K-k0129

5:07 AM

Faint tapping clicks against the glass of John Logan’s bedroom window, the quiet slaps wake him before sleepily standing up from his bed, tired eyes scanning his surroundings as he squints to make out the time on a digital clock in the corner of the room. 

“The fuck?” His voice is deep, scratchy as he rubs his eyes and grabs his glasses from his bedside table before sleepily stepping towards the window. 

Just as he pulls back the casement’s curtains, his bedroom door swings open, the knob slamming loudly against the wall as Dean and Tuck storm into the dark quarters.  

“Sorry to wake you up like this, man-,” Tuck apologizes before flipping on the lightswitch beside the doorframe. “-But it’s important.”

“Pretty sure MU is fucking with our house,” A shirtless Dean wields a hockey stick, gripping it tightly in his hands. “They think they're slick coming here at five in the morning to fuck with our shit, but jokes on them, cause I don’t sleep.” His eyes are a little wild as they shift to the window of John’s bedroom. “We need to get down there now.”

Logan slips on his glasses before raking through his wild hair, his brows furrow seeing no sign of, “Garrett? Where is he?”

Tuck gives his friend a wary look before saying, “I fear he’s already outside.”

“Shit,” John grits his teeth, quickly stepping into his gray sweats laying beside the bed. “We need to get out there before G kills somebody.” 

The guys practically fly down the stairs. Logan leads the pack, quickly grabbing the largest ratchet he owns out of his tool bag laid out on the kitchen island as he heads towards the commotion coming from the back yard.

Tucker flips on the flood lights, revealing three men pummeling Garrett, who was now on the grass, his arms cradling his head to block the stranger’s beatings. Graham throws violent punches in between the miscreants' brutal blows. 

“Back the fuck up!” Dean bellows as he blows through the doorframe and rushes the men, striking one of the strangers with his hockey stick, “Get away from him, you dumb motherfuckers!” 

Tuck’s fists are at the ready as another one of the brutes turns towards him, tackling him to the dewy grass. The two men grunt as they viciously wrestle on the ground.

John freezes as his eyes land on the face of one of Minnesota’s starting line hockey players, who happened to be kicking Garrett in the ribs. 

“Yeah, her case didn’t even make it to court, which is insane because of what she accused them of doing to her.”

Without another thought, Logan charges the assailant, dodging each attempted punch before ultimately striking him in the back with the steel ratchet he brandished. “I know what you did, you sick motherfucker!” His voice cracks as he screams, hitting the man with the tool again, this time in the thigh. 

“You’re fucking crazy!” The stranger curses, terrified as John rears back to hit him once more. “Lets get out of here!” He yells out to the two other men, who follow his instructions and start to run, slipping on the damp lawn while they try to escape.

Logan, Tuck and Dean chase the strangers into the front yard, their attempts futile as the three men hop into a black Tahoe and peel away from the home, tires screeching loudly with their exit. 

“Stupid motherfuckers,” Dean breathes, his chest rising and falling as his nostrils flair. He tosses the hockey stick to the ground. “I’m fucking their shit up tonight.”

“Assholes,” Logan murmurs through grit teeth, his heart racing as he tries to calm his erratic breathing. 

“Guys..” Tucker’s voice is almost a whisper, gaining his friend’s attention as they both turn towards him, cursing as they see their shared home. Eggs are splattered all over the exterior of the house, toilet paper is strewn everywhere. 

A white bed sheet hangs on the front porch, displaying a message written in red paint:

FUCK THE HAWKS

“What did I say?” Dean motions towards the chaos of their front lawn. He shakes his head, "Pretentious, entitled assholes.. I need to go check on Garrett.”

John’s fists can’t seem to stop shaking, still gripping the ratchet as he tries to swallow back the rage boiling in his gut. 

“You good, man?” Tuck’s palm rests on Logan’s bare shoulder as his chest heaves.

John clears his throat, trying to shake himself free from his growing anxiety, “I need to go.”

He takes off running into the house and grabs his car keys before heading back outside and jumping into his vehicle before driving away into the early morning dusk.

___

Hurried knocking startles you awake. 

Your head turns towards the clock in your bedroom.

5:45 AM 

Your feet hit the ground as you get out of your warm bed and slowly creep towards the front door of your apartment.

Who the hell is at your door at almost 5 in the morning?

Heart racing, your thoughts wander to the worst imaginable outcomes. 

Your shaking fingers wrap around the handle of the bat you keep by the entrance of the apartment. Toes crack as you slip closer to the door and try to muster up the courage to peer through the peep hole; dreading what you would see in the hallway.

Instantly, you open the door, meeting the heavy-lidded gaze of, “John? What’s wrong?”

He looks like a man undone, his brown eyes full of anger; his voice raspy as he murmurs, “They fucked with our house.” 

Your eyes shift to the silver ratchet he clutched tightly in his shaking fist before scanning back up to meet his hardened gaze, “John, is everything okay with the house?”

“I don’t give a fuck about the house..” his breath shakes as he stares you down. “Are you okay?”

He looks petrified. 

Your fingers gently wrap around his white-knuckled, shaking fist, instantly softening his hardened grip as you slowly take the tool from him, “I’m okay, John.” You nod, the ratchet dings as you place it on a cluttered shelf beside the front door.

Tears gloss over his doe eyes as he gazes at you, “I am so sorry for showing up like this.. I was scared they would somehow find you, and-.” his voice falters before his arms fly around you; his glasses creak as he buries his face into your neck. 

Your fingers instinctually run through his dark locks before gently rubbing your palm on his bare back. “I’m okay, and so are you.”

He nods, sinking deeper into your embrace as he quietly holds you close, his racing heart calms alongside his breathing. “Thank you,” he exhales. 

“What for?” You ask as he pulls away, his head tilts down towards you. His mahogany gaze melts your soul. 

“Bringing me back down to earth,” a small smile spreads across his handsome face.

Your cheeks burn, “Oh, well - you’re welcome, Johnny.”

Like usual, Logan’s heart flips hearing you say his name. He loves the way the corners of your mouth curve into a smile to say it.

“You need to get back to sleep,” he says, pulling out his phone to look at the time. “Morning Stake isn’t for another few hours. Do you need me to come back and get you?”

Trying not to seem needy, you shake your head and smile, “No, sir. I actually need to run by the football locker room to grab some KT tape to wrap Tuck’s hamstring before he busts it again like he did last week.”

Logan twirls his car keys on his pointer finger before catching them in his palm, “Well, I guess I’ll see you in a few hours, Stretch.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you reply as John walks away, turning back to sneak a quick glance your way before disappearing as he rounds the corner. 

You shut the door, slinking down to the ground of your apartment like a fool in love, unable to drop the ridiculous smile plastered on your face. 

____

9:12 AM 

“Unless you have physical documentation of the three players actually being at the house, I cannot reprimand them,” The Minnesota Frost’s Coach says as he leisurely scrolls through his phone. “If there is a real issue, let them figure it out like men on the ice tonight.”

Coach Jensen shifts in his chair, his eyes glance over to where The Briar Hawks logo was painted on the wall of his office. His tongue clicks before clearing his throat, “Tom, not only did three of your guys ransack my starting line’s house, but they also jumped our Captain, who just so happens to be our best forward.” His forehead is creased, agitation adorns his face, “I can’t help but to feel like this was all intentional, considering Garrett Graham is to the point of needing to sit on the bench tonight so he doesn’t break his already fractured ribs.” 

“Chad, look - have you considered that your boys did this to themselves to make MU look bad?” The man finally looks up from his phone.

“That’s absurd, and you know it,” Coach is calm as he stands from his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why would my guys need to make yours look worse than they already do?” 

The Frost’s Coach turns red as he shoots out of his chair, his shaking finger pointing at Coach Jensen, “You and your sissy boys are gonna lose tonight.”

“See you at 6, Tommy,” Chad gives a small wave towards the man as he watches him storm out of his office. 

——

10:03 AM

“Alright, Sweet Tuck - you’re all set,” you announce, dusting your palms off on your pants before turning to the other players waiting for mending in the treatment room you inhabit across the hallway from The Hawks locker room. “Who’s next?”

Dean makes quick work of jumping onto the treatment table and points to his right shoulder, “I whooped someone’s ass this morning and now my shoulder hurts.” He pokes out his bottom lip. 

