bee

Across the room, you occumpied your usual spot on the couch. At some point over the last week, the couch had become yours. It wasn't like you moved in or anything but your blanket was always there. Your charger was permanently plugged into the outlet beside it. One of your textbooks sat abandoned on the coffee table beside an empty mug from earlier. 

It wasn't home but it was beginning to feel dangerously close. 

You highlighted the passage in your textbook before scribbling something into the margin. The movement felt mechanical at this point. You'd spent the better part of the week trying to convince yourself everything was normal by throwing yourself into your studies. 

Though it wasn't as easy as you thought it would be. You had convinced yourself that simply leaving hockey house for the time being would be enough to forget your problems. 

Perhaps if you'd really thought about it, you probably shouldn't have moved in with Allie and Hannah if you were trying to avoid anything and everything hockey. 

They were your best friends but unfortunately, Hannah and Allie weren't exactly neutral territory. They were also both dating members of the team and not just any members but Dean and your brother Garrett.

Avoiding hockey while living with them was a little like trying to avoid water while sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool.

They tried their best not to bring it in conversation too much or bring them around but there was bound to be mess ups. 

The front door burst open. You didn't even need to look up to know that today was going to be significantly harder to run away from your problems. The sheer force of his entrance announced him before he every spoke. 

He was mumbling something to Allie that you didn't quite catch but you definitely heard both of their laughs bouncing off the dorm room walls. You look up just in time to watch them stumble past the walk way and further into the dorm. 

Dean had one arm slung around Allie's shoulders while she attempted and failed to push him away playfully. The sight was so aggressively normal it almost made you smile. 

Allie's eye landed on you as they approached the couch. 

The smile vanished from her face so quickly it was almost impressive. You knew exactly what she was thinking. The realization hit her and immediately triggered a mountain of guilt. You could see it in her eyes. 

"Oh my god."

You immediately sat up straighter. "It's ok," you reassured. 

She still looked horrified. "I totally forgot—"

"Seriously," you offered her the most reassuring smile you could manage with everyone staring at you. "It's fine."

You stomach had already started twisting itself into knots but that wasn't Allie's fault and the last thing you wanted was for her to have to walk on eggshells in her own dorm room. 

"This is your dorm, Al," you continued. "If anything, I'm the one intruding."

The words came so naturally you barely thought about them. That was probably apart of the problem because immediately afterward you recognized exactly what you'd done. 

You had minimized your pain in the service of making someone else feel better. Again. Making yourself smaller. You were getting disturbingly good at it. 

Allie's expression softened slightly. You smiled again, one last attempt to convince her. This time the smile reached your eyes or at least you hoped it did. 

Eventually she offered one back. Unfortunately, Dean chose that exact moment to pull the conversation back. "Damn, Graham."

Your stomach sank immediately. You tried to prepare yourself what what he might say but there were too many possibilities. You could only hope that he didn't mention what you think he was about to. 

He was completely oblivious. "You really know how to wreck a hockey house," a laugh escaped him. 

You managed a tiny smile in hopes that would make him move on faster. Dean, of course, interpreted it as encouragement. 

"Seriously though," he dropped dramatically on to the couch next to you. One arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch behind you. "Logan looks like absolute shit."

You shifted and suddenly you couldn't feel your hands properly. 

Across the room, Hannah looked up from her laptop. You didn't miss the way her eyes immediately found yours. Dean missed it entirely. 

"Dean—" Allie tried. 

But once Dean started talking it was like trying to stop a freight train. "What?" he asked genuinely confused but he still continued. "Like I knew you two sneaking around was gonna blow up eventually but Jesus!"

Humiliation flooded your chest so quickly it almost stole your breath. Not because Dean sounded angry. Not because he was blaming you. Because he wasn't.

"Dean," this time it was Hannah.

"Him and Garrett, like cats and fucking dogs, bro." He immediately started making clawing motions with his fingers. Dean continued. "They can't even be in the same room right now."

Something inside your chest dropped. The room suddenly felt too small. And your brain did what it always did. It twisted and it weaponized your own misgivings. 

You ruined everything. 

You ruined Garrett's friendship. 

You ruined the house. 

You ruined Logan. 

The thoughts all arrived at once. Fast enough to make your stomach hurt. 

Before anyone could stop you, you stood. The motion was abrupt enough to startle everyone, even Dean. You grabbed the first excuse you could fine. "I need some air." They were thinner than you intended. 

You didn't give them a chance to respond because then you were moving and you didn't stop. Not even when you heard the tail end of Allie scolding her boyfriends. "Are you actually fucking stupid?" You practically heard the thump she gave him on the head. 

You didn't stop when you heard Hannah mutter, "I'll talk to her," or the soft padding of her foot steps behind you. 

You didn't stop until your feet carried you all the way outside. 

Cold air hit your face the second the dorm building shut behind you. 

It should have helped, the air, you mean. 

Instead your lungs still felt tight, like Dean's words had followed you outside and lodged themselves somewhere beneath your ribs. 

You stopped near the concrete steps leading down towards the parking lot, foling your arms tightly across your chest against the wind. Campus looked different this late at night. 

Softer in a way you almost despised. The sidewalks glowed gold beneath the street lamps while distant dorm window flickered with movement and television light. 

Somewhere farther across Briar's campus, you swore you could hear people laughing. Normal people. The kind got into fights and hookups and messy college drama without accidentally detonating years worth of trauma in the process. 

The door opened behind you again. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Hannah. "Dean's an idiot," she states, simply. 

Despite everything, a quiet breath of amusement escaped you. "You're just now figuring that out?" 

Hannah moved to stand beside you, leaning her elbows against the railing in mirror of you. She wore one of Garrett's hoddies, you recognized, over leggings, sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. Her brunette hair pulled into a messy knot that looked like she'd done it without much thought to how it looked. You craved her effortlessness. 

"He really didn't mean to upset you," she said gently, "You better than anyone know he has absolutely no filter."

"I know," you rubbed your hands over your arm absentmindedly. "I know he didn't." You stared out towards the empty parking lot for a second before adding quietly, "I'm fine."

The lie settled between you immediately. It wasn't dramatic but it wasn't wholly convincing either. Hannah was quiet long enough that you finally looked over at her. 

"You don't have to pretend you're okay with me," she muttered. Something in your chest tightened painfully at how easily she said it. When she spoke to you, it didn't feel like the others. It didn't feel like she was accusing you of anything or trying to pity you. 

It was like she was just saying statement. Just matter of fact. 

She'd already noticed the way you'd spent the last week making yourself smaller in her dorm. Sleeping on the couch despite both her and Allie offering their beds more than once. Keeping your clothes folded neatly in one tiny overnight bag near the armrest like you were afraid to spread it out too much. 

You looked away first. You feared that if you looked at her any longer you'd be helpless to spill your guts to her. She just had that way about her. You thought perhaps that was what drew Garrett to her in the first place. 

"Look, Hannah," you swallowed once. "I know Garrett's told you all about—" the words stalled out halfway. You made a vague motion with your hand instead, hoping she understood what you were trying to say. "You know."

You saw her expression shift almost immediately. Suddenly more hesitant and more careful then you'd seen her before. Like she thought you were about to tell her Garrett never should have said anything in the first place. 

Honestly, maybe you should have felt that way. 

Because it wasn't just Garrett's story to tell, it was yours too. But the idea of him carrying all of that around alone somehow felt worse than the alternitive. 

"Hey," you said quickly before she could apologize for something you weren't mad at. "Really. I'm glad he told you."

Hannah frowned slightly. 

"He deserves somebody he can trust. Especially with something like that." Something soft and sad flickered across her face then, gone almost instantly. For a minute neither of you said anything.

Then Hannah asked quietly, "Did you want to tell Logan eventually?"

"Yes," the answer came out so fast it surprised even you. Your voice held no hesitation, no uncertainty. Because the truth was that you had wanted to tell him someday. You just hadn't gotten there yet. 

Hannah glanced toward you carefully. "What made you wait?"

You let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. 

It felt strangely easy talking to Hannah out here in the dark where nobody could really look at you directly. Maybe because Garrett had already trusted her with the ugliest parts of the story. Maybe because Hannah was unique positioned to give you an insight on how both Garrett and Logan were feeling and why. 

Or maybe it was because you were exhausted from carrying this around by yourself. And now that Logan knew anyway, what did it matter? Either way, this was the situation you were in. "I didn't want it to change the way looked at me," you confessed. The words had come out quicker and more true than you had intended. 

Your throat tightened and you looked hard down at the concrete beneath your shoes. "Turns out I had a reason to be scared."

Hannah didn't interrupt, she didn't rush to reassure you, she just let you be. That almost made it easier to keep going. "You didn't see his face, Hannah."

Your vision blurred suddenly enough that you had to blink hard against it. "Before . . ," you swallowed, "before he looked at me and saw—" The word caught somewhere deep in your chest. "Me."

"And now?" Hannah's voice stayed soft. 

A horrible ache spread through you so sharply it almost made your stomach hurt. "Now all he sees is what happened to me." The sentence hung there between you. Raw and humiliating. 

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. "And fuck, I get it," your laugh this time sound thin even to your own ears. "When Garrett started saying all that shit—" You stopped, jaw tightening hard enough to ache. "How was Logan supposed to look at me normally after that?"

For a second all you could hear was the distant traffic and the hum of campus life. Then Hannah sighed quietly beside you. "I really can't speak for Garrett or what he was feeling in that moment," she admitted carefully. "But right now? He's terrified."

"I know that."

"No," Hannah said gently, "I don't think you do."

That made you turn and look at her. She leaned further against the railing to catch your eye. "Maybe on some level you understand it," she continued, "But you and Garrett are looking at this from completely different places."

The knot in your chest tightened.

"Garrett doesn't think Logan is like your father," you frown slightly, "He thinks anger turns men into him."

The words hit hard enough that you physically stilled. Because suddenly Garrett's face in your bedroom looked differently in your memory. Less controling and furious and more terrified. You wonder how you didn't see it before. 

"Logan would never hurt me," you stated firmly. You knew that with complete certainty. Hannah nodded immediately. "I know," and her voice held no doubt or hesistation. 

"Garrett knows that too," she said softly, "But he thought the same thing about your dad once too."

The air left your lungs slowly. And for the first time since the fight happened, the situation shifted slightly beneath your feet. Because until now you'd only been seeing it from your side, the humiliation, the exposure, the way Logan looked at you afterward. 

You hadn't really stopped to consider what Garrett must have seen standing in that doorway. Not Logan, but your father in another form. 

"I wasn't there for the fight," Hannah said after a minute. "But I saw the aftermath." You looked at her quietly. "You know what I saw when Logan went looking for Garrett afterward?"

Your stomach twisted painfully. "What?" you ask. 

Hannah's expression softened immeasurably. "A guy who looked completely fucking heartbroken." Your eyes burned with fresh tears at the new revelation. "There wasn't any pity," she said firmly. "I saw somebody realizing how much pain you've been carrying around alone and having absolutely no idea how to help you."

The hockey house is rarely quiet.

There was usually a hockey game playing somewhere, or Tucker making some kind of extravagant lunch, or Dean arguing with somebody just for the sake of arguing. 

Today there was nothing. 

Just the soft hum of the refrigerator and the sound of your own footsteps as you climbed the stairs.

