laynaa .⋆♱⃓

The soft ticking of the watch on his wrist felt louder now, mocking him. Seven o’clock reservations had become seven-thirty nearly twenty minutes prior, and somewhere downtown an irritated maître d’ was undoubtedly giving their table away to someone else. Bruce had specifically cleared tonight for her. No meetings. No patrol until later. No Wayne Foundation calls. Just dinner. Just her.

And despite all of that, despite the irritation simmering quietly beneath his composed exterior, he still couldn’t truly find it in himself to care.

Because he knew what was coming.

He knew eventually that bathroom door would open, and she would walk out looking devastating enough to make him forget every coherent thought in his head.

She always did.

Bruce tipped his head back against the chair and exhaled slowly through his nose, staring up at the ceiling as he rolled the whiskey over his tongue. He could hear her moving around again, muttering something under her breath, followed by an annoyed huff.

A smile threatened at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

The bathroom door finally opened.

Bruce looked up immediately.

And there she was.

Every ounce of annoyance vanished so quickly it almost embarrassed him.

She stepped out carefully, one hand braced against the doorframe while the other adjusted the fabric hugging her waist, and Bruce felt something in his chest tighten with dangerous intensity. The dress clung to her like it had been made specifically for her body, elegant and dark, the kind of thing designed to ruin men quietly. Soft skin glowed beneath the warm bedroom lighting, her hair falling around her shoulders in effortless waves that probably took far too much effort to create.

Bruce’s gaze dragged over her slowly, helplessly.

God.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she sighed dramatically, though the smile tugging at her lips ruined any sincerity. “I was struggling with my zipper.” Her eyes met his then, warm and teasing. “Help me?”

Bruce set his glass down carefully before he did something reckless like shatter it in his grip.

Without a word, he sat forward in the chair as she crossed the room toward him, heels clicking softly against the hardwood floors. She stopped directly in front of him before turning around, sweeping all her hair over one shoulder to expose the bare line of her back and the half-zipped dress hanging scandalously low.

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

His hands found her hips instinctively, large and warm against the silk fabric, and he guided her backward until she settled onto his lap with a soft laugh.

“Bold,” she murmured.

Bruce barely heard her.

His attention was fixed entirely on the exposed skin inches from his face.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the zipper.

His fingers brushed against the small of her back first, and he felt her shiver instantly beneath his touch. That alone nearly undid him. Bruce pulled the zipper upward at an agonizing pace, eyes following every inch as the fabric closed together little by little. Not because it needed to take that long.

But because he wanted an excuse to touch her.

To look at her.

To keep her exactly where she was.

Once the zipper reached the top, Bruce’s hand lingered there. His fingers flattened gently against the back of her neck before he leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss against her shoulder.

The tension in the room shifted immediately.

“Do we have to go?” he asked quietly against her skin.

She smiled instantly, hearing exactly what hid beneath his voice.

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently, though amusement danced in her tone. “Of course we do. It’s date night.”

Bruce’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly around her waist.

“I know.” His voice dropped lower, rougher now. “But we’re already thirty minutes late.” Another kiss brushed against her shoulder, slower this time. “The restaurant has probably given our table away.” His nose skimmed lightly along the curve of her neck. “And I know I just helped put this dress on but…”

He trailed off deliberately.

Because his hands were already moving.

One slid from her waist to her thigh, fingers spreading over bare skin where the slit of her dress exposed her leg. The other traveled upward, gliding along her waist before settling against her stomach, holding her firmly against him.

She felt warm.

Too warm.

Bruce lowered his head again, pressing another kiss just beneath her ear, and her breathing hitched softly.

That sound nearly destroyed whatever restraint he had left.

“Bruce,” she warned, though the laugh in her voice weakened the effect entirely.

“Hm?”

“We’re supposed to be going out.”

“We can reschedule.”

“You made those reservations two months ago.”

“I’ll buy the restaurant.”

That made her laugh properly.

A real laugh.

Bruce finally allowed himself to smile against her skin, eyes closing briefly as he soaked in the sound of it. God, he loved that sound. More than the quiet of the manor. More than victory. More than sleep after patrol. Her laughter was one of the few things in the world capable of silencing every violent thought in his head.

“You cannot buy every problem away,” she informed him.

Bruce leaned back slightly, finally looking at her face.

“Yes, I can.”

The confidence in his tone made her roll her eyes affectionately, but Bruce noticed the way her cheeks warmed beneath his stare. He always noticed. Bruce noticed everything about her.