“Oh no, whatever shall we do?” You tease as you put on gloves and dip into a jar of CBD cream. Dean hisses as your knuckle rubs into the meaty part of his shoulder and into his peck, trying to stretch the tired muscles. “Jesus, Stretch!” he hisses.

“You’ll be okay, Di Laurentis,” You laugh as you take off your latex gloves and toss them into the trashcan before grabbing the kinesiology tape out of your go-bag. “Tape time, lil baby,” the tape makes a ripping sound as you tear off a long piece of the cotton strip, placing it strategically on Dean’s shoulder, before placing another strip, ensuring his musculature is correctly supported. 

You brush your hands together before you stand, "Onward, my good sir.” You salute as Dean hops off of the table and rolls his shoulder in a few circles before straightening up his posture and saluting back. 

You both release your overly dramatic salutes before bursting out laughing. 

“Thanks, Stretch!” He walks towards the locker room. “See you at Malone’s?” 

“You better believe it,” you say as he saunters out of the room. 

You turn towards the remaining players waiting for treatment, a devious smile spreads across your face. “Who shall be my next victim?” You give your best Transylvanian accent. 

One player shoves the others out of the way, pointing at his thigh, “I fucked up my quads real bad. I need the massage gun stat, Stretch.” 

“Say less,” you begin to tend to the athlete. “What did I say about overdoing it, Matty? You only have one set of legs, dude.” He groans out a “Sorry, Stretch,” as you extend his long leg and assess his musculature, then wrap the kinesiology tape across the problem area. 

Before the morning is over, three more players get wrapped, iced, stretched and taped; each one thanking you before eventually filtering out of your treatment room and onto the ice. 

“And then there were two,” you turn, smiling ridiculously as you see John Logan standing in the doorway, clad in his practice hockey pads and stakes covered with rubber guards. “I’m bad off,” he jokes as his large palm cups his face before he says, “My cheek’s hurting so bad. What can you do to help me, Stretch?”

The smile spreading across your face hurts as you try to contain a love-struck giggle, motioning towards your treatment table, “Come into my office, Mr. Logan.” 

His brown eyes roll, unable to hide his growing smile before starting towards your table, halting as commotion rings out from down the hallway.

“Get out of our stadium!” Dean’s voice booms “-You disrespectful pricks!”

“Fuck,” John turns towards the ruckus and stalks out into the hallway. You follow closely behind, knowing it’s not good for anyone when Dean Di Laurentis is angry.

You are brought to a stand still as you see the men that have haunted your dreams standing mere yards away with their fingers pointed in your friend’s faces as the other athletes attempt to hold their fellow players back from a full-on brawl. 

John abruptly steps in front of you to shield your view just as an audible gasp escapes your lips. 

In his skates, Logan seems to tower over you as he blocks you from the scene, his right hand reaching behind him to hold your shaking hand.

Your wide eyes blankly at John’s back, trying to focus on the blue and black padding he wore in some small attempt to ground yourself. It feels like your heart is going to drum out of your chest as tingling pricks at the flesh of your face. Your shallow breathing slowly becomes erratic, shifting into hyperventilation.

John turns towards you, trying to keep you from seeing the men’s faces as he begins quietly walking you backwards, out of the hallway and into your treatment room.

The breath in your lungs sticks like melted tar as you gasp for air, holding your aching chest as you begin to slink to the ground as your panicked eyes keep darting towards the door, terrified that the men would come in and find you.

Logan’s strong arms seamlessly scoop you up, carrying you with ease to the treatment table in the back corner of the room. “I’m right here,” he breathes, gently sitting you on the blue padded table as his strong arms keep you upright, “It’s just you and me now.”

He takes your face into his wide hands and levels his chocolate eyes with your line of vision. His warm thumbs stroke the flesh of your cheeks as he whispers your name, “I need you to look at me.”

You nod between chest heaves as your eyes finally meet his loving gaze as hot tears stream down your face and hit the padded table as you begin to sob, “I’m so sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” his head shakes, brows furrowed with confusion as he wipes the tears from your cheeks, “There is absolutely no need for you to be apologizing to me.”

“I’m crazy,” tears stain the thighs of your pants as you continue to cry.

“What?” His voice cracks as his hands drop from your face to brace on his hips, “Who the hell told you that you’re crazy?"

You still can’t look at him, “Everyone back home.”

His arms cross over his padded chest, towering over you as he scowls, “Fuck everyone, Stretch.” He points towards the door, his nostrils flaring as he says, “Those bastards outside hurt you..” He swallows back the building rage flowing through his body before rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I can’t stand to see you cry..”

“I’m sorry for crying,” you cover your face with your trembling hands.

“Please.. Please, don’t apologize to me.." His hands rake through his hair as he tries to speak, ultimately squeezing his fists in agitation. “I don’t think you get it,” he points towards the door again, “I want those motherfuckers to pay for what they did to you. They don’t get to get off scot-free anymore, I won’t have it. I-I can’t have it.” 

“Please, don’t do something that could jeopardize your future because of me,” you wrap your hand around his. “Promise me, Johnny.”

“I can’t make any promises, Stretch,” his thumb rubs the fresh tears on your cheek. 

“Hey, Coach needs us- Oh… Shit..” Tuck’s voice comes from the doorway. He smiles widely and gives a charismatic thumbs up before walking towards the rink. 

You both let out breathless laughs as Tucker leaves. John stands up a little straighter and holds his hands out to you, helping you off of the treatment table. 

He’s chest to chest with you, looking down at you as he whispers, “I’ve got to get to the rink.. Do you wanna come and sit in there while we practice?”

Hannah and Allie both work today, so I think I’ll go ahead and go to Malone’s before you guys are done with practice,” you look around at the state at which you left your treatment room. “I’ll clean up here and then head over there.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” John smiles before giving you a tender kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you there, Stretch.”

—-

12:25 PM

The bells tied to the door ring out as some of the hockey players file into Malone’s, taking up most of the booths as you look up from where you sit at the edge of the bar across from where Hannah and Allie work, hoping to catch a glimpse of John Logan.

“So, when do you have to get back to the stadium tonight?” Allie asks as she pours a few mimosas. “We get off at one. Would you like to come get ready with us before the game? Well, before you need to be back, at least.”

“Allie is wanting to look cute for a nameless someone,” Hannah bounces her eyebrows at you.

“Is it a hockey player?” You ask. “Davenport is always creepily staring at you. He’s creepy, right? Or, is that mean to say?”

Hannah and Allie exchange the same look before both cackling.

“What?” You ask as a smile spreads across your confused face. “Oh god, please don’t tell him I said that..”

“No! No, you’re fine. It’s just.. an entire story in itself,” Hannah’s brows raise, her eyes widen. “Allie and Hunter have a bit of a past.”

“And it’s in the past,” Allie insists, shaking her head while she places the mimosa filled glasses onto a black serving tray. Hannah cleans the bar top with a damp cloth as another group files into Malone’s.

Your vision remains on Allie’s apprehensive expression as her eyes shift over to the hockey players across the restaurant.

Dean Di Laurentis stares back longingly, his eyes completely locked in on your friend. 

Dean’s vision shifts, feeling your gaze. 

Your wide eyes quickly shift to Allie, who is now looking at you. 

Your mouth is agape remembering Allie’s strange looks last night at the Hawk House, and how Dean had walked away when you and Allie got to where he stood at the kitchen island. 

It all made sense.

Allie’s eyes shift back to Dean, who looked absolutely mortified. His green eyes glance towards you once more before your eyes shift from his to Allie’s gaze. 

Hannah is across the room getting the new group’s order as you and Allie stare at one another. 

Her brown eyes well with tears, “Please, don’t-”

“-I didn’t get to answer you earlier,” you interrupt, confusing Allie before you say, “I have to be back in my treatment room by four this afternoon.” You give her a small smile before your eyes shift towards Dean and give him a quick nod before you turn back to Allie. “I would love to get ready with you guys before I have to be back at the stadium.”

You and Allie sit in silence as she finishes garnishing the drinks before she turns to you, her deep eyes search yours, as if she is saying ‘thank you’ before she squeezes your hand and walks away with the mimosas. 

The bells ring out again as you turn towards the front door, seeing Garrett Graham and John Logan walking into Malone’s, clad in their Briar U Hockey warm-up suits.

Hannah walks over to the bar, Graham and Logan follow. John’s eyes remain on you as he grows closer and gives you a shy smile before Hannah and Garrett step in front of your line of vision to give each other a kiss. 