No Tucker or Dean. 

No Logan. 

That last thought hit harder than it should have and you immediately try to shove it aside. You weren't here for Logan and you weren't here for Garrett either. 

The only reason you have been brave enough to even step in the vicinity of hockey house was that Hannah had promised the house was empty for at least an hour and you were running out of clothes. 

That was it. 

Nothing more.

The lie sounded flimsy even inside your own head. 

The last couple of days had made you a stranger in your own home. The realization landed harder than it should have. Days of sleeping on Hannah and Allie's couch. Days of pretending you weren't checking your phone every five minutes. Days of deliberately avoiding every place on campus where you might accidentally run into Logan. 

The hallway upstairs looked unchanged too. Even the hole in the wall next to your bedroom door was still there. It was smaller than you remember, though. You can tell someone had tried to patch it up. A rough square of spackle sat over the damage, uneven and obvious against the surrounding paint. 

Your stomach twisted as your mind played the scene in your head unexpectedly. The crack of Garrett's fist going through the sheet rock. The sharp sting of fear behind your ribs that you had been helpless to stop. And the humiliation that had followed immediately afterward when you realized that Logan had seen you flinch. 

You pack quickly because you feared if you spent any longer in this house you'd probably start crying. 

Pulling a duffle from your closet, you yanked open your drawers, one after the other. There wasn't really any rhyme or reason to the clothes you grabbed. 

The faster you left, the better. 

The faster you moved, the less opportunity there was to think. 

Unfortunately, thinking found you anyway. Your eye caught your dresser where one of Logan's cologne sat. Your desk chair in which his hoodie was draped. 

They were normal things. Stupid things. Things that shouldn't have felt like somebody sticking their fingers directly into your ribcage. But everywhere you looked was piece of Logan. 

It's a wonder Garrett hadn't found out sooner. 

Twenty minutes later your bag was full. You slung the strap over your shoulder and headed down stairs before you could change your mind. 

Or worse, before you abandoned your whole plan and just laid in your bed. 

The front door opened just as you reached the foyer. You froze immediately, hoping it was either Dean or Tucker, but mostly the latter. The universe, apparently, had a sick sense of humor. 

Garrett stepped in carrying a hockey bag over one shoulder. He stopped just as abruptly when he saw you standing there. He looked tired in a way you'd never seen before. More than just bags under his eyes, his shoulders sagged. Something uncomfortable shifted inside your chest. You tried to ignore it.

For a second, neither of you spoke. The surprise on his face mirrored your own. Then something else settled over it. Some thing sickeningly familiar and your stomach sank. 

You were starting to think that Hannah's definition of an empty house and your definition were two very different things. 

"What are you doing here?" you asked. 

Garrett blinked once then scoffed, incredulously. "Besides the fact that I live here?" 

Your rolled your eyes, not because the answer particularly annoyed you but because it sounded so painfully like Garrett. The same sarcastic tone. The same smartass response. 

The same brother who used to steal your fries then act confused when you got mad about it. 

You both dropped your bag simultaneously with thuds on the ground as you stared each other down. You crossed your arms because he did not answer your question. 

"Han is coming over," he relented, reluctantly. 

Understanding hit you immediately. You stared at him, then the front door, then at him again. You wondered how he would react if you'd just left. 

"Fucking Hannah," you grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Garrett narrowed his eyes quickly. Despite yourself, despite everything, a tiny piece of your irritation shifted. Because of course of all things happening right now, Garrett was offended on Hannah's behalf. 

You almost laugh despite yourself. It was a clever plan, you had to admit. You never thought she would stoop so low as to trick you into running into your brother. 

"I was just leaving," you explained before reaching down and grabbing your discarded bag. You stepped around him and curled your hand around the door knob but before you could so much as turn it you heard Garrett scoff behind you. "I see you're still running away."

The doorknob suddenly felt very cold beneath your fingers. You froze for a second but then you were whipping around. "Excuse me?" 

Garrett crossed him arms. "That's what you do." Something dangerous flickered in his expression and suddenly it felt less like talking to your brother and more like standing across from the captain of the hockey team. "When things get hard, you run away. Did when you were younger, doing it now," he finished. 

The words landed exactly where they were supposed to, right beneath your ribs. The accusation tasted like bile on your tongue. Maybe because some small, ugly part knew there was a small truth to his words. "Fuck you, Garrett."

The word practically launched out of your mouth before you could really think about it. Garrett, though, didn't even flinch. If anything, his expression hardened further. 

"Don't get mad at me because I'm the only one telling the truth around here," he crossed his arms. 

You laughed once, sharp and humorless. You understood exactly what he meant. The months you spent sneaking around his back with Logan. "Obviously I was right not to tell you."

Garrett's head snapped back slightly, like your words had caught him off guard. "This isn't my fault," he snapped. 

The sheer audacity of that statement almost made you laugh again. "Isn't it?" you ask. 

"Yeah," he mumbled, sarcastically as he threw a hand out between you, "it's my fault you fucked my best friend." 

Something hot and immediate flared in your chest. Anger or embarrassment, you didn't know. Maybe both. "Not that it's any of your fucking business," you shot back, "but Logan and I haven't fucked." 

You hated the term but it only seemed appropriate for the way he was behaving. For the first time since he'd walked in on you and Logan, Garrett looked genuinely surprised. 

It lasted but a second before his mouth flattened back into a thin line. You wave both your hands around him wildly. "So this whole thing—," you continued to gesture between the two of you, the house, the most miserable couple of days of your life, "is all fucking you!"

"Coulda fooled me." 

"Oh my god!"

You stared at him because somehow he still wasn't getting it. Or maybe he was and was simply too stubborn to admit it. Both options equally screamed Garrett and it was making your head spin. 

"You promised me," the words cracked through the foyer. 

They were quiet. You could hear how much he meant them. "You stood right there and promised me you'd stay away from the team."

The guilt hit you unexpectedly, wholly sharp and unwanted because he wasn't wrong. You had promised. Standing in this very house, actually. At the time you thought Garrett was being ridiculous, overprotective and annoying. 

Now look where all of that had gotten you. 

Your guilt had only lasted a second before the anger returned. "Not every fucking hockey player is dad."

The words echoed through the silence that followed. Neither of you moved nor looked away. "I don't go around accusing you of being just like him." The second the sentence left your mouth you knew you'd gone too far.

Garrett's entire body went still. "What the hell does that mean?"

You swallowed. "Your a hockey player," you started. Your brain was screaming at you to stop, to shut up, but instead you continued. "So by your twisted logic, you're him."

"I'm nothing like him," Garrett snapped with no hesitation. 

The fight leaked right out of you because of course he wasn't. You had never, not once in your entire life, looked at Garrett and seen your father. Not when he was sixteen and standing between you and a slammed bedroom door. Not when he was eighteen and moving heaven and earth to get you in to Briar. Not even when he'd been so angry he'd punched a hole in your bedroom wall. 

And judging by the look on Garrett's face that wasn't what he'd heard. Guilt twisted in your stomach. "I didn't mean it like that."

Garrett looked away first. Which somehow made it worse. 

"I just don't understand why you keep trying to turn Logan into Dad," you explained. Your voice came out quieter now, less angry and more defeated. "You know better than anyone that he'd never do that."

"I don't know that."

You were at a loss. You couldn't even begin to comprehend why Garrett wasn't willing to give Logan the benefit of the doubt that he was giving himself. He'd insisted he wasn't his father simply because he was a hockey player so why did that alone mean Logan was. 

"Bullshit."

His eyes snapped back to yours. "Can you for once just try and look at this from my perspective?" The frustration in his voice caught you off guard. Because beneath the anger and stubborness and accusations, there was something that sounded suspiciously like desperation. 

You stared at him then slowly shook your head. "I am looking at this from your perspective," you explained. Garrett opened his mouth to refute. You didn't let him speak. "You don't trust me."

It landed between you with startling clarity. Because that was it, wasn't it?

That was the the thing you'd been carrying around since the fight. The fact that Garrett looked at your relationship and saw a disaster waiting to happen. That he looked at you and apparently saw someone incapable of protecting herself. 

"Do you honestly think I wouldn't be able to spot the signs?" you asked, incredulously. 

Your throat tightened as years flashed through your head all at once. Locked doors, raised voices, the careful way your mother used to watch the room whenever your father came home. 

You knew what fear looked like. You knew what apologies sounded like when they were't really apologies. 

You knew. 

"Do you think I wouldn't protect myself?" 

Garrett's expression cracked for a second and you saw it immediately. "We both know how hard it is to walk away from something like that," he confessed. 

The fight drained out of you so suddenly it made you dizzy. Because for the first time since this whole mess started, you finally understood what Hannah had been trying to tell you. 

It was fear. That's was Garrett was feeling right now. Not anger because you had broken the promise. Not betrayal because the one you had chose had been his best friends. 

Fear. 

"I'm just trying to protect you."

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't want it?" The question stopped him cold. He blinked once then again. Like the possibility had genuinely never crossed his mind before. 

You had spent your whole life living behind Garrett. He was your shield and when you were young, that was what you need to protect yourself from your father. Garrett didn't understand why now that wasn't what you needed.

"What?" 

You swallowed hard. "You are my brother," the emotion was pressing hard against your ribs. It made every word ache. "And I love you more than anyone in the world. But you have to let me make my own decisions," your eyes burned, "and my own mistakes."

The house seeming impossibly quiet around you. Then his shoulders sagged, suddenly looking older than you remembered. "I just don't want to see you hurt."

"I know that."

Garrett rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, despretely trying to look anywhere except at you. 

"But bad things happen, Garrett. People get hurt. Relationships end and if that happens, I will deal with it."

He closed his eyes for a second and another. Finally he dragged both ahnds over his face and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Your brother had never been particularly good at apologies.

Not because he wasn't sorry when he screwed up. Quite the opposite, actually. Garrett felt everything so intensely that sometimes it seemed to swallow him whole. He just wasn't very good at saying it out loud.

So when he did, you knew he meant it. 

Garrett's hands were still covering part of his face, his gaze fixed firmly on the hardwood floor like he couldn't quite bring himself to look at you.

The sight hurt because he'd looked guilty and for as angry as you'd been these past couple of days, that was never what you'd wanted. You'd wanted him to understand.

There was a difference.

Garrett finally looked up. His eyes found yours for the first time in what felt like hours.

You weren't even entirely sure what there was left to say. Because the truth was that Garrett had hurt you, badly.

The truth was also that you'd hurt him too.

You'd lied.

You'd hidden Logan.

You'd broken a promise.

And somewhere in the middle of all that hurt, the two of you had forgotten something embarrassingly simple.

You were on the same side. 

The realization hit with enough force to make your chest ache. Garrett wasn't your enemy. He never had been. He was just your brother. Your stupid, stubborn, overprotective brother who loved you so much that sometimes he forgot where protecting ended and controlling began.

The same brother who used to leave his bedroom door cracked open when you were kids because he knew thunderstorms scared you.

The same brother who stood between you and your father more times than you could count.

Your vision blurred, again.

God, you were getting really tired of crying.

Garrett saw it immediately. The guilt on his face somehow deepened. "Hey," he said quietly. The single word sounded wrecked.

You shook your head before he could continue. Then you crossed the distance between you. Garrett barely had time to react. One second there was space between you. The next your arms were around him.