The way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat when he looked at her too long.

The way she unconsciously leaned into his touch even while pretending to resist him.

The way her lips parted slightly whenever his hands settled on her waist.

He knew her tells better than he knew his own.

And right now?

Right now she was seconds away from giving in.

Bruce rested his forehead lightly against her shoulder and exhaled slowly, his voice quieter when he spoke again.

“You look beautiful.”

Not flirtatious.

Not teasing.

Honest.

That was what made her fall silent.

Bruce Wayne was charming with everyone else. Effortlessly charismatic. Polished. Untouchable. But with her, the act disappeared. What remained was something rarer and infinitely more dangerous: sincerity.

He looked at her like he truly couldn’t believe she existed.

And maybe he still couldn’t.

His fingers brushed slowly up her arm as his gaze moved over her face again, softer now.

“I spent the entire week looking forward to tonight,” he admitted. “Not the restaurant. Not the reservations. Just…this.”

Her expression melted a little at that.

Bruce noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

His thumb traced slowly along her thigh again before he leaned closer, voice turning quieter, intimate enough to make heat curl low in her stomach.

“So forgive me if I’m struggling to care about dinner when you’re sitting on my lap looking like this.”

Y/n smiled while shifting carefully on his lap, she turned until she was facing him fully, one leg sliding along either side of his thighs as her hands rose to cradle his face. The sharp angles of Bruce Wayne always softened beneath her touch. His jaw unclenched first. Then his shoulders. Then those impossibly pretty eyes lifted to hers with that quiet intensity that still made her chest tighten after all this time.

She leaned down and kissed him gently.

The kind of kiss that lingered.

Bruce immediately chased after it when she pulled away, his mouth brushing hers once more before she could speak, clearly unwilling to let her go that easily.

“How about,” she began softly, her thumbs brushing along the stubble shadowing his jaw, “we go to the restaurant…” Another small kiss touched the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure they’ll magically find a table for Mister Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce huffed quietly through his nose, neither confirming nor denying the very obvious truth of that statement.

“We’ll eat their ridiculously overpriced pasta,” she continued, smiling now, “drink wine we’ll both pretend we can actually taste the difference between, and have a wonderful time.”

Bruce’s eyes never left her face.

Not once.

The attention was almost unbearable when he looked at her like this. Like the rest of the world had ceased existing the moment she climbed into his lap.

“And then,” she whispered, leaning closer, “we’ll come home.”

Her lips brushed his jaw.

Bruce’s grip on her waist tightened immediately.

She felt it.

Enjoyed it.

Slowly, deliberately, she pressed another kiss beneath his ear before trailing them upward, lingering just long enough to feel the subtle hitch in his breathing.

“And then,” she murmured directly against his ear, “you can take this dress off me, hm?”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Not empty.

Heavy.

Bruce’s hands spread wider against her waist, large enough to nearly span it completely, and his head tilted slightly as he looked at her with an expression that was becoming increasingly dangerous.

“Or,” he said slowly, voice roughened into something velvet-deep and unfairly attractive, “we skip dinner entirely…”

One hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.

“…and cut straight to the part where I take the dress off.”

The bluntness of it made heat bloom across her cheeks.

There it was.

Not billionaire Bruce Wayne smiling for cameras.

Not Gotham’s charming prince.

Just Bruce.

Direct. Certain. Possessive in a way he only ever allowed himself to be with her.

Y/n rolled her eyes despite the smile tugging at her lips. “We’re going.”

Bruce stared at her for a long moment.

Genuinely stared.

Like he was reevaluating every life decision that had led him to this exact moment.

Then, with all the exhausted dramatics of a man being sent unwillingly to war, his head tipped backward against the chair and a long sigh escaped him.

It was such an exaggerated sigh that she nearly laughed again.

“You’re very cruel to me,” he muttered darkly.

“Mm,” she hummed. “You’ll survive. You’ve survived worse.”

Bruce’s gaze slid back to her immediately, entirely unconvinced.

“Debatable.”

That one earned him a laugh.

A real one.

Soft and bright and warm enough to pull the faintest smile from him in return.

God.

Bruce would burn cities down for that sound.

She slid carefully off his lap before he could change her mind—or before she changed it herself—and smoothed the fabric of her dress back into place. The silk settled perfectly against her body as she turned toward the mirror near the doorway to check her appearance one last time.

Behind her, Bruce remained seated.

Watching.

Shamelessly.

Completely shamelessly.