“Long practice?” Hannah asks, pulling away from her boyfriend.

Their physical gap allows you to return a smile Logan’s way. 

“I’m moving slow..” Garrett points at his ribs. “Those assholes from this morning got me good.”

“I still can’t believe they didn’t get reprimanded at all,” Hannah’s palm touches his ribs. “Do you need ice or anything?” 

“You can ice me when we get home, Wellsy” he says, bouncing his eyebrows at his girlfriend. 

“Jesus, get a room!” Logan’s face twists in disgust. 

“Honestly, it’s abuse at this point,” Allie jokes as she walks behind the bar and sits the black serving tray down. 

The couple share another sweet kiss before both laughing at you, John and Allie jokingly gagging and crying.

Once more, the ringing from the front door grabs your attention.

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah asks as she and Garrett turn towards the diner’s entrance.

Logan curses under his breath and steps in front of where you sit at the edge of the bar, quickly whispering under his breath, “We can go right now. There’s an exit in the back of the kitchen.”

The anxiety rushing through your body is debilitating as the wooden bar seems to stretch on for miles in front of you. You try to feel for John’s warm hand, but you can’t seem to move.

Garrett tenses up and pushes Hannah behind him.

John is angry, “Those assholes just keep showing up.”

The three men walk towards where you all crowded around the bar.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” The tallest man says as he and Garrett step closer to one another. “How’s your ribs, Graham?”

Garrett’s shaking hands curl into tight fists as he lets out an exhausted exhale.

Dean and Tucker stand and immediately make their way over to the scene.

“What did I say, motherfucker?” Dean growls, bumping his chest against one of the players. “None of you are welcome here.” He points to the door, “Now, get the fuck out.”

“Last time I checked, this was a restaurant,” the man shrugs and looks around at the people now staring. “And we are patrons at this fine establishment. So..”

“Get out,” Garrett says plainly, almost chest to chest with the rival hockey player. 

“Guys, please - save this for the ice,” Tuck tries to intervene.

“You know, I think we’ll actually sit right here,” the three men sit only one seat away from where you were at the edge of the bar.

The Captain looks directly at you, blinking wildly before a devilish smile spreads across his face. “Oh, this day really does keep getting better,” he slaps his friend’s arm.

You swallow back the tears brimming in your eyes as you stare back at the man, completely immobilized by fear.

This has to be a nightmare.

“Hello, beautiful,” the other player says. “I didn’t know we would be getting such a pleasant surprise today.”

“You boys didn’t tell us you had such a beautiful Physical Therapist,” the man furthest away says, almost laughing as he looks at his friends. 

“We didn’t say she was our Physical Therapist,” Garrett’s forehead creases in confusion.

The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife as the men ogle at you. Logan leans in front of you to block you as Dean steps behind you, guarding access to both you and Allie as he and John glower at the men. 

“Oh, I see what’s happening here,” the Captain leans towards you, his look diabolical as he eyes the hockey players standing around you. He bounces his brows as he says, “She’s lots of fun, isn’t she?” 

The room erupts as Logan and Dean immediately dive for the men.

Dean shouts, “Fuck you!”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Logan’s eyes are wild. Tucker and Graham hold him and Dean back as the rival players smile and slowly get up from their stools.

“We’ll see you tonight, beautiful,” The Captain winks at you before they walk out the front door. 

It takes two more hockey players to keep John Logan from going after the strangers. 

The bell rings as the door shuts behind the men.

The restaurant is quiet, other than a Prince song playing quietly over the speakers. 

John’s chest heaves. 

“Breathe, Logan. Breathe,” Garrett locks eyes with John, who was only seeing red at this point. “This is exactly what they want. They want us off our game, angry.. We can’t let them win.”

Logan nods and rubs the bridge of his nose, “You’re right, G..”

Garrett turns to where you all were gathered around the bar, “Okay, what the fuck just happened? And what the hell were they talking about?”

You sit in silence, paralyzed as you begin to dissociate, staring at the bartop and getting lost in the lines of its wood. The world grows quiet, other than a dull ringing echoing throughout your brain, which feels like it’s on fire.

Your friend’s voices are muffled as they talk around you.

Garrett’s hands fly to his head, raking through his curly hair as he grows more angry. Hannah’s face is that of devastation. Allie stands behind the bar, her sad eyes stare at where you sit in silence, holding back tears.

“I’m sorry, what?” Garrett’s voice is deep, angry as his fingers rub a halo around his lips. “Those assholes did what to her?”

“It’s heavy shit, man,” Tucker exhales and turns towards you, not knowing what to say as you sit in silence.

The green stool squeaks beneath Logan as he sits down at the bar beside you, his fingers gently wrap around your idle hands, sitting with you in shared silence as the group continues to talk.

“Why aren’t those assholes in jail?” Allie is fuming as she motions over to where you sit. “Look at what they did to her by just speaking to her.”

John’s thumb rubbing your flesh is the first normal sensation you can feel.  He murmurs your name, “I need you to look at me.”

You swallow before your sorrowful gaze slowly meets his. 

“I need to go home,” you murmur.

“Whatever you want,” he nods before his worried eyes shift to his friends as they all watch you stand and hesitate at the bar. 

“I’m.. scared to go home,” you whisper.

“Do you want to come to the boy’s house with us?” Allie asks as she walks over and places her hand on your shoulder. “We can watch a movie! Whatever you want.”

“-I can make an appetizer before my pre-game nap!” Tucker says excitedly. “Do you like cheese?”

“I have been wanting to watch Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part Two,” Dean shrugs. 

“Dean, we’ve talked about this before. You don’t have to say the entire title,” Hannah laughs. 

“It’s too long. You wouldn’t have enough time to watch it and take a pre-game nap before we have to be back to the stadium at four,” Garrett says, matter of fact.

“How do you know that?” Tucker asks, confused.

“I know ball,” Garrett says confidently as he shrugs. “Stephanie Meyer is a trailblazing visionary.”

The group stares at their friend in silence before bursting out in laughter.

“You just keep surprising me,” Hannah smiles.

“Who knew Garrett Graham was a Twihard?” Allie snorts, which makes you laugh louder. 

Logan’s smile grows bigger the louder you laugh grows. 

“We’re actually called Rats, thank you very much,” Garrett goes on as everyone continues to cackle at their friend’s seemingly unending knowledge of the Twilight franchise.

Your friends’ roaring laughter is like balm for your soul, reminding you that bad things can, and will happen; but the people you surround yourself with can quickly remind you that there is still so much good left in the world.

—

A/N: Okaaaaayyyy, so - what did you think?? I have to know! Tell me everything lol

<3 - Cait

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As Dean’s younger sister, it was safe to say that you were a bit spoiled. Maybe majorly spoiled. It wasn’t your fault your parents showered you in affection and gifts and having two older brothers also didn’t help with the princess treatment. You never had to worry about anyone messing with you because you had two personal bodyguards who would gladly throw a punch for their younger sister. Despite your upbringing, you were always grateful for everything in your life and because of the love you grew up with you now knew what to expect from others. 

Unfortunately that made the college dating scene extremely hard. It was filled with shitty guys who only wanted to get in your pants and couldn’t even bother to offer to pay for your drink. You were alright paying for your own things but come on at least offer! Dean also became way more protective of you when you came to Briar, partly because of how he navigated the romance scene and knew what dicks boys can be.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean said to his friends when you left for the bathroom.

This was back when the first time you’d come by the hockey house after transferring to Briar University. Dean was introducing you to his friends and getting ready to throw a welcome party for you in the evening.

“Hey I’m locked in with Hannah,” Garrett said.

“Yeah trust me as much as I love you bro,” Tucker began, “Dating the female version of you sounds like a nightmare.”

“You know I can live with that statement,” Dean nodded.

“Whatcha talking about?” you asked, bouncing back into the room. 

You took the spot next to Logan who graciously pulled out the stool for you to sit on. He gave an awkward smile when you accidentally leaned in a bit too close brushing his shoulder.

“Classes,” Dean said quickly.

“I don’t believe you,” you countered, “Pleaseeee I wanna know the hockey drama!”

Dean rolled his eyes but decided to throw you a bone and explain about the latest scandal Fifth Line had posted about. It just so happened to be about a puck bunny getting mad about a fellow teammate not wanting to commit to them.

You gave your two cents about the situation, explaining how both sides were in the wrong and articulating your own opinion with such grace that the group couldn’t help but be enamored with you. Dean did say you were pre-law. 