For half a heartbeat he froze. Then both of his arms wrapped around you so quickly it almost knocked the air from your lungs.

His chin settled against the top of your head. Your face buried itself against his chest. And just like that you were twelve years old again.

"I'm sorry," Garrett said again. His voice rumbled through his chest beneath your cheek. You felt it more than heard it.

"I'm sorry." This time it sounded less like an apology and more like a confession. He'd been carrying the words around for days.

You squeezed him tighter. Not because it fixed everything. It didn't.

Not because you suddenly agreed with what he'd done. You didn't.

But because forgiveness and understanding weren't the same thing. And right now understanding was enough.

The dorm felt too quiet without Hannah and Allie in it.

One of Hannah's sociology textbooks sat open on the kitchen table beside a half finished iced coffee. Allie's shoes had been kicked off by the couch in a careless little trail toward her bedroom door.

The space felt wholly not like yours, something you tried to remember as you moved around. Always putting things back where you found them, if you even gathered the courage to touch them at all.

You sat curled beneath a throw blanket on Hannah and Allie's couch, scrolling through the schools social media to see if there were any students looking to get out of their apartment leases. Not that you'd even be able to afford taking over someones lease, but you could get a job.

Anyway, you'd been looking at the same post for the last twenty minutes and not because it had potential. Rain tapped softly against the dorm windows. The harder it came down the more distracted you got.

You chuck your phone towards the end of the couch by your feet and you felt it buzz right after. But you had become strangely good at not checking it so you didn't.

The knock at the door shattered the fragile silence so abruptly your shoulders jumped. You stood to answer it but froze when you thought about it more. What was the etiquette for answering someone else's front door?

There was another knock the longer you waited to open it. Then, through the wood, you heard a voice. "I know you're in there. Fucking Dean told me."

Your heart stopped. Every muscle in your body locked at the sound of John Logan's voice through the door. You stayed completely still, as if he could see you though the thick wood of the door.

Like maybe if you didn't breathe too loudly he would think you weren't here and eventually leave without you having to say a word.

The hallway outside the dorm creaked softly beneath his shifting weight. "Look," Logan started, voice rougher than you remember it sounding, "I know you worked things out with Garrett and I'm really fucking glad you guys patched things up."

Your throat tightened.

It had taken over a week.

A week of avoiding the hockey house and all its inhabitants entirely. A week of Garrett apologizing in every way except directly at first because guilt made him clumsy. And a whole week of Hannah quietly acting as a bridge between the two of you until she finally had to trick you two into the same place to work things out.

You had fixed things with Garrett.

Well, you had at least started the process.

Logan kept talking through the door, knocking you out of your spiral before you fell too deeply into it. "But I also know that means the only reason you haven't come home is because of me."

The words landed like a bruise pressed too hard. "And I can't fucking live with that," he admitted quietly. "Hockey house is your home too."

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Don't answer. Don't answer. Don't answer.

You answered. "I don't want to see you, Logan."

The lies tasted horrible on your tongue and even more vile as it left your mouth. Silence was all that answered you in return for a while.

"Yeah. I know," he said it so softly you almost didn't hear it through the door. Your chest physically hurt at how defeated he sounded. "I know you don't."

Rainwater streaked slowly down the dorm windows behind you while the quiet stretched between the two of you. Then, his voice interrupted the quiet once again. "God," Logan whispered hoarsely, probably more to himself than to you, but you listened anyway. "I don't know how all this got so fucked up."

Your eyes burned. You hated this. You hated every bit.

"Listen," he continues after another pause, "I just—I want you to come home and I'll figure out somewhere else to stay. I can sleep at the auto shop or some shit."

The image hit you instantly, him sleeping on the old dusty couch in the office of his older brother's mechanics auto shop. Accepting all that uncomfort just so you could return to hockey house, your home.

"Point is," he finished quietly, "I won't be there, so you should go home." Your stomach twisted violently.

I won't be there. As if that would magically making everything all better. I won't be there. As if that would change anything. I won't be there. As if that was what you wanted.

He seemed to take your silence as agreement because a few seconds later, you heard soft footstep against the hallway floor, walking away from you. He was leaving.

Something ugly and desperate clawed at your chest immediately. You stilled because this is what you wanted, wasn't it? Distance, space, an end to this horrible tension every time you thought about him.

This was him giving you it. A way out. So why did it make you sick to your stomach? Why did the thought of him walking away suddenly feel unbearable?

Before you could stop yourself, you crossed the room and yanked open the dorm door, the words spilling out of your mouth with out your permission. "Don't—" your voice cracked instantly.

Logan stopped hallway down the hallway. "Don't do that."

He went completely still but he didn't turn around. For one terrible second your brain tried to convince you it was because he couldn't stand looking at you either.

The truth was much worse.

If Logan turned around fully and looked at you right now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to leave at all. "What?"

His head turned slightly over his shoulder, enough that you caught the sharp edge of his profile beneath the ugly fluorescent dorm lights. But he kept his feet planted firmly away from you like physically moving closer might somehow scare you off again.

"You stay at hockey house," you said quietly. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the door. "Allie and Hannah said I can stay here as long as I need until I find somewhere more permanent."

Logan stilled completely, you almost thought he might have stopped breathing.

You don't really know why you told him that. It wasn't like you moving out was a done deal. You hadn't told anyone yet and you hadn't fully decided on it. But if it was between you or him living at hockey house, you wanted it to be him.

The hallway suddenly felt too narrow and Logan felt the bile reaching the back of his throat. Because in his head, there was only one reason you would rather leave entirely than exist in the same house as him now.

Your father and what he now represented after the fight.

"You're moving out?" This time he fully turned towards you. You hated how nervous his expression made you feel now. "I think it's best for everyone," you confessed, nodding your head to try and give him more reassurance that this is what you wanted.

"That's bullshit." The words came out immediately and low. You can tell that he didn't mean to stay that out loud. It was written all over his face and somehow that made your stomach churn worse.

"Excuse me?"

Logan dragged a hand through his damp hair roughly and you wonder for a split second if he got caught in the rain on his way here. Frustration flashed over his face before he tried forcing it back down again.

"You're not fucking moving out," his voice was a bit louder than he meant to and it only added fuel to the fire. Because the second the words left his mouth, regret crossed his features.

Because he knew.

He knew exactly how bad that sounded in light of everything he now knew about your past. He knew what he did and didn't get to demand from you anymore. "You don't get to tell me what to do," you snapped.

Your voice had come out sharper than either of you expected. Logan's expression immediately shifted. "You're right," he said quickly. "Shit. I'm sorry."

And there it was again.

That look.

The same one he'd worn after Garrett accidentally let your entire childhood spill out into the open. It was the same expression he'd had standing in your bedroom while you ripped his jersey off and threw it back at him like it burned.

It made something hot and furious twist violently all over you. Because you had spent years clawing your way out of being treated like a victim. And now every time Logan looked at you like that, you felt like one all over again. "Stop that!" The shout echoed harshly down the hallway.

Logan blinked hard, completely thrown. "Stop what?"

The carefulness somehow got worse. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm fucking glass!" you snapped. "Like I'm gonna break!" Your breathing had started shaking now. "You're angry? Then be angry! Fight with me! Yell at me!"

Logan stared at you like he genuinely couldn't process what you were asking of him. "You want me to fight with you?" he asked incredulously.

"I want you to stop treating me differently!"

The words cracked out of you painfully. Because that was the real wound underneath all of this. It didn't matter that Garrett had found out about you and Logan. It didn't even matter so much that Logan now knew what your father had done to you.

It was this.

The shift.

The way Logan hesitated to touch you. The way he spoke softer to you. Looked at you like he was terrified one wrong move would shatter you apart.

Logan opened his mouth and then closed it again. He had nothing to say because you were right. He had been treating you differently.

How the hell was he supposed to not after watching you physically flinch when Garrett punched the wall? After hearing the panic in your voice every time he'd brought your father up?

"Fuck."

"Come on!" you yelled, tears already threatening your vision. The truth was that if Logan had yelled then you would know what to do. You would know how to navigate the situation because it was what you had done your whole life. But this guilt and carefulness that he now treated you with was something you didn't understand. You didn't know what to do with it.

"Don't clam up now! Yell at me!" Something sharp flashed across Logan's face then. Hurt or anger or fear, you don't know but you don't care because you knew this is going to give you exactly what you were asking for.

"All right, fine!" The words bounced hard off the walls. "Is that what you want?" he snapped. "You want to turn me into your father?"

Your stomach dropped instantly. "Is that why did didn't tell me?" Logan asked. You didn't need to ask him to know what he was talking about. He wants to know why you never told him about your father. But to insinuate that you didn't because you were afraid that that information would somehow turn him into your father was preposterous.

"You thought I'd be just like him?"

"What? No!" You sounded genuinely horrified because from your perspective that had never been the problem.

Garrett feared men turning into your father. You feared people looking at you like his victim. Those were very different things.

"What the fuck am I supposed to think?" Logan shot back, voice cracking at the edges. "You left! You kicked me out and then disappeared without saying anything!"

The anger dissolved suddenly from his face, leaving behind something more wounded. "You flinched away from me," he said quieter. "Like I was gonna—" He couldn't finish it.

But the sentence hung there anyway. Your chest ached. "I left because I ruined everything," you confessed.

Logan stared at you like you'd spoken another language. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"I thought Garrett was never gonna talk to me again," you admitted shakily, "I ruined us and I ruined you and Garrett and—" you didn't know how much further you could get without breaking down crying.

"He's your best friend, John. I couldn't take that away from you." Logan's face twisted painfully. "You need him," you finished.

"I need you!"

The words hit so hard your heart stopped and you don't know if or when it would start again. "You don't," you insist. Because between you and Garrett, in your eyes, the choice was obvious. Garrett had so much more going for him, he was the logical choice.

"Fucking stop with that self deprecating bullshit," Logan stepped closer finally, frustration bleeding through every word now. "I need you," he repeated fiercely, "and if Garrett hates my guts for the rest of my life, so be it because I love you."

Your eyes flood instantly.

"So quit telling me what I need."

A broken sound escaped your throat before you could stop it. Humiliation hit immediately afterward. You covered your face with both hands on instinct because Logan seeing you cry only made you cry harder.

Everything hurt. Your chest, your throat, your head. Your heart beat so loud in your ears that you didn't hear him move. You didn't realize just how close he had gotten until his warm fingers touched your wrist carefully.

It wasn't hesitant but it was gentle all the same. "Please stop pushing me away," he begged. The quietness of his voice broke something open inside of you.

Slowly, you let him guide your hands away from your face. Your vision blurred with tears but you had never seen him so clearly. "I don't want everything to change," you whisper.

Logan searched your face for a long moment. "Because I know now?" he asked, though you surmised he already knew the answer. You nodded once.

He exhaled shakily before his hands slid from your wrists to cradle your face fully, thumbs brushing softly beneath tear stained cheeks.

"Baby," he said quietly, "knowing what happened doesn't change who you are." His face so close to yours now, your foreheads almost touched. "And it doesn't change how I feel."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "But I won't lie to you," he admitted softly, "I do look at you differently."

Your entire body tensed instantly.

There it was.

The thing you had spent the last week and a half running from.

Logan felt it happen beneath his hands immediately but he didn't let go as he continued. "Because now I understand," he whispered, "I understand why you always apologize for taking up space."

