he isn't just holding you. He's holding every version of his life that should have been. Every conversation his mother never got to have. Every introduction that never happened. And for the first time in a long time, the grief doesn't feel quite so heavy.

you sat down, watching as he opened the kit and grabbed a clean cloth and a small bottle of antiseptic. the scent of his cologne lingered in the air, sharp and somehow comforting.

“this might sting,” he warned, crouching in front of you. his touch was surprisingly gentle as he dabbed at the dried blood on your knee.

you winced but stayed still, watching him work. his brows were furrowed in concentration, his usual smugness replaced with something quieter, steadier.

“start talking,” he said after a moment, his tone calmer now. “what happened with ruthie?”

you hesitated, the memory still raw. but there was something in the way rafe looked at you—like he genuinely wanted to know.

“she was saying stuff about kie,” you admitted, your voice soft. “calling her a trashy pogue, saying she was probably stealing from people at the party. i told her to shut the fuck up, and she got in my face. said i was defending kie because i’m just as pathetic as her.”

rafe’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt, just kept cleaning the cut on your knee.

“i told her to back off, and she shoved me. when i didn’t drop it, she swung at me. the rest is kind of a blur,” you finished, looking down at your hands.

“you’ve got a pretty big mouth, you know that?” he muttered, taking your leg gently in his hand to examine the cut on your knee. “and look where it’s gotten you.”

you rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. “yeah, but i still won.”

rafe snorted softly, shaking his head as he worked. “yeah? i bet you think you were tough, huh?” he dabbed at the cut, and you hissed, instinctively jerking your leg.

“hold still,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. his grip on your calf tightened just enough to keep you in place as he cleaned the wound.

“ruthie didn’t walk away looking perfect, if that’s what you’re asking,” you said, a small flicker of pride lighting up in your voice. “you should’ve seen her.”

rafe smirked, glancing up at you briefly before returning his attention to your knee. “don’t worry,” he said, his tone casual but with an edge that made your chest tighten slightly. “i’ll see her. up close.”

the way he said it—calm, measured, but dripping with barely restrained fury—made your stomach twist. you tried to brush it off as typical rafe bravado, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear: he wasn’t joking.

“this is gonna sting,” he warned before gently pressing the damp cloth to your skin.

you winced, gritting your teeth but refusing to pull away this time. he worked slowly, his brows furrowed in concentration as he cleaned away the dried blood and dirt.

“there,” he said, sitting back slightly to look at his work. “now let me see your nose.”

you hesitated but didn’t fight him when he tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your jaw. his eyes narrowed as he studied the dried blood smeared beneath your nostrils. “it’s not broken,” he said after a moment. “just banged up.”

“thanks for the expert diagnosis, dr. cameron,” you muttered, earning a faint chuckle from him.

“hold this,” he said, handing you the damp cloth before pulling out another small ice pack. he wrapped it in a towel and gently pressed it to your swollen eye.

you flinched at the cold, but he held it steady. “don’t be such a baby,” he teased, though his voice lacked any real bite.

“i’m not,” you shot back, your glare softened by the faint tug of a smile.

he smirked again, shaking his head. “you really do have a big mouth,” he said, leaning back against his desk once more.

you matched his smirk with one of your own. “yeah, well, i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

rafe’s expression darkened slightly, but it wasn’t directed at you. “good,” he said simply, his tone quiet but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist.

the cold stung, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off him—his sudden intensity making it hard to breathe.

rafe pulled the ice pack away, out of your grasp, his gaze lingered on your face. his eyes narrowed as his thumb brushed along your jaw, tilting your face to the side.

“hold on,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“what?” you asked, your voice harsher than you intended.

he didn’t answer at first, leaning in closer. you froze, your breath hitching as his thumb moved just beside the bruise on your cheek. “there’s a cut here,” he said, his tone lower now. “i didn’t see it before.”

“it’s nothing,” you mumbled, trying to pull away, but his hand on your jaw stopped you.