“You have me convinced,” Tucker said, now slightly disappointed in his teammate for fucking over the girl.

“No offense I really don’t get the hype around you guys,” you said, waving your hand at the group.

“That’s because you like it when a guy is at your beck and call and acts as your personal servant,” Dean snorted, “We don’t have time for that.”

“Ugh I feel so bad for all the girls you terrorize," you sighed.

“Hey I haven’t received any complaints,” Dean said.

“Yeah yeah,” you said teasingly

“But I’m patient,” you continued, “One day I’ll find the right guy.”

“You’re probably gonna have to wait until after law school,” Dean joked, earning a laugh from the guys and a groan from you. 

Little did you know your perfect guy was the man who was sitting right next to you, looking at you with puppy eyes and a small grin. 

—

“Logannnnn,” you whined from your bed.

You were currently snuggled in the sheets while your boyfriend was at your dresser trying to fix one of the drawers.

“What is it baby?” he asked, tongue sticking out trying to screw in the loose panel.

“Are you almost done? I wanna show you the new clothes I wanna get,” you sighed, computer perched on your lap.

You had been enjoying the view of your boyfriend fixing up the dresser you had been complaining about for the past few days. His biceps flexed with every screw he turned and there was something so sexy about a man who was handy. But now you were bored and feeling a little bit lonely even though Logan was only a few feet away.

You and Logan had been secretly seeing each other for the past few weeks and it’s honestly been the best time of your life. He was your perfect match, a relationship blossoming out of mutual respect and friendship. You both decided to keep a secret as Dean would probably freak out knowing his best friend was seeing his little sister, and though neither you hadn’t said it out loud the secrecy was a major turn on. Now Logan spent his evenings camping out in your room as the guys thought he was spending it in the garage or the rink. 

“Give me one,” he let out a grunt popping the panel into place, “Second. There we go.”

He rose from his kneeling position giving the drawer a test. When it seemed to be working properly he looked over to give you a smile.

“Now your going out tops shouldn't fall out anymore,” he grinned, sauntering over to the bed where you lifted the covers for him to join.

“Yay! That means I can finally buy more,” you giggled, as Logan pressed a quick kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around your shoulder to tuck you into his side.

“Thank you my sexy handyman,” you said, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“No problem baby.”

Logan had always been good with his hands. And well. You could barely unclog a toilet. So when Dean mentioned one of his friends happened to be well versed in pipes and cars you found yourself a new person to have at your beck and call. It was a bonus Logan didn’t seem to mind one bit. Even before the two of you started sneaking around.

“Sorry for bothering you with this,” you said, “But you are the only handyman I know.”

You had called earlier about a leak in your sink that was slowly starting to turn your bathroom into a lake. At this point, you had a small crush on Logan from his soft hair and cute smile. He would also always be the one to offer to get you a drink at the bar or drive you home which you thought was so gentlemanly of him. This was the third time he’d been over to fix something at your place. 

“Don’t worry about it princess,” he said, rolling up his sleeves to inspect the damage, “Can’t have you drowning.”

There was also that nickname he gave you after you dressed up at Princess Peach at Dean and Beau’s birthday party. While your parents and brothers called you a princess to make fun of you, coming from Logan made your heart flutter and cheeks warm. That was also the same party you and Logan spent dancing with one another even though nothing else happened.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” you asked from a safe distance.

Logan had situated himself underneath the cabinet with only his bottom half sticking out. His tools were scattered across the wet floor. You tried not to stare at the strip of skin that revealed itself as he went to work.

“Nah just keep yourself dry for me,” Logan hummed.

So you decided to saunter off and order some lunch. You figured you could extend your Logan time if you lured him with food and it would be a nice way to repay him. After placing the order, you walked back towards the bathroom to check on Logan. You could see the back of his shirt was damp from lying on the floor but he seemed to be finishing up as he was now upright turning off and on the sink. 

“You should be all set,” Logan said, catching your eye in the mirror.

“Thank you! You’re a life saver,” you beamed, pulling him into a quick hug and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Umm do you want a dry shirt? I think I have some of Dean’s clothes here,” you asked, realizing you might’ve crossed some touch boundary .

“Sure,” Logan said as you ran off to find him a clean piece of clothing. 

When you came back, Logan decided to strip right in front of you as if it didn’t make your heart go crazy. His chiseled chest on display made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. 

“You’re staring,” Logan teased, shrugging on the clean shirt.

Your cheeks warmed and your eyes darted to the floor. Normally you weren’t this shy around guys. Normally you were witty and confident but something about Logan’s pretty eyes and wicked smile made you off your game.

“Can you blame a girl?” you mumbled to yourself, walking away, "Anyways I ordered food but you don’t have to sta–.”

Before you could probably escape to the kitchen, Logan’s arm reached out to grab your wrist. In a gentle tug he brought your bodies inches apart as his other hand went to brush a hair out of your face.

“Logan?” you asked, eyes darting back between his eyes and lips.

“Dean is gonna kill me,”  he breathed before pressing his soft lips against yours.

“Ok show me what you were looking at,” Logan said, placing your computer on his own lap so you could cuddle comfortably.

“I wanted to get this,” you said, it was a halter top that had a low plunge which Logan knew would make him go crazy as soon as you wore it.

“I just don’t know what color,” you huffed, clicking through the options, “Can you pass me my water bottle?”

Logan obeyed as he pretended to focus on the different colors.

“You look good in any color,” Logan hummed, playing with your hair.

“Ugh you’re not so not helpful,” you grumbled, making Logan laugh. 

You handed back the water bottle without a word which Logan knew to return back to the nightstand. You were so easy to rile up so Logan always had a fun time teasing you. 

“I think you look best in brown,” Logan ended up saying which had to immediately add the option to your cart.

“Ok and how about this one,” you said, showing him another crop top that he admitted, looked the same as all the other shirts stuffed in your drawer right now. 

“Don’t you already have that?”

“No this is obviously different,” you said, “See the material is silk.”

Logan gave a nod like he understood and pointed to the purple colored option as that was the one he decided you’d look best in. You smiled and also added it into your cart. You would probably call him over to do a fashion show for him once the packages arrived.

“Yay I’m satisfied now,” you grinned, “Oh I also remembered I got you something.”

“Really?”

If Logan’s love language was acts of service, yours was definitely gift giving. In the beginning Logan was a bit insecure about not being able to shower you with expensive gifts like you were used to. But that all melted away when you literally would squeal and kiss him when he did just about anything nice. Especially like fixing up things in your apartment or showing up unexpectedly with your favorite takeout. 

“I didn’t know your favorite flower so I got all of them,” Logan said sheepishly, handing you a very colorful bouquet on your second date.

“Logan, that is the sweetest thing ever!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

“Glad you like it,” he grinned.

“I freaking love it,” you squealed, putting your nose to the bouquet to take in the floral scent, “Everyone always tells me flowers are impractical but I think they make the best decoration. Can you grab my purse, I’m gonna put this in my room.”

Now Logan made it a habit of dropping off flowers every week so you always had a full vase in your room. How could you not be obsessed with him and spoil him back?

You quickly reached over on your side of the bed to reveal a small gift bag.

“When I was out looking for a birthday present for Delia, this suit store was doing free cufflinks engravings,” you said, handing him a small box.

He opened it slowly to reveal a pair of silver square cufflinks with a small number 22 engraved in the corner. He held up the pieces of silver feeling a bit emotional as you looked at him with bright eyes. They were definitely expensive but you seemed to have no problem with that.

“You have that athlete formal coming up so I thought it might be practical,” you smiled.

Logan’s heart squeezed at your thoughtfulness. It was easy to categorize you as a spoiled brat if they didn’t know you but you were also so inclined to spoil the people you loved as well. Not just by paying the bill but actually giving meaningful items. Logan’s closet got a major upgrade after he started seeing you.

“Thank you princess. These are really nice,” he hummed, giving you a kiss. You smiled until he tried deepening the kiss which had you pulling away and him pouting.

“I also got you something a bit silly,” you said shyly, “But I couldn’t help myself, it was so cute.”

You reached into the bag to reveal a small plush puck toy with big bead eyes and little legs. It was pretty adorable.

“One store had a jellycat puck!” you said, handing it over proudly.

The gift was much more entertaining to you than to Logan but he accepted it gratefully, looking at the little guy in his palm. Your own room was adored with stuffed animals and plushies that you’ve collected throughout the years. 