A tear slipped down your cheek.

"Why loud noises make you jump and why you put everybody else's feeling before your own." His thumbs brush beneath your eyes carefully.

"You're still you," he murmured, "and I'm still me. That hasn't changed and I won't let it."

Your hands lifted slowly to cover his where they still held your face. For a second neither of you moved. Then you kissed him. It was short and sweet and a little salty from the tears but no less impactful. 

Logan exhaled shakily against your mouth like he'd been holding his breath for weeks.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. His eyes softened immediately again. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby," he assured.

The hallway fell quiet except for the rain tapping softly against distant dorm windows. Then, almost like he was afraid it would shatter the moment, his voice started again, "Please come home."

She closes her eyes and immediately sees the bed rail, which is rude, because she’s been extremely clear with her brain that they’re not doing this tonight. 

She opens them again. The room is dark except for the line of streetlight slipping through the blinds, pale across the ceiling, cutting over the corner of her desk and the stack of makeup hours paperwork she has to bring to the ward tomorrow.

Across the room, her roommate snorts, rolls over, and keeps sleeping.

“Fuck this,” she whispers, very quietly, to nobody useful.

It takes less than five minutes to get dressed because her body has been waiting for permission. Hoodie over sleep shorts. Socks. UGGs. Keys off the desk. Phone, charger, badge. 

She moves carefully, making herself quiet, like sneaking out of her own dorm room is a criminal act and not just a deeply pathetic return to the one place where her chest might stop doing that tight, stupid thing.

The drive to the hockey house is ugly and empty and too cold. The heater takes forever to kick in, and she keeps one hand curled too hard around the steering wheel, thumb rubbing over the same tiny spot of plastic until the skin starts to feel raw. 

By the time she parks down the street, the house is dark in the way it only gets after everyone’s finally run out of noise. One lamp still glowing somewhere downstairs.

She lets herself in with the key Garrett had pressed into her palm two days ago like it wasn’t a thing. Like he hadn’t gone, “For emergencies,” with his mouth all casual and his eyes absolutely not casual, and she hadn’t said, “What kind of emergencies?” and he hadn’t looked at her for half a second too long before saying, “I dunno. You wanting cereal at three in the morning.”

The lock clicks too loudly. She freezes in the entryway, one hand still on the door, listening. Nothing.

The house smells like old laundry, boy deodorant, cold pizza, and the faint lemon cleaner Tucker keeps pretending nobody notices he uses. 

She toes off her UGGs at the bottom of the stairs, then immediately picks them up again because Dean once tripped over one shoe and accused it of attempted murder for three days. 

The stairs creak under her no matter where she steps. By the time she reaches Garrett’s door, her pulse has climbed into her throat.

His room is dark, the window cracked, winter air slipping in just enough to cool the mess of blankets at the end of his bed. Garrett’s dead asleep, shirtless and sprawled diagonally across the mattress. One arm is flung above his head, the other half-buried under the pillow, curls a dark mess against the sheets. 

He looks unfairly peaceful for a man whose house she has just broken into with hospital-related emotional damage and footwear.

She stands there for a second, UGGs in one hand, keys in the other, and feels something in her chest loosen so suddenly it almost hurts worse.

Then Garrett shifts, barely, and mumbles something into the pillow.

“Hi,” she whispers. “Just me. Sorry.”

His brows pull together before his eyes open. Not all the way. Barely enough to count. “Hm?”

“Go back to sleep.”

He makes a rough, sleepy sound of disagreement, then lifts his arm without even looking properly, blindly making space for her with the kind of instinctive confidence that makes her throat do something embarrassing. “C’mere.”

She puts her boots by the dresser, drops her keys as quietly as possible on his desk, and climbs into bed beside him. The mattress dips. 

Garrett’s arm comes around her immediately, heavy and warm, dragging her in until her cheek is against his chest and her cold feet are tucked carefully away from his legs because she has some decency left.

“Jesus,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “You’re freezing.”

“I drove here.”

“At two in the morning?”

“Technically, one-fifty-something.”

“That’s worse.” His hand slides up her back, slow and absent, under the hem of her hoodie just enough for his palm to find the warm cotton of the shirt beneath. He smells like sleep and detergent and whatever body wash lives permanently in his skin now. “Hi, baby.”

Her eyes close. “Hi.”

“You okay?”

She nods into him, then stops, because the lie is too big for the quiet. “Mhm. Just… nervous about tomorrow. Couldn’t sleep.”

Garrett goes still for half a second. Enough that she feels his body register it, the words sinking through the sleep and finding the part of him that keeps track of her even when the rest of him is gone.

“What time?” he asks.

“Seven.”

His hand moves up to the back of her head, fingers sliding into her hair, holding her there without pressing. “I’ll drive you.”

It comes out immediate. Flat with sleep, but not uncertain. Like there are some things his brain doesn’t need to wake up to answer.

Her fingers curl against his ribs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He shifts, dragging the blanket higher over her shoulder, then tucking it around her with clumsy seriousness. “What time we leaving?”

“Six-thirty.”

“Okay.” A pause. Then, even sleepier, “Six-twenty. You get annoying about coffee.”

Her mouth twitches against his chest. “I don’t get annoying.”

“Mm. You get tragic. Different thing.”

She lets out a tiny laugh, and it lands wrong for half a second, catching behind her sore throat like it doesn’t know what to do with itself. Garrett’s thumb strokes once behind her ear.

“And pick me up?” she asks, softer.

His answer is already there. “Yeah, baby.”

“I might finish late. I have make-up hours and they said they might keep me if it’s busy, but not, like, keep me hostage. Legally. Probably.”

Garrett hums, the sound low in his chest under her cheek. “Text me.”

“I don’t know when I’ll get a break.”

“Then call when you’re done.”

“What if you have practice?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

She opens her eyes in the dark. The words are small. Normal, maybe. Nothing that would look impressive written down. But they sit under her skin like warmth spreading back into cold fingers.

“Garrett.”

“Mm?”

“You’re mostly asleep.”

“Still smarter than Dean.”

“That’s not the standard.”

“Should be.” His mouth brushes her hair, not quite a kiss, too tired to aim properly and somehow worse for it. “I’ll get you. Okay?”

Her hand flattens over his side, carefully avoiding the fading bruise she knows is there without needing to see it. “Okay.”

The room settles around them. His breathing starts to slow again, chest rising under her cheek, his arm still locked around her waist like even unconscious he has opinions about where she should be. 

Downstairs, the house creaks once. Somewhere across the hall, someone coughs. The whole world keeps existing in small, stupid ways.

She thinks about tomorrow. The badge. The doors. The fluorescent lights. The smell of sanitizer. The moment she’ll have to step back into the place that kept going after she left it bleeding.

Her stomach turns once, but Garrett’s hand shifts over her back, warm and broad and sleep-heavy, and the turn doesn’t finish.

“Baby,” he murmurs, almost gone.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be good.”

Her eyes sting before she can talk them out of it. “You don’t know that.”

“Do.” His fingers flex once in her hoodie. “You’re you.”

She lies very still, because moving might make the words settle somewhere too obvious. Then Garrett, apparently satisfied with devastating her at two in the morning and calling it a sentence, falls asleep again.

She stays awake a little longer, tucked under his arm with her face against his chest and her cold feet slowly warming under the blanket, listening to his heartbeat thud steady beneath her ear like something boring and alive and reliable.

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

— DICK GRAYSON

— JASON TODD

— TIM DRAKE

“I’m just saying man, how fitting that Graham is hooking up with Delaney’s sloppy seconds.” A guys says, his St. Anthony’s shirt sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Di Laurentis and Logan sure did score with their puck bunnies too.” The other laughs. You listen in on the conversation as you and Allie wait for your drinks. Hannah is currently tucked into Garrett’s side across the bar, neither one of them drinking tonight. Logan and Dean are playing a heated game of pool, not aware of the two St. Anthony’s players that have somehow made themselves welcome in a Briar University bar.

“I’m just saying I’d love to have five minutes alone with one of them, bet they’d forget all about their little boyfriends.” The first guy says, laughing at his own statement. You turn, sneering your nose up at him. You let out a short laugh.

“Oh, please.” You look him up and down. “You don’t look like you could find the clit if it was waving a flashlight at you.” A few people nearby choke on their drinks. The guy looks at you, face red. He’s probably had way too much to drink.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, bitch?” He says, getting in your face. Beside you Allie pales. Little do you know Dean and Logan have stopped their game of pool and are standing by for backup. You don’t so much as flinch.

“You heard me.” You say. A humorless smile tugs at your lips as you fold your arms across your chest.

“Besides, it’s a little pretentious to walk onto our campus and assume you’d ever have a chance with one of us in the first place.” You say glaring up at him.

His jaw tightens.

“Yeah?” He laughs, taking a step closer. “Well, our boy Delaney got your captain’s girl way back in high school.” He shrugs. “You puck bunnies are all the same. Easy little sluts.”

Rage clouds your train of thought and your arm moves on instinct tossing the contents of your cup into the guys face.

“You crazy fucking bitch!” He yells. His next move takes the entire bar off guard. He drops his shoulder slamming you into the bar, hard, deliberate, and most definitely hockey-style. You’re a little stunned, around you the bar erupts in outrage.

“What the fuck!” Allie screeches. Logan is already busting through the crowd trying to get to you. Dean pulls Allie behind him. You regain your balance, hurting like a mother fucker. But that sure as hell isn’t going to stop you. As the guy is rattling something off to his friend you shove him.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Logan chants, grabbing you as the guys arm raises no doubt aiming for you.

“Control your bitch man!” The guy’s friend yells. Dean and Logan share a look. You’re practically vibrating with rage. The guy who shoved you sticks his finger in your face.

“You’ve got a real fuckin’ attitude problem.” He turns to Logan. “She always run that damn mouth?” He asks, eyeing you, a disgusting grin on his face.

“If you were mine, I’d keep that pretty little mouth busy.” He says looking to Logan for his reaction. You feel him tense, his body practically shaking with rage.

“Not worth it man, we’ll kick his ass on the ice tomorrow.” Garrett calls. Hannah is tucked behind him like a baby animal hiding behind their mom. You don’t blame her after everything she’s been through. Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, getting him to disengage from the guy.

“Yeah that’s right 22! Walk away!” The guy calls. Logan pauses, his jaw set. He closes his eyes for a second and you can tell he’s debating turning back around, you grab his arm.

“Let’s just go, baby.” You mutter. You feel bad for causing a scene but no way were you going to let some guy talk about your best friends like that.

Loading up in Garrett’s Jeep everyone is a little too quiet for your liking. You know the guys are trying to let Logan simmer down. You sit in the back seat between Dean and Logan, Allie perched on Deans lap. Hannah rides shotgun next to Garrett.

“Are you okay?” Logan asks, turning slightly to look at you. You nod, you’re sure your back is bruised but he doesn’t need to know about that right now.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to start anything.” You say, your apology intended for the whole car.

“What did that guy say to you? I’ve never seen you that mad?” Garrett, asks. You bite your lip, before recounting the conversation. Your friends are quiet for a moment.

“Okay, I totally would have thrown my drink in his face too.” Allie says, breaking the silence.

“You could have gotten hurt.” Logan says beside you.

“I’m okay.” You sigh.