“don’t,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. his blue eyes locked onto yours, holding you in place. “let me clean it.”

you wanted to argue, but the words caught in your throat. you were suddenly hyperaware of how close he was, the sharp line of his jaw just inches from you, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

he grabbed a fresh cloth, wetting it in the bathroom before crouching back in front of you. this time, he didn’t just lean in—he was so close his knees brushed yours, his fingers gently tilting your face toward him.

“stay still,” he murmured, his voice softer now but heavy with something unspoken.

the sting of the antiseptic barely registered. all you could focus on was the way his thumb brushed against your skin, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours even as he worked. the tension in the air was thick, electric, every small movement of his hand sending sparks skittering down your spine.

“you’re staring,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

rafe’s lips twitched, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah?” he said, his voice a low drawl. “can you blame me?”

your breath caught, and you opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. his smirk deepened as he pulled the cloth away, his thumb lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary.

“there,” he said, his voice softer now. “all cleaned up. you’re lucky it’s not deeper.”

you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “thanks,” you mumbled, feeling a little unsteady under his gaze.

rafe didn’t move. he stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on your jaw. his eyes flicked over your face, studying every bruise and cut like they offended him personally.

“she really took you on, huh?” he said after a moment, his tone almost teasing but laced with something darker. “but don’t worry, i’ll take care of her.”

“rafe, you don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off, his thumb brushing once more against your cheek before he stood.

“keep the ice on your eye,” he said, his tone suddenly businesslike as he packed up the first-aid kit.

you watched him move around the room, your mind still spinning from the charged moment you’d just shared. even as he turned away, you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, like he wasn’t quite done with whatever was brewing between you.

and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to be.

rafe came back into the room after tossing the bloodied cloths and wrappers in the trash, running a hand through his hair. his shoulders looked less tense now, but his expression was unreadable as he glanced at you sitting there with the ice pack still pressed to your eye.

“you look like you’re about to pass out,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

“i’m fine,” you muttered in answer, though the exhaustion was catching up with you.

he tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “you can take my bed if you want.”

your eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “no thanks. i’ll take the couch.”

rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “yeah, no. i’d rather have you dirty my bed than the ten-thousand-dollar couch.”

your jaw dropped. “you’re so stuck up.”

“and you’re about to sleep outside if you don’t shut up,” he shot back, but the slight grin on his face betrayed his teasing tone.

“okay, then i’ll walk home,” you said, shrugging, starting to push yourself up from the bed.

rafe’s amused expression immediately shifted to disbelief. “you’re not serious, right?”

you stood, wobbling slightly, and he rolled his eyes before stepping closer. “alright, that’s enough,” he said, lightly pressing his hand to your shoulder and guiding you back down onto the bed.

“lay down,” he said firmly, crossing his arms as he loomed over you. “keep the ice on your eye, but not too long. and put it on your knuckles too, because they’re gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”

you frowned, looking down at your hands. now that he mentioned it, the dull ache in your knuckles was growing more noticeable. you sighed, sinking back into the bed and adjusting the ice pack against your eye.

“there,” rafe said, a smug note in his voice as he watched you obey. “was that so hard?”

“shut up,” you grumbled, but your tone lacked any real bite.

he chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and tossed it over you. “just try not to bleed on my sheets,” he said, his voice softening as he lingered by the edge of the bed.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “thanks.”

his gaze softened for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. “yeah, yeah. just don’t get used to it.”

as he turned to leave the room, you settled back against the pillows, exhaustion finally taking over. you might’ve hated to admit it, but being here—being taken care of by rafe—didn’t feel as strange as it should have.

and somehow, that was the most unsettling part of all.

you woke up slowly, the first thing you noticed was the throbbing inside your head. your temples pulsed in time with your heartbeat, and every inch of your body felt like it had been through a war.

lightheadedness crept in as you sat up, forcing you to take a moment to steady yourself.

your knee ached, the sharp pain radiating up your leg with every slight movement. your cheek stung, and the skin around your eye felt tight. tentatively, you reached up to touch it, wincing when your fingers made contact with your skin.

turning your head, you spotted a glass of water on the nightstand with a couple of painkillers neatly placed beside it. a small note was folded underneath them, scrawled in rafe’s sharp handwriting: take these. don’t be stubborn.