“You can put it on your desk, or even your gear bag as a good luck charm,” you babbled, clearly very excited.

Logan chuckled and set aside the puck and the laptop to his side so he could playfully tackle you and properly thank you for the gifts.

“Thank you.” Kiss

“Best girlfriend ever.” Kiss

“I love you.” Kiss

“Love you too,” you grinned.

Logan decided to start tickling you as you were just so cute smiling up at him. You laughed and squirmed under his hold, your cheeks growing redder as Logan kept showering you with complaints. He was still the only guy to make you feel nervous and shy even after seeing each other for two almost three months.

There was a chime from your phone. Logan unwrapped himself from your body to grab it for you since you were so comfortable tucked by his side. You gave him a kiss on his jaw when he handed it to you, snuggling even closer.

“Oh it’s Beau and Dean,” you said, eyes scanning the text.

Beau

Hear me out. What if we all went on a triple blind date?????

Bigger Bro

Not happening.

Beau

This a sibling thing or an avoidant attachment thing

Bigger Bro

Sibling thing. I’d be down for a double blind date

You

I am not interested. And probably never will be.

Beau

Come on it’ll be so fun!! I already have a guy for you! And you can be so kind as to set me up with your ginger friend. And Dean isn’t picky

Bigger Bro

Hey! No slut shaming

“What is it?” Logan hummed.

“Just Beau being stupid,” you said, turning your phone for Logan to read the text.

“A triple date?” Logan hummed in a tone that you couldn’t quite read.

“Literally my worst nightmare,” you grumbled, “Although maybe I will set up Beau with Carly. They seem to match each other's vibe.”

“Who is he trying to set you up with?”

“Don’t know, don't care,” you said, “I also don’t think my super handsome boyfriend would want me going on dates.”

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Logan murmured into your hair.

Logan didn’t say anything else except squeeze you a bit tighter as you fired off more excuses of why you couldn’t partake in the dating. He wondered if maybe it was time to make the relationship known as he couldn’t bear the thought of the world not knowing you were his. It wasn’t that he was insecure, it was just small things like being able to hold your hand in the library or actually kissing you at a party when you were dressed up that made him more confident in standing up to Dean. He so badly wanted to see you at a game in his jersey and to be able to point to you anytime he scored.

“Do you have practice tomorrow?” you asked, snapping him out his thoughts.

“No, I'm supposed to go to the garage in the afternoon. You can come if you want.”

Though you tried to act like you rather be anywhere else than a car garage Logan knew you loved watching work on cars. Sometimes he would teach you some of the basics to car mechanics even though you had top notch car insurance and would probably never ever have to change your own tire. Still he would spend every waking minute with you even if that meant he was doing an oil change while you painted for nails, took over the garage aux, or studied out loud for your classes. 

“Maybe,” you hummed, before asking, “Does that mean you can sleepover tonight?” 

Since your relationship was a secret, overnights together were rare as Logan always needed to be back at the house to get ready for hockey. But tonight seemed to be a lucky one.

“Of course,” he hummed, “We can make a day out of it.”

“Yes!” you said, snuggling closer, “Do you want to watch a movie tonight then?”

“I wouldn’t want anything more,” Logan sighed.

You pointed to your laptop which Logan put back on his lap while you leaned over and typed in your Netflix password. Logan let you pick because you were much more opinionated about movies than he ever would be and it was a worthy sacrifice to sit through a rom-com if it meant he could watch you smile and point out how all the couples were just like the two of you. 

As the opening credits rolled in Logan focused on the feeling of your body pressed against his and your freshly manicured nails tracing patterns into his chest. He would rather have a secret relationship with you than not having you at all. 

—

A few nights later the group all decided to go out to Malone’s. It was a rare moment that everyone seemed to have no midterms, projects, or big games coming up. You were sitting in between Beau and Dean while Tucker, Allie, and Logan were across from you. Hannah and Garrett pulled up one chair to share which was disgustingly cute and made you a bit jealous you couldn’t do the same with Logan. Occasionally Logan’s knee would bump yours that made you smile to yourself.

Right now Logan was up at the bar getting himself a drink and you one as well as you asked so kindly. 

“You need to stop letting her boss you around,” Dean chided as Logan handed you a beer.

“God forbid a guy is nice to me,” you said, sticking out your tongue at your brother. If only he knew how much Logan was actually whipped for you he’d freak out.

Logan gave you a sly smirk, taking a swing of his own beer and his knee bumping yours again from under the table.

“So you’re not interested in Justin,” Beau said, resuming the conversation from before.

Logan took another long sip of his beer and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” you said, scrunching your nose a bit, “Musicians are so not it.”

“I feel like you shut down every guy I try to set you up with,” Beau said.

Your eyes drift to Logan as he pretends to be interested in the posters on the wall.

“No one is asking you to set me up.”

“Beau, I already told you that she would eat Justin alive. She’s too high maintenance”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“That you order guys around like they're your servant. Like poor Logan has been up three times getting you something.”

“Hey I don’t mind,” Logan shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” you still mumbled, feeling a bit bad now.  

What if Dean was right? Maybe Logan was only putting up with you now until he got sick of you ordering him around. That’s how it always seemed to be with guys. Guys who showered you with affection until they got too comfortable or too fed up.

“First time I ever heard her willing to apologize to a man,” Beau laughed, making your cheeks grow red.

Despite Logan’s hand giving your knee a small tap underneath the table, you couldn’t look up to meet his gaze. 

—

Later that night, Logan offered to drive you home which started a whole other round of comments from Beau. Dean seemed a bit more appreciative that his little sister was getting home safe. You didn’t retaliate with your usual bite, clearly a bit tired from the night.

“Am I high maintenance?” you huffed, changing into pajamas once you were in the room.

Logan was watching you from the bed seeing the slight hurt in your face that never really went away since Dean’s comment.

“Yes,” he said, which made you look over startled, “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

It was true. He loved spoiling you in any way he could.

You carefully walked over to the bed, with a little pout on your lips. Logan immediately pulled you in his lap, as you looked down at your hands.

“You know you can say no to me,” you mumbled, “I know I can be bossy.”

“Aww baby,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Yeah I know but maybe I just like when you boss me around. I like doing things for you.”

“You’re not just saying that,” you said, finally looking at him. You had a cute pout on your face that always made Logan melt. Dean’s comment must’ve really hit a nerve cause he’s never seen you like this. You were normally so confident.

“Of course not. You know I’m crazy about you,” he hummed, pressing kisses all over your jaw, “You’re my favorite girl to spoil.”

You giggled, shifting slightly so you could be more comfortable.

“Dean is such an ass,” you huffed, “He’s also just as spoiled! If not worse.”

“You’re pretty hard to beat princess,” Logan laughed, squeezing your waist which made you playfully flick his forehead

“Growing up he would throw a fit if his sandwiches were cut diagonally. Hah if only he knew I found a guy that does like spoiling me,” you continued, playing with Logan’s hair.

“Are you implying we tell Dean about our little situation?,” Logan said while you gave an innocent shrug, “Don’t tempt me, you know I wouldn’t mind showing you off.

“I wouldn’t mind that either,” you agreed, “And honestly I think we should tell everyone. Everyone is going to be so jealous because of what a hot couple we are. I’m also so sick of Beau teasing me for being single,” you said.

“Yeah I fucking hate when he tries setting you up,” Logan grumbled, turning the two of you so you could both lay in bed.

“Ooo I’m sensing some jealousy,” you giggled.

“Just don’t like my girl is being asked if she’s seeing other guys. I’m the only one who made it through the battle.”

“My knight in shiny armor,” you dramatically sighed, “But it is true. You’re the only one for me.”

You hugged him tighter, putting your face into his neck to breathe him in. Logan loved it when you were clingy, he was such a lucky guy to have a girl like you so the fact you were equally as obsessed made his heart soar.

“Same here princess,” Logan sighed, squeezing you back.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Dean’s face when he sees I actually found a guy to put up with me.”

“Why do I feel like a pawn in your sibling feud? Wait, I forgot that there’s a very high chance Dean might kill me.”

“Don’t be silly” you hummed, “He knows that’ll make me really upset and then I’ll snitch on him to our parents about what an awful older brother he is.”

“Wow, that really calms my nerves, babe.”

“You could totally take Dean in a fight,” you assured, squeezing his biceps, “You’re way more built!”