“You got checked into a bar.” Logan states. You sigh.

“I know.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get it.”

You roll your eyes. Though you doubt he can see it in the darkness of the back of the Jeep. “Logan..” You trail off.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” He asks.

You hesitate.

“My back.” You mumble. The entire Jeep goes quiet. Logan angles himself toward you as best as he can in the tightly packed Jeep.

“Your back?” Logan asks.

“It just feels sore.” You say. The Jeep pulls into the drive of the hockey house and as the lights come on Logan’s eyes are scanning your body in concern. Everyone files out of the Jeep and heads for the house.

“Come here.” Logan says, gesturing for you to get out of the Jeep.

“Logan, I’m fi-“ you say but he cuts you off.

“Humor me.” He says as you climb out of the Jeep. He gently guides you into the living room of the house.

He reaches for the hem of your sweatshirt. His brown eyes looking into yours.

“Can I?” He asks, warm fingers gripping your shirt. You nod. He carefully lifts the fabric just enough to expose your lower back. His entire body goes still.

“Fuck…” he mutters.

“What?” You ask, trying to get a glimpse of your back.

Dean walks into the living room, a fresh bottle of beer in his hand.

“Damn.” He says taking a sip. Garrett follows behind him before muttering, “Holy shit.”

“What?” You ask again.

A massive bruise is already spreading across the right side of your lower back, the skin turning an angry mix of purple, blue, and dark red. You can almost make out where the edge of the bar caught you.

Allie winces.

“Y/N…” she says.

“It’s that bad?” You ask. Sure it was a little sore, and you’d planned on taking some advil but surely it couldn’t be that bad already.

Logan gently lets your shirt fall back down, before rubbing a hand over his face.

“I should’ve killed him.” He says plainly.

“Logan.” You say.

“I’m serious.” He counters.

“You are absolutely not serious.” You say.

“I should have beat his ass.” Logan says. He lets out a dry laugh.

“John.” You say seriously, snapping his attention back to you. “I’m okay, baby.” You say.

“He put his hands on you.” His voice is so quiet you almost miss it.

“He put his fucking hands on you.” He says. The anger that had been simmering all night suddenly melts into something else entirely. Fear. He steps closer, carefully placing his hands on your hips, avoiding the bruise completely.

“Hey…” You reach up and cup his cheek.

“I’m okay.” You assure him.

“You won’t be tomorrow.” He says.You frown.

“What?” You ask.

“That bruise is going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.” He says. He would know, he was used to getting banged up like that but at least he was the same size as the guys slamming into him. That guy was nearly two of you.

“It already looks pretty bad.” Logan says. Dean whistles from the couch.

“Pretty bad? Honey, that thing is going to look like modern art by morning.” He says.

Despite everything, you laugh. Allie smacks Dean’s arm.

“Read the room, dingus.” She says.

“What? I’m trying to lighten the mood.” Dean offers.

“You should get some ice on that.” Garrett offers, moving into the kitchen to grab one of the many gel ice packs the boys kept in the freezer.

Logan nods, taking the ice pack from Garrett.

“I’ll take care of her.” He says. You smile softly as he guides you up the steps to his room, practically your shared room at this point. You change quickly, slipping out of your jeans and top and into one of Logan’s t-shirts. He finally looks at you, his eyes still full of guilt.

“I’m not mad at you.” He clarifies, as you lay down on the bed, wincing as your back hits the soft surface.

“You kind of seem mad.” You reason.

“I’m mad…” He pauses. “Just not at you.” He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m mad because someone thought they could hurt you.”

You lean forward, resting your forehead against his.

“I’d still do it again.” You say. He groans.

“I know you would.” He says. “Roll onto your belly let me ice your back.” He instructs. You do as he says, hissing slightly when the cold pack hits your back.

“And you’d still love me anyway.” You tease. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Unfortunately.” He says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You grin.

“Unfortunately?” You ask.

“I was hoping for someone with a stronger sense of self-preservation.” He jokes.

“You got me instead.” You say.

“I sure as hell did.” He laughs. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.” He adds, laying beside you and holding the ice pack in place for you.

“No more bar fights though, okay?” He says with a laugh. You roll your eyes.

GARRETT GRAHAM : 

“Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?” You quietly sang along to the song playing through your earbuds as you scrolled through your Pinterest feed, saving all the cute pictures in their proper sections. You were lying on your stomach in your boyfriend’s bed, your freshly pedicured feet were absentmindedly swinging to the tempo of the song.

Your boyfriend was sitting at his desk, his hair messy from him constantly running his fingers through it in frustration as he tried to understand what he was studying. His laptop and notebooks had his full attention, or at least you thought it did. When Garrett invited you over after practice, he made it clear that he had to study before he could give you all the attention you deserved. But his attention was stolen by you the moment he heard you singing those provocative lyrics. 

He quietly slipped off his headphones and set them on his desk before he got up from his chair. His lips twitched up into a small smirk at how cute you looked in his shirt, wearing nothing else but your fluffy socks and your baby blue panties that were barely peaking out from under the shirt. As soon as the two of you got up to his room, you were undressing and changing into your favorite shirt of his. 

“Gare?” You hummed in confusion at the sudden warm touch of his hands on your ankles, softly pushing your elevated legs down on the bed so he could straddle your thighs. You giggled at the feeling of him pressing his chest against your back, holding himself up with one hand while the other pulled out your earbuds for you. 

Garrett smiled at the sound of your laughter, leaning down to place soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, all the way up to your ear, where he teasingly nibbled at before whispering huskily, “The answer is yes.”

You felt chills go down your spine at your boyfriend's tone and the feeling of his warm breath tickling your neck. You tilted your head to the side, your breath hitching from how close his face was to yours. You swallowed slowly and sassily responded, “To what question?” 

His smile quickly changed into a cocky smirk when he noticed your body's reaction to him. His eyes dropped to your lips before slowly looking back into your eyes, his tone teasing, “I’d love to try out your fuzzy pink handcuffs.” 

+

“Fuck, Baby,” He groaned, a wonton moan quickly following after through his parted lips. The fuzzy pink handcuffs he had pulled out of the drawer of his bedside table with a smirk held him taut against the headboard. The soft plush of the handcuffs mocked the raw tension in his restrained muscles. He took pleasure in the feeling of the cuffs digging into his skin. 

His gaze that burned into you was filled with desire and amusement as he watched you move up and down on him, your boobs bouncing with your every movement, creating a mouthwatering, hypnotic sight. His jaw clenched as he watched you move so perfectly, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. 

The headboard creaked rhythmically with your movements as Garrett strained against the restraints. A satisfied smirk on his face despite being restricted. 

“Fuck—you feel so good,” your voice was strained as you breathed out, your hips rolling in a deliberately slow grind as you felt your thighs trembling from how deep he felt, your fingers digging into his chest. Your voice is a breathless, shaky exhale that caught in your throat with each movement as you went faster, your words barely holding together between the pleasure, “So deep inside me…holy shit, baby—“ 

“Jesus.” A low, rough moan escaped his lips, his head falling back against the headboard at the feeling of you clenching around him. His gaze never once leaves you as you roll your hips faster, dragging another ragged moan from his throat. Your words, the sight of your boobs bouncing in his face, and the look on your face, crumbling in pure pleasure, had him absolutely wrecked. 

“Fuck, baby—I’m gonna cum.” He growled through clenched teeth as he planted his feet on the bed, his hips bucking up to meet your frantic pace. His abs contracted as he tried not to break the restraints. His face was twisted up in an intense pleasure, his eyes locked on where the two of you were connected, watching himself disappear inside you. Your tight heat and lewd pace made it impossible for him to hold back. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed lewdly through his room, mixing with their moans and grunts. Your thighs burned and trembled uncontrollably as you rode him with frantic desperation while his core ached from his frantically bucking up into you, both of you chasing your highs. His biceps bulged and ached, the cuffs biting into his skin as he fought the overwhelming urge to break free and grab your hips to fuck you properly. 

A choked-out cry of pleasure tore from your throat as your orgasm slammed into you and rippled through your body. Your walls clench viciously around him like a vice, triggering his own undying. Garrett threw his head back against the headboard, a loud moan ripping from his chest as his hips jerked sloppily off the mattress, as he buried himself to the hilt, as he emptied himself deep inside you. 

Your tired body immediately leaned forward in exhaustion as you came down from your shared highs. Your boobs were heavy and soft against his broad, hard chest, sweaty bodies melting against each other. Your breath was hot against the sweaty skin of his neck, pants leaving your parted lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, your eyelashes creating shadows across your cheeks. 

Garrett grinned cockily at the sight of you so completely fucked out on top of him, how you nuzzled your face into his neck, scrunching your nose at the ticklish feeling of his slightly damp curls from sweat, brushing against your forehead. His chest vibrated against yours as he chuckled breathlessly, the handcuffs rattled against the headboard as he shook his hands, whispering teasingly, “You gonna let me out of these?” 

JOHN LOGAN : 

Logan caught on fast. He knew what you were doing before you even played that damn song; the ‘subtle’ hints you were dropping weren’t so subtle. For days, you had been sending him cute videos of babies throughout the day, during class, during his practices…all the parents looked to be close to your guy’s age. He noticed the change in you ever since the two of you babysat your baby nephew; you wanted a baby…with him. 

“One of me is cute, but two though?” You sang along to the song of your choosing, that way playing through the speakers of your boyfriend's truck. Your fingers fiddled with the bracelet you wore—a gift from Logan—as you looked out the window so Logan wouldn’t see the mischievous smile on your lips. 

The corners of Logan’s lips twitched up into a knowing smirk as he listened to you sing, glancing at you before focusing back on the road. He shook his head as he let out a small chuckle, his right hand moving to rest on your thigh, softly gripping into your plush skin. He spoke smoothly over the music, “You know, all you had to do was ask.” 

“Hmm?” You did your best to hum in faux confusion, as you turned to look at him, your breath hitching at the sight of your boyfriend’s toothy grin. Your eyes traveled slowly across his features, his brown eyes that you fell in love with, the perfect slope of his nose, his dark scruff, his brown curls brushing against his nape, and down to his Adam's apple, you loved to nip at. 

Your eyes dropped even lower, down his neck, you wanted to kiss, to the gold chain you loved to tug on, to a little of his chest hair that was peaking out from his loose flannel, the first few buttons being unbuttoned. Something he had done on purpose because he knew it drove you crazy, especially when you were sitting across the table at Malone’s, just counting the minutes until the two of you left your friends and you could finally pounce on him. 

His hand on your thigh moved up, squeezing harder. Your eyes went back to his lips, watching as he slowly licked them before they twitched up into a cocky smile as he repeated his words so smoothly, “All you had to do was use your words and ask me to put a baby in you.” 

Logan chuckled as he felt you squeeze your thighs together, his words clearly affecting you. He slipped his fingers under your skirt, so close to where you wanted him the most. His cocky smile turned into a smirk as he continued in a seductive whisper, “But you have to be a good girl and say please.” 

+

The cold night air that slipped through the slightly opened window did nothing to cool their heated passion in the steamy truck. The truck rocked back and forth as Logan thrust deeply into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the truck along with their mixed moans and heavy breaths. The sound of a Bon Jovi song playing faintly on the radio. 