you picked them up and tossed them back quickly, chasing it with a gulp of water. the coolness soothed your dry throat, but the pounding in your head didn’t ease right away.

dragging yourself out of bed, you padded toward the bathroom, each step a reminder of the bruises and cuts decorating your body. your knuckles ached with every flex of your fingers, and you clenched them instinctively, regretting it immediately.

inside the bathroom, the faint light from the small window illuminated the counter.

you noticed your eye wasn’t that swollen anymore, but when you brushed your fingers lightly over the skin, you winced. it was tender and, judging by the dark blue tint you glimpsed at in the mirror across from you.

your cheekbone was tender with a faint scratch, and your knuckles were red and swollen.

“great,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

you turned toward the sink, expecting to just splash your face with water, but something on the counter caught your eye: a toothbrush still in its packaging, resting neatly beside the toothpaste.

you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder like someone might catch you. but you needed it, and the sight of your dry, cracked lips in the mirror was enough to convince you.

tearing open the packaging, you squeezed some toothpaste onto the toothbrush and began scrubbing. the minty foam stung your lips, but it was your knuckles that hurt the most. every motion sent a sharp, aching throb through your hands, and you had to grit your teeth to keep from crying out.

“damn it,” you muttered, pausing to flex your fingers gingerly. but you pushed through, brushing until your teeth felt clean enough, then rinsing your mouth and the toothbrush.

leaning against the counter for a moment, you let out a long breath, staring at your reflection. this was… a lot. too much. and yet, you couldn’t help but think about rafe—the way he’d taken care of you last night, the strange softness in his otherwise sharp demeanor.

as much as you wanted to hate it, part of you didn’t mind.

shaking your head, you turned off the light and shuffled back toward the bedroom, trying to ignore the aching in your body—and the confused thoughts swirling in your head.

as you sat on the edge of the bed, debating whether to lie back down or try to shake off your lingering dizziness, muffled voices from downstairs made you freeze.

they weren’t just voices—they were angry, sharp, and escalating quickly.

“what the fuck?” you muttered under your breath, standing up too fast and immediately regretting it. the dizziness hit hard, making you grip the edge of the bed to steady yourself.

you needed to check what was going on, but not in yesterday’s crumpled clothes. opening the dresser on the far side of the room, you shuffled through the contents. most of it was clearly rafe’s—a mix of crisp shirts and athletic gear. but toward the back, you found a pair of dark blue sweats that looked about your size.

and then you spotted it: a pink t-shirt, soft and slightly worn, the kind of thing you instinctively knew wasn’t rafe’s style. sarah’s, you guessed. it didn’t really matter, so you pulled it over your head.

the shouting downstairs grew louder.

“seriously,” you sighed, trying to pull the sweats on without hurting your knee and tying the drawstring before heading toward the stairs.

when you reached the bottom, the voices became distinct.

“why the hell were you helping her, man?” topper’s voice was loud and furious. you peeked around the corner to see him standing toe-to-toe with rafe in the kitchen. his face was becoming red, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“shut the fuck up before you wake the whole house,” rafe snapped, his voice low but seething.

“the only person here is wheezie,” topper shot back, waving his arms. “and don’t act like that’s the problem. you are!”

rafe took a step closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “you’re the one yelling in my kitchen at eight in the damn morning, top. you need to fucking chill.”

topper didn’t back down. “chill? chill? ruthie said she hit y/n for a reason, bro. why the hell are you even involved? that girl’s not worth this.”

you froze, peering from the shadows as rafe straightened, his shoulders stiffening. “she’s worth not getting jumped by your psycho girlfriend,” he said coolly.

“she’s a fucking pogue!” topper yelled, his face twisting in anger.

rafe laughed, sharp and biting. “she lives on figure eight, you fucking weirdo. what are you even talking about?”

“doesn’t matter,” topper spat. “she’s trash, and if you’re protecting her, you’re just as bad. i’ll fucking kill her when i see her, for what she did to ruthie.”

your stomach dropped, and you instinctively stepped back.

rafe’s laugh was darker this time, the kind of sound that sent chills down your spine. “yeah? i’d like to see you try, bro.”

the kitchen fell silent except for the faint sound of your unsteady breathing. rafe had taken a step forward, his towering frame casting a long shadow over topper.