Logan flexed his arms which made you blush and giggle.

“You know I’m ok with Dean fighting me if it means you can finally sleep over at my place.”

“Ewww but the house is so dirty! My place is so much nicer.”

“So fucking spoiled,” Logan grumbled even though it had no bite. You just playfully rolled your eyes, stuffing your face further into his side enjoying his warmth.

“Can you turn off the light Logan?” you said, voice muffled, “I’m kinda sleepy.”

“Sure thing princess.”

He pressed one more kiss to your forehead before murmuring a goodnight.

Tomorrow you’ll tell Dean. And then he can properly show you off to the world.

—

It was around dinner time when you and Logan got back to the hockey house. Tucker was making something that smelled great and everyone else was lounging around.

Dean looked behind his shoulder and greeted Logan before doing a double take seeing you were right behind him.

“What were you two doing?” he asked as Garrett, Tucker, and Hannah all looked in your direction.

“Well there’s no easy way to say this,” you sighed, stepping in between the two guys knowing Dean was less likely to swing at you than Logan. But the two of you had gotten into a fair share of scuffles when you were younger.

“We’re dating,” Logan said, ripping off the band-aid, “Go ahead and yell at me but your sister got me whipped.”

Instead of anger Dean’s face morphed into a smile.

“Told ya,” Dean called back to where Beau and Tucker were sitting, “You owe me fifty bucks Beau.”

“I’m sorry what?” you scoffed.

“Dude you’re literally carrying her purse right now,” Dean laughed as Logan quickly hid your handbag behind his back, “You guys are the least obvious people ever.”

“How long have you known?” Logan asked.

“What I’m assuming you got together sometime after you fixed her sink? You came home with lipstick stains on your neck, idiot. And I found her sweater in your glove compartment. Not to mention you've been dressing way better these past few weeks”

“Umm so why didn’t you say anything?” you pressed, “Sneaking around for no good reason while I could’ve been flaunting my hot boyfriend around campus.”

“Beau and I had a bet to see how long you would last before telling me. Decided we should spare the public of your PDA,” Dean shrugged, “I am a little hurt it took three months but glad that Logan has stuck around long enough.”

Logan wrapped an arm around your waist to prove that point.

“And why are you always trying to set me up then?” you accused Beau.

“Decided if you were gonna keep a secret we might as well mess with you back,” he said, “I thought you guys would crack at month two but hey congrats.”

“Ugh you guys are so annoying!” you exclaimed, grabbing Logan’s hand, “Is dinner ready then?”

“Ah,” you gasped, your hand twitching on the mouse. “Dean!”

“Missed you, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin.

Practice had run long, he'd been yelled at by Coach twice, and all he'd wanted on the drive home was to bury himself inside you. he just hadn’t realised he’d have to compete with a computer screen for your attention.

You tried to squirm away from him, keeping your eyes glued to the monitor. “Babe, give me like an hour then I’m all yours.”

“An hour?” He groaned. “The sims can wait; I can’t.”

He pressed his lips directly to the sensitive spot right behind your ear.

“You’re so needy,” you said, feeling proud of yourself for holding back a moan as he lightly nipped at your earlobe.

“I haven’t seen my girlfriend all day,” he said mouth moving to your neck, “I have no shame in admitting that I’m needy.”

It wasn’t that you weren’t eager to see him too, but inspiration had hit and you were finally creating the perfect Sim.

“I’m making a Sim for my Sim to fall in love with,” you explained, purposely ignoring his dramatic pout as you dragged a slider to adjust the nose of the Sim. “I’m tired of looking at uggos.”

Dean lifted his head to squint suspiciously at the character you were creating on the screen before looking at you. Giving up the pouty act, he moved from behind your chair and shimmied his too big frame into the narrow gap between the desk and your seat. He perched himself on the edge of the desk, effectively straddling your legs and completely blocking your view of the monitor.

“Dean,” you whined.

“Isn’t that why we spent three hours last week making my Sim? Have your Sim fall in love with my Sim,” he demanded. He rested one hand on the arm of your chair while his other hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up to force you to look at him.

“But your Sim made ugly children.”

Dean let out a dramatic gasp, pretending to look deeply offended.

“I’m serious,” you continued. “I had to delete the whole save file and restart. Now, move.”

He leant forward slightly, crowding your space. “So, you’re not going to chose me over the game?”

“No.”

You tried to duck your head to look around his torso, but your boyfriend was having none of it. Instead, he leant forward, closing the distance between you in a silent ask for a kiss... an invitation you couldn’t help but oblige.

His mouth came down on yours, warm and heavy with the desperation of someone who had been thinking about you all day. Your hands automatically wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as your tongue swiped over his.

As he kissed you, calloused hands ran over your body, sliding up your thigh and under the hem of your shirt. His thumb flicked over your hardening nipples. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you could feel Dean’s victorious smile against your mouth.

 “Don’t mind me,” he whispered against your lips. “You just keep playing, okay?”

Before you could even formulate a response, Dean shifted your chair back just enough to slide off the desk and drop to his knees right in front of you.

“Dean,” you protested, even as you lifted your hips to help him take off your shorts. “I can’t concentrate if you’re–.”

You gasped as his fingers slid beneath the elastic of your underwear, already finding dampness in your panties.

“You have your fun, I have mine,” he said, pushing your legs further apart.

He leant forward, burying his face in your lap. He pressed a wet kiss right through the fabric of your underwear, his hot breath fanning through the material. You did your best to focus on the game, one hand on the mouse and the other in his hair, urging him on as he continued kissing your lips through your damp panties.

Truthfully, it was pointless having your hand on the mouse, you hadn’t so much as looked at the screen from since Dean knelt between your legs.

“Smells so good,” he praised, nose rubbing against your clit through the panties.

The praise went right to your clit, which was throbbing needily. You let out a breathy moan as you shifted your position on the chair to give him better access, your heel coming to rest on his back.

“Need more,” you pleaded. “Please~.”

A broken whimper left your lips as he pulled your panties to the side and moved his tongue against you. He kitten licked through your folds, lapping up your arousal before he flicked his tongue against your clit.

The hand you had in his hair tightened, and he tried to supress a moan as you pushed his face deeper between your legs. Your hips started moving on their own volition, chasing relief for the ache you felt.   

As he sucked your clit into his mouth, his free hand ran through the slickness of your folds. Giving up on trying to downplay your moans, you wantonly moaned, not caring if his housemates were home and could hear you. honestly, it was nothing they hadn’t heard from you before.

Dean pushed two fingers inside of you as a reward for your moans, pumping and curling them against your walls.

“Oh, fuck, Dean~,” you rasped, your head lolling backwards as you panted.

“Are you still focused on the game?” Dean teased, his voice muffled between your legs. He flicked his tongue against your clit again, his fingers picking up pace inside of you.

You didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, your mind too focused on the pleasure he was giving you. Your thighs shook around his head, nails digging into his scalp as you felt yourself building closer to orgasm.

“Fuck, Dean~,” you whined.

“Gonna cum for me?” he asked. He didn’t need to ask, by now he could tell the signs when you were close. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“I will, I’m gonna cum for you,” you promised.

Dean pulled back and looked up at you. His chin and lips were glistening with your arousal as a cocky smile flashed on his lips. “Bet you wish you were cumming around my dick.”

As if to prove him right, you clenched around his fingers. He chuckled, low and mean. “Thought so.”

Your pussy clenched again, trying to keep his fingers in as he slid them out of you. he immediately replaced the loss with his tongue, tracing your hole with his tongue before plunging it into you. simultaneously, he pressed down on your clit, rubbing in a tight circle.

Your entire body tensed as you came with a cry of his name. he continued caressing you through your orgasm, mumbling compliments about how beautiful you looked cumming for him and how good you tasted.

It’s only when you came down from your high did he pull his fingers out of you. he offered his coated fingers to you. “Want a taste?”

Keeping your eyes on his, you leant forward and sucked his fingers into your mouth. you made a show of licking his fingers clean, tasting yourself on him.

“Fuck,” he whimpered as he watched you.

He reached over with his free hand and deliberately slammed the laptop lid shut.

The loud groan of the fan died out; the only remaining sound in the room were your ragged breaths as you watched each other.

“The Sims can wait,” Dean whispered as he stood up, his fingers already moving to the waistband of his trousers.

You looked up at him, pussy clenching again with anticipation for what was to come. “It can wait,” you agreed.