“Look at you, angel—so pretty for me.” Logan cooed with a breathy moan, his breath hot on your chest as he mouthed at your tits and collarbone. Your dress collar was pulled down, giving him the perfect sight of your sweaty, bouncing tits. 

“Logan, please—don't stop!” You cried out, that hand tangled in his hair softly tugged on his strands while the other held onto his waist, pulling him in deeper if that was even possible. A loud groan left his lips at the pleasurable sting of your tug on his hair. He used the momentum of his hand resting on your head on the seat—his other hand was cradling the top of your head, protecting it from hitting against the door from his heavy thrusts—to quicken his pace. 

“Yeah?—want me to make you a mommy?” Logan grunted in your neck with a low moan, his eyes nearly closing in pleasure at the thought of you, round with his baby. You nodded fast, mind too clouded with pleasure to find the words. He moved his hand from the bench of the truck to grip your chin, turning your face back towards him. His face is so close to yours that when he speaks, his lips brush against yours.”Tell me.” 

“Please—please, I want your babies…fill me, John.” You sobbed desperately, your voice broken and whiny. The heat, the feeling of his sweaty body pressed against you, the pleasure—it was all too much and just what you wanted. Your hand on his waist moved lower, your nails digging crescents into the plush skin of his ass. 

”That’s all you want, baby?—to be filled?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust and want. His breaths were getting faster against your neck as he felt your walls clamp around him, milking them both closer to their release. Logan's eyes nearly rolled back at the sound of your babbling begs, leaning in to capture your lips in a messy, passionate kiss. One of his hands travels downwards, grasping the curve of your ass and pulling your hips up to meet his frantic thrusts.  

“Take it.” He manages through clenched teeth, his voice strained as he breaks from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he let out guttural moans, his balls slapping hard against your ass as he spilled deep inside of you. You felt everything, every pulse, every twitch, and hot jets of cum filling you up. 

Your vision went white as intense waves of ecstasy went through your body, your hands pawing at him and your eyes rolling back. You cried out his name, a shaking, sobbing mess of pleasure as you reached your peak, incoherent babbles leaving your lips as your mind went blank. Logan didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm and into a blissful high with lazy thrusts until the two of you were whimpering and trembling messes. 

DEAN DI LAURENTIS :

Dean bit his bottom lip as he quietly stopped in his tracks in the doorway of the kitchen, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes as fast as he could as his eyes zeroed in on you, his jaw nearly going slack. He had woken up alone in his bed from a nap—he was exhausted after practice and convinced you to get back in bed with him—to the sound of you singing and dishes clinking. 

You stood at the counter, whisking something in one of those fancy bowls Tucker had bought them as a housewarming gift. From where he was standing, you seemed to only be wearing one of his shirts, his eyes lingering on the way your hips swayed to the beat of the song that was playing from the Bluetooth radio on the counter. 

Dean was quiet as he walked up behind you, smiling at the cute gasp of surprise you let out when you felt his arms wrap around your waist. You paused on whisking the cookie dough when you felt your boyfriend's strong arms wrap around you. Dean groaned dramatically as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “You are driving me fucking crazy.” 

“What did I do now?” You couldn’t help but giggle at your boyfriend's dramatic grumpiness in his tone. Dean moved his arms from around your waist to rest his big, warm hands on your hips, pulling you back flush against his chest, letting out a small groan at the feeling of you pressed against his hot skin. 

He pouted and rubbed his nose against your neck needily before muttering with an accusatory tone, “You singing those lyrics! God, I can’t concentrate on anything.” 

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smirking triumphantly. Instead, you put on a faux innocent smile before licking the cookie dough off your finger, shrugging, “Oh!…oops.” 

“Oh, that’s all you have to say, princess, hmm?” Dean teased you with a playful, dramatic huff as he slipped one of his hands under your shirt to softly caress your stomach. He admired your side profile, how pretty you looked as you smiled, clearly enjoying his dramatics. 

His eyes dropped to your hands, watching how you put perfectly sized circles of cookie dough on the cookie pan. There was just something so domestic about seeing you wear his shirt, hair messy from their shared nap, baking in their kitchen, and singing those naughty lyrics about wanting a baby. He wanted nothing more than to have a family with you. He rested his palm on your stomach, just imagining. 

Dean let out a loud groan as his imagination started to run completely wild with more thoughts about you. His hold on your hips tightened as he closed his eyes and whined needily, “Fuck now, all I can think about is putting a baby in you.” 

You smirked at how whiny your boyfriend sounded. You tilted your head to the side so he could hear you better as you slowly whispered flirtatiously, “If you let me finish these, maybe you can.”

+

You pulled away from the messy kiss with a small gasp, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of silverware hitting the floor, echoing through the kitchen along with the lewd sound of skin slapping on skin. Dean didn't seem to care about the interruption; his thrusts didn’t falter as he now started kissing and sucking down your neck. Your words barely forming with all the moans slipping through your parted lips, “Dean—fuck! Be careful.” 

“You feel like fucking heaven.” Dean purred in your ear with a cocky grin, teasingly nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck, making you whine and purposely clench around him. The rhythm of his thrusts faltered as he let out a choked-out whimper that he would never admit to making. The cocky look on your face was gone as soon as it appeared. One of his hands that gripped your hips slid up to grip the back of your neck, tilting your head back. 

“You’re taking me so well, such a good little slut for me.” Dean moaned breathlessly against your lips, moving his hand from your neck to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. You let out a needy whine at the feeling of him thrusting into you deeper. He leans in closer, not breaking eye contact as he spits in your mouth, a slow grin spreading across his face at the sight of you eagerly swallowing it with a loud moan. 

“That’s it.” He praises you, his thumb pressing down on your tongue to keep your mouth open, the sounds of your gag going straight to his cock. He thrusted into you faster, using his grip on your jaw to hold you in place, not breaking eye contact, watching as you galled apart on his cock. The wet, lewd sounds of their passion filled the kitchen. 

He gave your jaw a gentle squeeze before he moved his hand back down to your hip, sliding his hands down to dig his fingers into the plush of your ass, pulling you closer to meet his thrusts as he changed his angle to fuck into you deeper. He could feel your thighs trembling around him, the way your walls were clamping around him, how your moans got louder. 

“Cum on my cock, baby, feel me filling you up.” His voice was husky with want, holding himself from cumming deep inside of you; he wanted to feel you fall apart on his cock first. His demands and frantic pace push you hard over the edge. Your back arches, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you, everything about it was loud and intense. 

“Dean, don't stop!” You cried out, a small hiss of pleasure leaving your boyfriend's lips at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin. Your pussy clamps around him, speaking his cock as you completely fall apart around him. Your head lolled back against the cabinet, tits bouncing with his hard thrusts, the sound of deans grunts and loud moans mixed with your whines and high pitched moans. 

“God, you’re milking me, princess—fuck!” Dean lets out a loud guttural moan at the feeling of your walls holding onto him for dear life. It pushes him deep into your sweet spot, flooding your walls with his hot cum as he continues to fuck you through both of your orgasms’ aftershocks. Not stopping until it was too much for your sensitive bodies. 

Dean placed wet, lazy kisses across your shoulder and neck, his hands softly rubbing your trembling hips and sides, your body still clinging to him. He slowly pulled away from your sweaty skin to grin teasingly at you, softly bumping his nose against yours “Think those cookies are ready? We’ve worked up quite the appetite.” 

JOHN TUCKER : 

Tucker watched you with a small smirk as he leaned against the doorframe of your bathroom, watching as you leaned over the bathroom sink to look closer into the mirror as you did your eyelashes. He pushed himself off the doorway and moved to stand behind you. You were so used to his touch that you didn’t flinch when he rested his hands on your hips. He softly caressed your sides with a smile as he asked: “Who’s Juno?”

You pulled the mascara wand away from your eyes and set it down on the counter as you pulled back from the mirror, gaping at your boyfriend in disbelief. "You're kidding—you've never seen Juno?”

You watched as he shrugged carelessly, shaking his head no with that cute smile you loved. You roll your eyes playfully with a dramatic sigh of false disappointment as you stand up straight. You keep your eyes locked with his eyes through the mirror as a teasing smile decorates your face. “Remind me why I'm dating you?” 

Tucker chuckled and moved one of his arms up from your waist, flexing his muscles at you in the mirror with a wink. He wore that slutty muscle tank that he knew drove you crazy, showing off his stretch marks you loved to kiss. He smirked as he answered you with a flirty tone, “Oh, my muscles definitely.”

You giggled at his flirting as you turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter as you tilted your chin to look up at him. Tucker rested his hands on the counter as he leaned in closer to you, successfully trapping you. He licked his lips, clearly enjoying how you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

He leaned even closer, his accent thicker as he whispered: “So are we?” 

You rest one of your hands on his hip, fidgeting with the waistband of his sweatpants, before you lean forward to place soft kisses on the little sliver of skin not covered on his shoulder. You raised your eyebrow and let out a small hum of confusion, “Hmm?”

Tucker let out a small groan with a mixture of a moan at the feeling of your lips on his now warm skin, along with the feeling of your fingers teasingly slipping under the band of his sweatpants. All thoughts of joining your friends at Malone's were long gone in their minds. He moved one of his hands from the counter to cup your jaw, whispering with a faux innocent smile, “Gonna try out some freaky positions?” 

+

Your body felt beautifully spent with an ache that settled into your limbs from the intense, flexible position he coaxed you out of. Your body practically melted into the sheets as he carefully rolled you onto your stomach. The sudden shift made your body protest, but the weight of his sweaty body pressing against your back as he placed a wet kiss on your shoulder made the soreness completely worth it. 

Your chest was smushed against the sheets of your dorm bed, makeup no doubt dirtying your soft sheets. Your boyfriend let out a desperate moan at the sight of your wet pussy. Your ass was perfectly hiked up in the air. Tucker's rough hands gripped your hips with a bruising force as he fucked into you with one heavy thrust. 

“Tuck!” Your loud cry of pleasure was muffled by the sheets, the sound vibrating through the sheets. The thrust stole the air right out of your lungs as you let out a choked-out whine, your fingers scrambling desperately to grip onto the messy sheets. The feeling of him thrusting deep into you was too much; everything felt so sensitive, you were so close to your high before Tucker changed the position. 

”That’s it, baby, you can take it.” Tucker whispered in your ear; his voice was low, and you could hear his smirk. How could he not feel cocky at the sight of you, a mess on his cock. Your face smushed against the mattress, your mouth parted as filthy moans left your lips. A thin string of drool escaped the corner of your mouth, and your eyes glazed over in lust. 

”Tuck…oh god, John!—so good!” You moaned loudly, mixing with the sound of his pelvis slapping against the plush of your ass, echoing through your room. Neither of you cared about being quiet. You reached back, your trembling fingers gripping onto his wrist and pulling him forward with a desperate whine. 

You didn't need to say anything else; he knew what you wanted. 

He slipped his arm under your neck, guiding you into a hot and sweaty headlock that had your head spinning and your body melting into his. He wasted no time as he began to thrust into you with an intense hunger, that coil in his stomach getting tighter. 

“Fill me up—please, John!” You begged him, your words slurred and broken as you continued to babble on about how bad you needed it. You were nothing but a trembling, drooling mess beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure from his cock and praise. Your nails dug into his arm, nearly sobbing as you tried to grind back against him, you couldn’t even finish your thought, so cock drunk, “Please! John, can I—ahh!” 