“you’re pushing it, man,” rafe said, his voice steady and dangerously calm. “if you have a problem with me, take it up with me. but if you so much as look at y/n the wrong way…” he trailed off, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

topper looked like he wanted to say something, but the tension was suffocating.

you shuffled into view, clearing your throat. “hey,” you said, your voice shaky but loud enough to catch their attention.

both heads snapped toward you.

you watched as topper’s face twisted as his eyes landed on you, cycling through a chaotic mix of emotions—shock, disbelief, anger, and then a bitter fury. his tongue pressed against his cheek as a sharp, humorless laugh escaped him.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he sneered, glaring at rafe like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

rafe sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face like he was seconds from snapping. “top, just shut the hell up.” he stepped toward you, his hand brushing your arm to guide you back toward the stairs. “come on. let’s go.”

you frowned, resisting his pull. “wait, what’s going on?”

“she’s here?” topper’s voice was incredulous, loud enough to echo through the kitchen. he pointed at you, his finger shaking. “you’re actually keeping her here? what the fuck, rafe? she’s a pogue! she hangs out with those freaks on the cut—those wannabe rebels with their loser-ass surfboards and groupie bullshit!”

your stomach churned, but you didn’t get a chance to respond before rafe’s expression hardened.

“topper,” he warned, his voice low and deadly.

“no, bro!” topper exploded, gesturing wildly. “don’t stand there and act like she and kie didn’t see it happen last night. you know she’s not worth this!”

rafe’s jaw ticked, and he turned fully to face topper, a dangerous calm washing over him. “you’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of my house.”

topper let out a disbelieving laugh, his tongue poking his cheek again as he tilted his head. “what the fuck are you doing, man? you’re choosing her? over me?”

“over you and over whatever bullshit you think matters right now,” rafe shot back, his voice sharp and unyielding. “and if you don’t walk out that door in the next five seconds, i’m calling my lawyer. i’ll have you trespassed so fast your head’ll spin.”

topper’s laugh turned into a snarl. “you’re fucking crazy.”

“maybe,” rafe said, his lips curling into a cold smirk. “but i’m also the guy who’ll have you eating court fees for breakfast if you don’t leave my house, now.”

the room fell silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. topper glared at rafe, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. for a moment, you thought he might swing, but then he threw his hands up in exasperation.

“you’re out of your damned mind,” he muttered, turning toward the door before he stopped in his tracks, “and you, you’ll regret this,” he pointed towards you.

the slam of the door echoed through the house as topper left.

rafe turned to you, exhaling slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. “come on,” he said, nodding toward the stairs. “let’s get you back upstairs.”

your brows furrowed as you followed him, still reeling. “what the hell was that?”

“don’t worry about it,” rafe muttered, his voice softer now, but the tension in his posture hadn’t fully eased.

you stood there, looking at rafe, feeling the silence grow thick between you. the weight of the last few minutes, the tension in the air, made it hard to breathe.

“did you and topper... fight because of the ruthie thing?” you asked, the words tasting strange as they left your mouth.

rafe didn’t answer at first. he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched.

you waited, but still, nothing.

“rafe?” you pressed again, stepping closer to him.

he looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, in a low voice, he muttered, “yeah, i was arguing with him.”

your stomach tightened at the thought. “why?”

“why?” rafe scoffed, standing up abruptly. “because that guy has no fucking boundaries. because he's an asshole, and i don’t like the way he treats you.”

you opened your mouth to respond but were cut off by your phone buzzing in your pocket.

you pulled it out, your stomach sinking when you saw the screen light up with ruthie’s name.

before you could even process it, the screen flashed with her message:

ruthie:

“round two? come on, i’ll make sure it’s fair this time.”

you stared at the message, your hands trembling in pain as you locked your phone.

rafe caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, his gaze “she really thinks she can just go after you again?” his voice was like ice, but there was a dangerous edge to it that made your chest tighten.

“rafe, just calm down,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. you took a small step back, but it didn't stop him from pacing across the room, his jaw clenched, his frustration seeping through every muscle in his body.