His eyes tracked her every movement with open appreciation, dark and unwavering as they moved over the elegant line of her spine, the curve of her waist, the soft sway of her hips beneath the dress he had been seconds away from peeling off her body himself.

Most men looked casually.

Briefly.

Bruce never did anything briefly.

He looked at her like a man committing artwork to memory before someone stole it away from him.

Like every glance mattered.

Like he still couldn’t fully believe she was real, let alone his.

And perhaps some wounded, guarded part of Bruce truly never would.

Because this—domesticity, softness, love uncomplicated by blood or violence—had never belonged in his world before her.

Yet there she stood in his bedroom, fixing an earring while his tie sat crooked because she’d distracted him fifteen minutes earlier.

Normal.

Beautiful.

His.

“Come on, Wayne,” she called finally, reaching for her clutch.

Bruce rose from the chair with the kind of effortless grace that always made him look dangerous even in a tailored suit. Six-foot-something of broad shoulders, expensive cologne, old money confidence, and concealed violence wrapped neatly beneath black Tom Ford.

He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket before tugging once at his tie.

Then he paused.

A nearly invisible grimace crossed his face as he subtly adjusted the front of his trousers.

Y/n caught it instantly.

Her eyes widened in amusement.

“Oh my God.”

Bruce looked entirely unapologetic.

“You whispered in my ear,” he said flatly, as though that explained everything.

“It was one sentence.”

“It was a very effective sentence.”

She bit down on her smile as Bruce grabbed his wallet from the dresser and crossed the room toward her, every movement composed despite the situation he was currently blaming entirely on her.

When he reached her, he rested one hand against the small of her back automatically, grounding himself there like second nature.

“This,” he muttered as he guided her toward the bedroom door, “is going to be a very long night.”

The smirk she sent him over her shoulder was downright lethal.

“Hopefully.”

©𝓐𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘢. do not copy, translate, or repost my work on any other sites without my permission. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

"should i get it cut?" he offers, cheeks pressed against his pillow.

your ministrations stills, "hmm. dunno." you answer honestly, pulling at the curled edges to make them stick out more. "it's sort of…hot. gives you a dishevelled…rugged look." you lower yourself, resting your cheeks onto his traps.

"…"

his arm wraps around your lower back. and with a swift movement, you feel your vision tilt as he plops you beneath him. "ack!" you gasp, steadying a palm by his thick bicep, which he flexes, for your enjoyment.

clark shuffles to cage you in his arms, favouring his weight with his left forearm. one side of his head is visibly styled out in a messy swoop from where you were combing through. though a shorter, unruly strand curls past his forehead.

"i'm not sure if it's good for the hero image. to look unkempt," he ponders seriously, palms pressed against his cheeks as he lays on his side.

you blink up at him. still thrown by the sudden adjustment."…i'm just saying." your knuckles graze past the stray lock, melting into him, with a thigh draped along his ribs. "i like you like this. softer. just f'me." your words trail into murmurs, but he catches them anyway.

the dimples, deep in his cheeks makes themselves known first, and he lets out a huff, sizing you with a dopey smile. "that so?" clark leans on, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot below your ears. the first peck tickles you, with his messy hair brushing past your ears. "hahah. hey! that tickles." you groan, catching a brief glimpse of his blurred, dark locks," geez…like some…wild beast."

"hmm. make up your mind," he rumbles, trailing teasing kisses past your collarbone, to your sternum. clark lifts his head up, eyes glinting in wanton adoration for you. "am i a beast, or some cool…hip dude?"

you stare at him, in mild disgust. "cool hip dude? nevermind. you can never be rugged."

he nips at your wrist when it comes to rest at the back of his head. "ow!" you yelp, shooting him a displeased look. clark just laughs, replacing the sting with a chaste peck. he guides your hand to the back of his head, as though encouraging you to keep it there.

"got your verdict yet?" the shift in the playfulness is subtle as he makes his way down your midsection. pressing another breathy kiss beneath your breasts to your navel. your eyes don't leave him, and neither does your idle palm, half-vanished in his curls.

before you can think to answer, clark lifts your hips up for a second to slide your sleep shorts down. keeping his gaze locked on yours as he presses his lips to your inner thighs.

you swallow the shudder that threatened to give away your building arousal, hands imperceptibly tightening where it was once lax.

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. 

That initial plan 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 the bad habit, 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, training was 24/7 and you were lucky to get a morning kiss, a small whisper of seeing you later before the door shut and their phones seemed 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.”

“Logan!”