“Since you asked so nicely—my greedy girl,” he rasped in your ear, his voice thick with lust as he let out a guttural moan. He felt your walls clenching around him, desperately milking him and pulling him over the edge. Tucker moaned into your ear, his hips going still with a choked-out whine as you felt thick ropes of his cum fill you up in heavy spurts. 

The feeling of him filling you up, along with his sloppy thrusts, brings you to your peak. You were completely gone, your body trembling and brain completely going blank as your orgasm ripped through your body. Leaving you a moaning and whining mess. 

Tucker chuckled breathlessly at the small whimpers and pants leaving your lips as the two of you tried to catch your breath, minds still foggy in pleasured haze. He placed a wet and long kiss on your shoulder, smiling as he mumbled: “Wanna watch that movie now?”

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Ი𐑼 actually obsessed with the layout for this one , I wanted to post this sooner but I was just oh so busy to finish it !! I really hope you guys like it , writing smut is always so hard for me 💔 please tell me your thoughts , feedback is always appreciated and so are comments and reblogs , luv you bbys 🐇

also I am a proud lover of them em dash <3

᧔᧓ if this seems familiar it’s because I’ve taken it from my old blog and rewrote and added to it !

taglist : @pixiebratz @lovings4turn @minikiiikiii @toasttt11 @avreated @fantillisgirl @cixrosie @abbottjunior01 @corvusmorte @rougeleclerc @take-it-on-the-run @portalofpandas @itsskavya @justkeepingitpeachy @whydontyouputyourseatbelton @yournaughtyandcutelittlegirl @gojodaddy1029 @sentryvvorld

۶ৎ taglist is open

© boyfiefleur | all rights reserved.

He raised an amused brow, “Chocolate?”

You nodded, sipping your beer. “Chocolate.” You confirmed, then pointed across the room to where Kendall was busy making out with one of the hockey players. “She’s vanilla. We’re chocolate and vanilla swirl.”

The football player nodded in understanding. “Ah. I see,” he said before looking over at Kendall. “Though vanilla isn’t very vanilla.”

You laughed at his witty joke, both of you watching Kendall as she did a body shot off of the hockey player she was kissing two seconds ago. She was dressed in the same tube top and bubble skirt set you were wearing, complete with the knee-high boots and matching headpiece; hers a whipped white color, yours a cocoa brown.

From the other side of the room, Tucker and Logan were talking when the former spotted you chatting with the tall football player.

Tucker nudged Logan, “Yo, is that your girl?”

Logan followed his line of sight and it landed on you, leaning against the kitchen counter and speaking to the good-looking stranger with an easy smile on your lips.

Logan looked away and gulped down his beverage. “She’s a big girl.”

Logan wasn’t one of those insecure, pompous boyfriends. He didn’t do jealousy. He’s convinced jealousy was invented by a short dick man with an easily bruised ego. Logan was secure enough in his relationship with you to never have any reason to feel jealous.

You turned to the jock and gave his costume a once-over. Knitting your brows together, you racked your brain’s storage full of pop culture references and iconic fictional characters.

“Timothée Chalamet in Call Me by Your Name?” You tried.

He let out a huff of laughter, “Close. I’m Luca from the Disney-Pixar movie.”

“Ahh,” you nodded. “Practically the same.”

He flashed a charming smile, dragging a sip from his bottle. He extended his hand to you, “James.”

You shook his hand and told him your name.

“Pretty name,” he responded. “Though…” he leaned in closer, “…cupcake fits better, don’t you think?”

Ah. At that, you picked up that he was attempting to flirt with you. Forever loyal to your boyfriend, you opened your mouth to turn his advances down. But before you could, you felt an arm wrap around your waist from behind and find purchase on your hipbone. You knew who it was without even looking.

“Hey, got you a refill,” Logan said, taking the half empty can from your hands and replacing it with a new one.

“Thanks,” you said. As your hand moved to pop the can open, Logan’s deft fingers beat you to it and he cracked the tab for you.

The football player, James, eyed the two of you, biting his lip whilst reconfiguring his whole plan. “You’re both…?”

“Air signs,” Logan teasingly remarked with a straight face, casually drinking from his red solo cup. You elbowed him with a small smirk.

“No,” James shook his head. “I mean—”

“Together,” Logan told him, putting his now empty plastic cup down on the counter. His newly freed hand joined the other by holding onto your other hip and giving it a squeeze.

James nodded to himself. “Got it.” And away he went. Probably off to find his Alberto.

Logan’s eyes followed his retreating figure, not easing up until he was out of sight. Only then did he drop his hands off your body.

You turned around and looked up at your boyfriend with a wide smile. “What was that?”

“What was what?” He returned, pouring himself a new drink.

“That whole thing,” you responded.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” You repeated.

Logan shrugged. “A normal interaction, no?”

“He was flirting with me before that.”

“Oh so you’re aware.”

Your expression dropped. Oh, is that why—

“Logan.”

“Hm.”

“Logan.”

“Hm?”

You tilted his face down to look at him. “I wasn’t going to entertain it.”

“I know,” he replied.

“I was going to shut it down right before you showed up.”

“I know.”

“I want to make sure you know that.”

“And I know that.”

You squinted your eyes. This was suspiciously too easy. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

You stared at one another for a beat longer than necessary.

“You’re still upset,” you observed.

“I’m not upset,” he answered.

“So what are you feeling?” You asked.

“I don’t like how he called you cupcake,” Logan told you.

“Me neither. Not when I’m so clearly chocolate.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“Y/n.”

You sighed softly, “Okay, sorry. I thought humor would make it better.”

Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, hoping to relieve some of his tension. It worked. A little.

“It was a shitty pickup line,” you said. “Wouldn’t work on me even if I was single.”

“I hope so.”

“Oh, please, Logan. Take me out the back and shoot me if you ever see me falling for that,” you commented. He let out a small laugh. That’s progress

His hands returned to your hips and he pulled you closer. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. His large hands rested just above your ass.

“What if I called you that?” Logan said lowly.

“Wanna give it a try?” You offered.

He leaned in, his lips hovering right by your ear. You could feel his warm breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. “Would you be into that, cupcake?” He whispered, ending it with a gentle nibble on your earlobe.

You shivered, feeling goosebumps crawl over your skin. “Fuck, I guess you have to take me out back with a gun, Logan.”

He pulled back with a hearty chuckle. You gave a matching smile and he held your face, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.

As he looked at you, his face turned thoughtful for a moment. You squeezed his hand reassuringly.

He leaned in again. “I didn’t like how he looked at you.”

“How’d he look at me?” You wondered.

“Like how I look at you.”

You stared up at him, biting your lip. “And how do you look at me?” You whispered.

He brought his forehead against yours, gazing deep into your eyes. “Like I want you.”

Oh screw your sexy boyfriend and his even sexier responses. And that’s exactly what you wanted to do now—if only you weren’t in the middle of Beau and Dean’s birthday bash.

You had enough of this game. You raised yourself up and pressed your lips to his. Logan was hungry; he seemed to devour your kiss, swallowing every soft sound you made. His hand strayed down to grip your ass, the other held your waist comfortably. His tongue was already begging to enter your mouth, and you obliged without hesitation.

When you pulled away several moments later, Logan chased your lips with eagerness, gently biting your bottom lip as you separated.

“Mine,” he breathed out under his breath.

You bared a dazed smile, “I only want you.” You mouthed silently.

Logan let out a soft sound of amusement, nodding more to himself than to you. Satisfied and high off your impromptu makeout session, he pressed one last kiss to your forehead before rejoining his friends, this time with a protective hand on the small of your back.

You sink down onto Garrett’s cock with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, taking every thick inch until your ass meets his thighs. The stretch is perfect, filthy, and you let out a soft sigh as you settle into a lazy rhythm, grinding in tight little circles that make his grip on your waist tighten.

“… and then she had the nerve to say I was overreacting,” you continue, voice only slightly breathy as you ride him. Your palms rest on his chest for balance, nails lightly digging into his skin every time you lift and drop. “Like, I told her exactly what she did, and she just flipped it around on me. Can you believe that?”

Garrett’s answer is a broken whine, low and needy. His head tips back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded and glassy with pleasure. His fingers dig harder into the soft flesh of your waist, thumbs pressing just above your hips as he tries to guide your movements, but he’s too far gone to do more than hold on. Another helpless sound slips from his throat when you clench around him on the downstroke, wet heat swallowing him completely.

You lean forward a little, changing the angle so his cock drags against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. “Mmm… anyway, I just walked away after that. I’m not dealing with her drama right now.” Your words tumble out between soft gasps as you pick up the pace, riding him harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. “She’s always like this, ah, when…”

A sharp, desperate whine cuts through your sentence. Garrett’s hips jerk up involuntarily, chasing the slick friction, his cock throbbing deep inside you. His abs tense under your hands, and he bites his lip hard, trying to stifle the next moan but failing miserably. His eyes flutter shut, brows furrowed in overwhelming pleasure as you keep talking like you’re not currently fucking him senseless.

“Garrett,” you murmur, almost teasing, rolling your hips in that devastating way that makes him whimper again. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

He shakes his head weakly, a wrecked little “F-fuck…” escaping him as his fingers tremble against your waist. His cock twitches hard inside your pulsing heat, and you smile, grinding down deep and slow.

You smile down at him, still grinding in those slow, torturous circles, your voice sweet and casual like you’re not stuffed full of his cock. “So yeah, I’m just done with her bullshit for a while. I mean, who even does that to a friend…”

Garrett’s whines are getting louder, more broken. His fingers dig bruisingly into your waist as he tries to keep up, thrusting up to meet every roll of your hips. His cock drags perfectly inside you, hitting that spot that makes your breath hitch mid-sentence, but he’s losing the fight. Sweat beads on his chest. His thighs tremble beneath you. Every desperate upward snap of his hips grows sloppy, frantic, like he’s chasing the tight, wet heat of you while your words keep washing over him.

You clench around him on purpose, rising up until just the head of his cock stretches your entrance, then slamming back down. “You okay down there, baby?” you tease, still talking. “You look like you’re about to…”

That’s it.

A low, guttural growl rips from Garrett’s throat. In one sudden, powerful move he sits up, arms banding around you, and flips you onto your back. The breath leaves your lungs as he pins you beneath him, his heavy body pressing you into the mattress. His cock never leaves your pussy, he drives back in with a single brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

“Enough,” he rasps, voice wrecked and hoarse from all the whining. One big hand wraps around your throat lightly, thumb tilting your chin up. The thin silver chain you stole from him (so much for not being his girlfriend) catches on his fingers. He tugs it, pulling the delicate links between your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips and he slides the cool metal chain into your mouth, letting you bite down on it. The taste of silver and the slight pull against your neck sends heat flooding through you.

Garrett’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, flushed, chain between your teeth, finally quiet. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand and starts fucking you hard, deep, relentless strokes that make the bed creak. “No more talking,” he growls against your ear, hips snapping forward. “Just take it.”

You whimper around the chain clenched between your teeth, the silver links warm and slick from your mouth now. Garrett’s hips snap forward again, driving his thick cock so deep you feel it in your belly. He’s heavy on top of you, one hand still pinning your wrists above your head, the other braced beside your face as he fucks you with slow, punishing strokes.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with amusement even as he pants. A smirk tugs at his lips, eyes gleaming with that teasing edge you know too well. “All that talking earlier… and now you can’t even get a full sentence out.”