If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc. it means a lot x

Request:

The heat inside Malone’s was always thick, a heavy combination of bass frequencies pulsing through the floorboards, the scent of spilled whiskey, and the collective, chaotic energy of the Briar University student body packing themselves shoulder to shoulder on a Friday night. The air was alive with the bright, victorious noise that always followed a home rink win, the entire bar buzzing with the distinct, electric thrill of a hockey crowd in full swing.

You were sitting in one of the deep wooden booths near the center of the room, surrounded by the familiar comfort of the team’s inner circle. John Logan was sitting right next to you, his broad, athletic frame leaning back against the leather cushion, one of his arms casually resting along the top of the booth just behind your shoulders. He had spent the first part of the night in a relaxed, comfortable mood, his dark hair slightly rumpled, his deep brown eyes softening and crinkling at the corners every single time he looked down to check on you or listen to whatever you were saying over the roar of the music. He was the starting defenseman, a guy whose intense, unyielding focus on the ice could easily intimidate a crowd, but in the private space between the two of you, he carried a quiet, charming sweetness that always left you feeling entirely centered. He would lean in close, flashing that easy, devastating smile just to whisper a quick joke against your ear, making you laugh before he gently nudged your shoulder with his own.

To your left, Hannah and Allie were laughing, their faces illuminated by the neon beer signs flickering along the brick walls. The DJ had just transitioned into a heavy, seductive rhythm, the bass vibrating directly against your ribs and sending a sudden, restless surge of energy through the room. Hannah reached across the table, grabbing your hand with a wide, infectious grin, while Allie stood up, gesturing toward the packed dance floor just a few yards away.

"Come on," Hannah shouted over the noise, tugging at your wrist. "You are not allowed to sit in the booth all night just because Logan wants to relax. Let's go dance."

You looked over at Logan, a playful question in your expression. He let out a soft, dry chuckle, his thumb lightly tracing the bare skin of your shoulder before he dropped his arm to let you slide out of the booth, his brown eyes warm with amusement.

"Go ahead," he murmured, his low, gravelly voice cutting through the ambient noise easily. "I'll be right here. Don't let them keep you away too long."

The transition into the center of the crowd was a blur of flashing lights and moving bodies. Walking away from the booth felt like stepping into a different temperature altogether, the rhythm of the music taking over as you joined Hannah and Allie in the middle of the floor. For the next three songs, the weight of the week dissolved completely. You moved together in a tight, easy circle, laughing as Allie tried to mimic a ridiculous dance move she had seen online, your hips swaying easily to the heavy, continuous beat. It was exactly the kind of unhurried, carefree fun you had been waiting for all week, a chance to simply lose yourself in the loud, sensory rush of the environment.

But that comfortable sense of security broke down completely when you happened to glance back toward the bar.

Through the shifting gaps in the crowded room, your eyes automatically found the exact spot where the hockey guys were gathered. Garrett and Tucker were standing near the taps, fully engaged in a conversation with some of the coaching staff, leaving Logan leaning against the dark mahogany wood of the main bar top alone. He was holding a glass of whiskey, his expression completely detached, his sharp jawline tight as he stared absentmindedly into the crowd, clearly waiting for you to return.

He wasn't alone for long.

A girl in a cropped top walked straight out of the crowd, stepping into Logan's personal space. You recognized her instantly, realization hitting you as you remembered she was in one of your large lecture seminars, a girl who spent most of the class period whispering to her friends. She moved right up next to him, her hand coming up to rest boldly against the hard expanse of his chest as she leaned in close to try and say something over the music.

Logan didn't lean in toward her. His posture went slightly rigid, his brown eyes narrowing with an immediate, clear lack of interest. He tilted his head back slightly, creating space between his face and hers, his hand remaining anchored around his glass as he gave her a polite but entirely cool, flat stare that should have sent her walking in the opposite direction. But Logan, ever the gentleman, didn't want to make a massive scene, so he simply stood there, waiting for her to finish talking so he could excuse himself. The girl, however, didn't quite get the picture, leaning a little closer, her fingers sliding up to play with the collar of his jacket.

A sudden, fierce territorial instinct flared deep behind your ribs, a hot, electric current that completely erased the rhythm of the music and the presence of your friends. The easygoing composure you usually maintained dissolved in the span of a single heartbeat. You didn't want to be mean, and you certainly didn't want to start a public fight, but the sight of her hands on him made your blood run hot with a sudden, undeniable need to reestablish the boundaries.

You turned on your heel, your boots clicking with a sharp, deliberate friction against the floorboards as you cut straight through the packed sea of bodies, your focus locked entirely on the bar.

You stepped right into the space between them, your movement smooth and intentional as you placed yourself firmly within his periphery.

"Hey," you said, your voice calm, steady, and entirely polite, though there was an underlying weight to it that instantly arrested the girl's attention.

The girl blinked, her hand freezing against Logan's jacket as she looked at you, a flicker of recognition crossing her features. "Oh, hey. Aren't you in my morning class?"

"Yeah, I am," you replied, offering a small, measured smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. You didn't back down an inch, your gaze steady. You reached out, your hand sliding naturally around Logan's waist, your fingers anchoring into the belt loop of his jeans. "Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to come back over. This is actually my boyfriend."

The girl’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed red, her mouth parting slightly as the quiet, uncompromising reality of your words hit her. She looked from your hand on his waist up to Logan, clearly looking for any sign of contradiction.

But Logan did absolutely nothing to dispute you.

The second you had stepped in and placed your hand on his hip, the cool, detached boredom had vanished from his face entirely. His brown eyes widened slightly, flashing with a sudden, dark intensity as he watched you claim him right in the middle of the crowded bar. A slow, deeply wicked smirk began to curl the corners of his mouth, the sheer, unexpected force of your jealousy turning him on so violently that his breathing had instantly shifted. He raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of his drink, his gaze locked entirely onto your face, his posture shifting from polite defense to pure, unadulterated amusement. He was thoroughly enjoying the charm of the moment, completely captivated by the raw, possessive energy radiating from your body.

"Oh," the girl stammered, backing up a step, her hands dropping immediately to her sides. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. I was just saying hi."

"It's totally fine," you said, your tone soft but final, keeping the interaction completely classy. "Have a good night."

She didn't wait for another word, turning quickly and disappearing back into the safety of the dance floor, her friends quickly swallowing her up as she vanished from view.

The moment she was gone, the tension in your shoulders didn't fade; it simply shifted, transforming into a heavy, electric heat that made the air between you and Logan feel completely suffocating. You turned fully to face him, your chest heaving slightly from the sheer adrenaline, your eyes flashing with the lingering remnants of your possessiveness.

Logan didn't say a word at first. He set his empty glass down on the mahogany bar behind him with a slow, deliberate click, his brown eyes dark, heavy, and burning with a lazy, sensual heat that made your knees instantly feel weak. He stepped away from the bar, his massive frame completely eclipsing the light from the neon signs, closing the remaining space between you until his chest was practically brushing against yours.

"Well, well," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated straight through your core. The charming, sweet boy from the booth was gone, replaced by something much hungrier. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive edge of your ear as he spoke, his breath hot against your skin. "My boyfriend, huh? I like the sound of that."

"Don't start, Logan," you muttered, though the edge was quickly melting into something much more dangerous under the intensity of his gaze. "She was practically attached to your jacket."

"I was trying to be nice," he teased, his hand rising to slide around the back of your neck, his large, calloused thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a firm, possessive pressure. He tilted your face up, forcing you to look into the dark, heavy heat of his eyes. "But watching you walk over here like you owned the place? God, that was the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life. You're beautiful when you're protective."

"I'm just making sure people know exactly where you belong," you whispered, your hands coming up to grip the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down a fraction of an inch closer.

"I belong right here," Logan repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a dark vow, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. A wicked, challenging gleam entered his brown eyes as he looked down at your parted lips. "You're pretty confident tonight. You think you can just claim me in front of everyone and not face the consequences?"

"Try me," you challenged, your heart hammering a frantic, heavy rhythm against your ribs.

Logan let out a low, rough growl, his patience completely snapping. He didn't care about the crowded bar, didn't care that Garrett and Tucker were standing just twenty feet away, and didn't care about the loud music pulsing around you. He caught your wrist in a firm, unyielding grip, his fingers locking with yours as he turned and began pulling you aggressively through the sea of people, his broad shoulders easily clearing a path toward the back exit of the building.