“calm down?” he repeated, turning to face you, his voice rising. “she’s out there talking shit about you, threatening you—after what happened last night? you think i’m just gonna stand by and let her do that?”

“it’s not worth it,” you said, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “why does it even matter to you, rafe? you argued with topper at eight in the morning. you’re in the middle of your own mess. this... this isn’t your problem.”

he took a step toward you, and you could feel the air between you crackling. “it’s my problem because you’re my problem,” he said, his voice low, his eyes locking onto yours.

you froze at his words, your heart thudding in your chest. the world around you seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. his gaze held something you couldn’t quite place—something fierce, but vulnerable at the same time.

“i’m your problem?” you repeated, almost whispering, trying to wrap your mind around what he was saying.

rafe stepped closer, his breath just a little too close to yours. “yeah, you are.” he reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers grazing your cheek in a soft, deliberate touch.

you could barely breathe, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, the heat of his body radiating toward you. every inch of space between you seemed to be disappearing with each passing second.

“rafe,” you whispered, your voice shaky, uncertain.

“i’m not letting anyone hurt you,” he said, his words a promise—an almost reckless determination in his tone.

you were so close to him now that you could feel the intensity of his gaze. everything around you seemed to fall away as the world seemed to hold its breath.

his lips hovered inches from yours, and for a heartbeat, you were both still, both locked in that moment, waiting for something to shift.

and then—

ding.

the sound of your phone vibrating broke the spell.

rafe pulled back, frustration flashing in his eyes as he glanced down at the screen.

you could feel your stomach churn as he read ruthie’s message.

ruthie:

“you’re not getting away that easy. you know you want to.”

“i’ll see you soon.”

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“seriously? what are you doing out here, l/n? trying to hitch a ride, or just making me feel bad for your poor life choices?”

“hello?” he called again, drawing the truck to a stop alongside you. “what, too good to grace me with one of your snappy comebacks?”

“come on,” he pressed. “at least give me some material for the next time you try to roast me. you’re making it too easy.”

when you didn’t respond, his cocky smirk faded, and something in his voice shifted.

he cut himself off abruptly as you turned your head, and his eyes locked on your bloody nose and tear-streaked face.

“wait—what the hell?” the door slammed, and within seconds, he was in front of you, blocking your path. his sharp eyes darted over your face, taking in the blood trickling from your nose and the tear-streaked remnants of mascara. his jaw tightened.

“who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice low and brimming with an anger that wasn’t directed at you.

you rolled your eyes, stepping around him. “go away, rafe.”

he grabbed your arm—not hard, but firm enough to stop you. “y/n. i’m not fucking joking. who did this?”

you yanked your arm free, glaring up at him. “why do you care? so you can laugh about it with topper and the rest of your kook buddies tomorrow? save it.”

his expression darkened further, the cocky edge gone entirely. “i swear to—tell me who did this before i lose my shit even more.”

you hesitated, torn between anger and confusion. this wasn’t the rafe you knew—the one who always had some snide comment or cutting remark. this rafe looked... furious. protective.

“ruthie,” you finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter. “topper’s girlfriend. she got mad because i didn’t let her trash-talk kie.”

“what the hell did she do?” he pressed, stepping closer, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I defended kie, and ruthie lost it. shoved me, got in my face. whatever. it’s done now, okay?” you snapped, tears threatening to spill again.

“why do you even care, rafe?”

he stared at you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face with a mix of anger and something softer—something you couldn’t quite place.

“because,” he said finally, his voice steady but laced with frustration, “no one gets to do this to you. no one.”

you swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you.

“get in the truck,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

you hesitated, unsure if you should trust the sudden shift in him.

“y/n,” he said again, softer this time, his hand hovering near your arm as if he wasn’t sure whether you’d let him touch you. “let me take you home. and i’ll handle that girl.”

against your better judgment, you nodded, letting him guide you to the passenger seat. as he drove, the silence between you was heavy but oddly comforting.

for once, you didn’t feel the need to push him away. and for once, he didn’t feel the need to pretend he didn’t care.