He rolls his hips deliberately, grinding against your clit on every thrust so the pleasure spikes sharp and overwhelming. You try to answer him anyway, something bratty about how he couldn’t handle it, but it comes out as a muffled, garbled moan around the chain.

Garrett chuckles darkly, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. “What was that, baby? Couldn’t quite catch it.” Another deep thrust makes your eyes flutter. “You were so chatty when you were riding me, telling me all about your day, your friend’s drama… now you’re just making these pretty little noises.”

He pulls the chain a little tighter between your teeth with his free hand, the gentle tug sending sparks down your spine. His pace picks up, harder, faster, the wet sound of him pounding into your soaked pussy filling the room.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this,” he groans, but there’s still that teasing lilt. “All quiet and dripping for me. Maybe I should keep this chain in your mouth more often, huh? Keep you from running that pretty mouth until I’ve fucked every thought out of your head.”

You shake your head weakly, but your hips buck up to meet his thrusts, betraying you completely. Garrett laughs softly, low and wrecked, and leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth, right where the chain disappears between your lips.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

He releases your wrists only to hook your leg higher around his waist, changing the angle so he hits even deeper. His thrusts turn relentless, every snap of his hips driving home his point while he keeps teasing you in that husky, pleasure-drunk voice. “Still got something to say about your friend? No? Thought so.”

You try to answer him anyway, because of course you do.

“Mmmph, fuck you,” you manage around the chain, the words coming out slurred and muffled, half-moan, half-bratty defiance. The silver links click wetly against your teeth as you speak, spit slicking the metal. “Still… think you’re so, ahh, tough for shutting me up…”

Garrett’s laugh is low and breathless, but it breaks into a groan when you clench hard around his cock. He drives into you deeper, hips rolling with filthy precision, the head of his dick dragging right against that spot that makes your toes curl. “Oh yeah?” He smirks down at you, eyes dark with lust and amusement. He tugs the chain a little tighter, pulling it firmer against your tongue. “What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you over how fucking soaked you are.”

You rock your hips up to meet his next thrust, stubborn even while pinned. “Mmm, asshole,” you mumble around the metal, the words garbled but dripping with challenge. Your voice is wrecked, breathy, but you still manage to add, “Bet you can’t… fuck the attitude out of me…”

Garrett’s eyes flash. He growls, shifting his weight to hook both of your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new angle lets him sink impossibly deeper, pounding into you with hard, relentless strokes that punch the air out of your lungs. “Wrong answer,” he rasps, leaning down so his mouth is right against your ear. His voice is rough, teasing, and edged with pleasure. “My girl is so stubborn today.”

You try to retort again. “Not… your… mmph!” But it dissolves into a broken moan as he grinds against your clit on every thrust. The chain pulls taut between your lips with every jolt of your body, the taste of silver sharp on your tongue.

A guy slipped in, tall and broad-shouldered in a Briar hockey hoodie, dark curls, backpack hanging off one shoulder and an iced coffee balanced in one hand. Garrett Graham, obviously.

She knew the name because everyone at Briar knew the name, usually said with some combination of awe, thirst, and deeply annoying familiarity. He scanned the back row, found the empty seat beside her, and leaned in just enough for his voice to stay under the professor’s. “This taken?”

She shook her head, trying very hard not to look like she’d noticed his forearms. “Go for it.”

He slid into the seat with the quietest possible amount of athletic grace, which was still not quiet enough.

Professor Martin stopped mid-slide. “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Graham.”

Garrett froze with one hand still on his backpack zipper. “Oh– uh, yeah. Sorry. Hockey practice ran over.”

Professor Martin looked at the iced coffee in his hand, then tilted her head at him. “Oh. Hockey practice. Do they give you iced coffees on the way out now? That’s new.”

His eyes flicked to her. For half a second, panic. Then something brighter, amused and wicked. He set the coffee onto the tiny desk attached to her chair like he had been wronged by circumstance. “It was for my girl. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Her lips pressed together so hard her mouth almost disappeared. Across the room, someone made a strangled noise.

She nodded gravely, sliding one hand around the cup. “Totally my bad. I begged for one. Sorry, Professor.”

Professor Martin stared at both of them with the exhausted stillness of a woman who had taught athletes before and expected better from theatre majors. “Be on time to my class, Mr. Graham.”

Garrett nodded with a sincerity so polished it was basically fraudulent. “Yes, ma’am.”

The lecture resumed. The slide changed to one with even more words on it, which felt aggressive. Beside her, Garrett exhaled slowly, then pushed the iced coffee further toward her with two fingers.

“For your trouble,” he whispered.

She glanced at the cup, then at him. “That’s okay. It’s yours.”

“Yeah, but I just accused you of sending me on a beverage run in front of the whole class.”

“You did.”

“So.” He nudged it another inch toward her, mouth curving. “Hazard pay.”

She pressed her lips together, trying very hard not to smile. “I’m not taking your coffee.”

“It’s not mine anymore.”

“It has your name on it.”

Garrett looked down at the sticker, then back at her with a perfectly straight face. “That’s so they knew who to give it to before I delivered it to my girl.”

A laugh got out of her before she could stop it. Tiny. Horribly timed. Professor Martin paused for half a second at the front of the room, and she immediately dropped her gaze to her notebook like the blank page had become urgent.

Garrett’s shoulder shook once beside her. “Good acting,” he murmured.

“Shut up.”

“I mean it. Very committed.”

“I'm a theatre major, I’m always committed.”

His grin turned interested in a way that made the fluorescent-lit back row feel suddenly too small. “Yeah?”

Then his eyes dropped to her notebook, where she had written what the fuck? in the margin and underlined it twice.

“So,” he whispered. “You got any idea what’s going on in this class?”

She looked down at the page, then back at him. “Nope. I’m probably dropping it.”

Garrett sucked at his teeth. “Shit. I was hoping you could help me.”

“Sorry.”

“Well,” he said, settling back like academic disaster had simply opened a networking opportunity, “if you decide not to drop out, you should give me your number. We could study together.”

She tilted her head. “Study?”

“Mr. Graham,” Professor Martin said from the front, without turning around. “Am I interrupting your date back there?”

Heat shot straight up her neck. Garrett sat back so fast his knee hit the underside of the tiny desk.

“No, Professor,” he said, clearing his throat. “Very sorry. We’re listening. I swear.”

She nodded quickly, eyes fixed on her notebook. “Sorry.”

For almost a full minute, they were quiet. Or quiet enough. The professor kept talking. Someone coughed near the front. Garrett’s iced coffee sat between them, sweating a small ring onto the desk, and eventually he slid it toward her again without looking over.

She glanced down. Beside her, Garrett stared straight ahead, pen balanced uselessly between his fingers, the corner of his mouth barely moving. “You should drink some before you drop the class.”

Her mouth twitched. “Is that your academic advice?”

“It’s my apology.”

“You apologise with coffee often?”

“Usually works.”

She shook her head, still looking at the front of the room, but she took the cup anyway. 

Garrett’s smile showed up slowly, pleased and quiet and deeply annoying. “See? We’re already learning.”

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It was perfect. They were perfect.

But inside your chest, something felt tight. Felt wrong. It was a know that had been building since you woke up in the morning. Something this should have fixed.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured. He started to shift, guiding your knee over his hip. From behind, Beau’s grip tightened on you.

You were surrounded, as you always loved to be. Yet, it was all too much. And not in the way you enjoyed.

You felt suffocated in the head. Their touches felt like pressure. A wave of anxiety hit you, making the knot in your stomach jump. You stiffened in Beau’s touch as you reached your hand flat against Dean’s bare chest, not pushing, but locking your elbows to halt him.

“Hey,” Beau’s voice cut through the noise in your head instantly. He stopped moving his hands over you completely. “My love, talk to me. Are you okay?”

Dean froze too. The expression on his face from a moment ago vanished within a second. His eyes scanned your face, looking for the answers you couldn’t quite put to words right now. He saw the shine of tears pricking at your eyes.

“I– I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I can’t. I’m so sorry, I– I thought I could but I just... I don’t...”

Dean instantly scrambled backwards so he wasn’t crowding your space. Behind you, Beau gently unwrapped his limbs from yours, shifting so you were sat next to him. He didn’t pull away completely, knowing you needed some sort of physical touch. “Whoa, whoa, look at me. Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologise to me or to Dean. Breathe.”

Dean climbed off of the bed so he could step back into his shorts. He picked up your PJs from the floor and passed them to you so that you could cover up. Beau helped you to climb into them before he reached for your hand.

“You’re okay,” Beau soothed, his thumb running over your knuckles. “Let’s do something else.”

The dam broke, tears streaming down your face as frustration took over. “I’m just so tired. I had such a bad day,” you choked out. You felt so silly, ruining time with your boys over a bad day. “I wanted this to make it go away, but my brain won’t shut up. I feel like I’m ruining it.”

“Ruining what?” Dean scoffed softly, his touch incredibly tender as he climbed back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged next to you. He reached out, his hand taking your other hand. “I meant what I said before, I’m here for it all. I don’t need to be having sex with you, to want to be around you.”

“Really?”

“I’m crazy about you,” Dean promised.

You looked over at Beau before you spoke, silently asking his permission. He gave you a reassuring nod. “I’m crazy about you too, Dean.”

Beau pulled your hand up, kissing your knuckles. He shifted slightly, leaning back against the headboard as he pulled you back into his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist as his chin rested on the top of your head.

Dean crawled closer, adjusting the duvet so it was securely tucked under your shoulders. He didn’t pull away after fixing the covers. Instead, he crawled on top of them and sat next to you, his hand over Beau’s on your waist.

“Through the shitty days, the overthinking, the flu, anything. All of it. We’re here for you,” Beau said.

You let out a shaky breath, the heavy tightness in your stomach finally starting to unravel.

“Thank you,” you murmured, wiping at a stray tear with your sleeve. “I just felt so frustrated. I wanted to focus on you guys for a change.”

“You are focusing on us,” Beau said softly.

“Yeah,” Dean added, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over Beau’s hand on your waist. “By telling us what you need, letting us be here for you, that’s how you focus on us.”

With the heavy weight of the day lifting, your stomach let out a loud growl, breaking the silence and making Dean laugh. You sniffled, a small smile finally breaking through. “Let’s watch a film. And maybe some popcorn?”

“Done,” Beau was up instantly. He planted a soft peck to the top of your head. “I’ll go put a bag in the microwave. Dean?”

“Yes, sir!” Dean fake saluted. Dean slid under the duvet, pulling you to lay with your head flush against his chest.

“I’m here for if you want to talk about what ruined your day,” Dean murmured. “And if it’s a who, let me know so Maxwell and I can go beat them up.”

You chuckled against him. “Thank you,” you said as your thumb stroked over his chest.

Standing at the edge of the bed, Beau paused, looking down at the two of you cuddled together. He thought back to all the times he had worried about how he would balance the love he had for his best friend and the love that he had for you.

But, watching Dean soothe your worries away, seeing how perfectly you fit between them, Beau knew this wasn’t just a fleeting thing. It was real and, if he had it his way, forever. Now, he just had to figure out how to get you to confess your love to Dean.