The cold, damp air of the alleyway hit your skin like a sudden shock, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of the interior of Malone's. The sky above was dark, illuminated only by a distant streetlamp that cast long, heavy shadows across the brick walls. But before you could even take a full breath of the fresh air, Logan had shifted his weight, his hands catching your waist and lifting you slightly as he pinned your back hard against the rough brick wall of the alley.

The impact wasn't painful, but it was solid, completely trapping you between the unyielding building and the massive, hard length of his body. His hands slid up from your waist, his fingers tangling desperately in your hair as his mouth came down to meet yours in a deep, devastatingly seamless kiss that left you completely undone. It wasn't a gentle reassertion of your relationship; it was a fierce, demanding possession, his tongue sliding past your lips to claim your mouth with a raw, full-throttle hunger that made your head spin.

You let out a quiet sigh against his lips, your hands sliding up his broad chest to lock behind his neck, pulling him down even harder against you. The contrast between the cold brick at your back and the burning, suffocating heat of his body over yours was completely overwhelming. Logan shifted his weight, his thigh sliding between yours, pressing up against your core with a firm, deliberate friction that made you arch into his touch with a desperate gasp.

"You're mine," he muttered against your lips, his voice incredibly rough, his breathing ragged as he pulled back just an inch to look down at you. His brown eyes were completely consumed by darkness, his thumbs wiping a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth. "You don't get to step in like that, looking like a brilliant, terrifying force of nature, and expect me to let you go easily. You brought me to this place, and I am going to make sure you remember exactly who you belong to."

"I don't need a reminder, John," you whispered, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, your body trembling from the sheer, intoxicating adrenaline of his touch.

"Yeah?" he asked, a lazy, dark smile briefly touching his lips before vanishing. He reached down, his hand sliding under the hem of your top, his calloused palms burning against the bare skin of your waist as he lifted you higher against the wall. "Let's see if you can still say that in five minutes."

He dropped his head back to your neck, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin just below your jawline, making you shiver violently as his hands mapped every curve of your body with a fierce, unhurried focus. The noise of the bar inside was entirely forgotten, replaced by the heavy, electric reality of the dark alley, the cold wind, and the absolute, undeniable certainty of his love. There was no room for confusion, no room for silly games, and no room for doubt. The boy was yours, completely and utterly, and as his mouth found yours once again in the shadows, you knew he would be yours for the rest of your days.

Notes - I really like this one imma be honest. I hope you enjoy my loves MUWAH

The text from Hannah comes through sometime in the early morning. You remember reading it, groggy and still half asleep, before typing an agreement. You didn’t have the energy to even theorize why she was texting you at 5:30 in the morning on a Sunday. 

Malone’s was surprisingly busy for a Friday afternoon. Hannah had beaten you there by a few minutes and grabbed a table. She had been restless all night, her mind replaying all of the little signs and things she probably slipped over because she wasn’t thinking about it. 

You slide into the open seat and grab some of the fries she had preliminarily ordered. She shook her head at you. “You could at least pretend to ask, you know?”

With a shrug, you take a sip of the water that’s in front of your spot. “I could, but we both know I won’t.”

“God, you’re so much like Garrett.”

An unconscious smile makes its way to your face as you settle back against the booth.

Hannah’s jaw drops as if you’d just spilled the best secret of all time. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

Her eyes widen, and you glance behind you, expecting someone to be walking up or something crazy for her sudden reaction. There’s nobody, though, and when you turn back around, she’s leaning even closer. 

“No way.”

“Hannah?”

“You kissed.”

You nearly choke on your water, which, to her, is an answer. 

“You did!” She’s shouting now, nearly flipping out of her seat in excitement. People turn and look, to which you give apologetic glances and try to calm the girl across from you.

“Hannah, sit down!” You hiss with a stern look, and she finally wrangles back in her seat.

The waitress comes over to take your orders, which is a welcome distraction from Hannah’s outburst. You can practically see her bouncing to ask more, and you have no idea what you’re going to say.

Was it really that obvious? Did you really read ‘I just kissed Garrett Graham after sleeping in his bed’ all over your face? Shit, what would Garrett say? You thought you guys had been subtle. Well, as subtle as you could be, all things considered.

“This is the best day of my life.”

You sink lower in the booth, wishing you could disappear into the floor. “This is a nightmare.”

Hannah laughs so hard at your reaction that she’s almost crying. It takes a moment before she finds her words again. “How long?”

“Two weeks”

“Two weeks?!” She’s yelling again, and you bury your face in your hands with a groan. 

“Keep your voice down!”

Hannah shakes her head, barely pausing to thank the waitress for dropping the food before she’s back on you again. ‘No, I can’t actually. I suffered through months of whatever the hell that was, and I know the boys suffered even longer.”

You laugh then, finally emerging from hiding behind your hands. For some reason, you’re so nervous for other people to know. That makes it real, that makes it something other than just you and Garrett.

“Nobody knows,” You explain quietly. “We’re trying to keep it that way, at least for a bit.”

“I’m happy for you,” She continues with a nod, dipping a fry in her ketchup. “But that’s also why I asked you to meet me here today. I owe you an apology.”

You shake your head in confusion, grabbing a few more fries for yourself. “For what?”

Hannah shrugs lightly, letting out a quiet laugh. “I practiced this conversation all night long, and I still don’t know what to say.”

“You didn’t do anything that needs an apology, Hannah. None of this is your fault,” You tell her. You really mean it, too. Hannah didn’t intentionally pull Garrett from you; the deal did. Justin did what he wanted because he wanted to, not because she had a piece in it.

She’s smiling at you, and it’s enough that you know she doesn’t think you’re mad at her. “I knew Garrett cared about me when we set all of this up. And I’m not going to lie to you, I did like him, and I think he’s a great guy. But every time I looked at him, all I could think was that he’d rather be talking to you. And maybe if I’d just handled things differently--”

“Stop,” You interrupt her gently when her eyes fill with tears. Shifting out of the booth, you move around to sit on her other side to be closer to her. “Hannah Wells. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t cause anything between Garrett and me, and you sure as shit didn’t tell Justin to do what he did. I know it may be easier to cope with it all if you place it on your shoulders, but it is not your fault.”

She brushes her thumbs under her eyes to move the fresh tears. “But what if--”

“There is no ‘what ifs’ either. I know where you’re coming from, because I sat there and thought, if I had handled everything better, none of this would’ve happened. And it took Garrett reminding me that someone else’s choices don’t become mine just because they affected me.”

You pull your leg up on the booth to face her fully, grabbing both of her hands. “You went on one date. You were honest with him; you didn’t hurt him. You didn’t drag him through the mud. His decision was already made because that note was on my bed before your night ended. He did that. Not because you made him, not because he was upset. It was already done. Not because you did anything wrong.”

Hannah’s laugh is teary, but she takes a deep breath and gives you a confirming nod. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“I usually am.” Your response is light and joking, but it does its job of making her smile. “Do not apologize to me for any of this. It was something, but I’m really glad it brought me to where I am now, you know?”

“You mean to Garrett’s bed?”

“Hannah!”

The laughter is almost contagious between the two of you. You pull her into a tight hug, and she returns it just as much. 

“I’m really glad you made that deal with Garrett because I don’t know what I would’ve done without you through this whole thing,” You admit quietly. 

“Oh, please,” Hannah scoffs when you guys separate. “I’m the lucky one. I would not have survived their antics without you. He’s lucky to have you.”

You catch sight of the person in conversation walking through the door with all of your friends behind him, and can’t fight the smile on your face as they approach your table. “No, I’m definitely the lucky one.”

--

It has been 76 hours since you left. 4,560 minutes without seeing you smile. 273,600 seconds your touch has been absent.

Jimmy Olsen is convinced this is how he dies. From a fatal deficiency of you at his side.

“This is getting hard to watch,” Lois murmurs to Cat, who only nods as Jimmy turns to stare longingly at the Superman duck sitting beneath your monitor.

“Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more pathetic,” Cat sighs. “Remember when he’d lose one girl and just call another?”

“I’m not saying I miss the playboy but… Should we do something?”

“Like what? Call her and make her calm him down?” Cat suggests.

“No,” Clark interrupts, leaning back in his chair. “She called yesterday and he barricaded himself in the printer room to talk to her.”

“You’re hopeless too,” Lois remembers, smiling at Clark. “And ideas about what might help him?”

Clark looks toward Jimmy, who, though he hates to admit it, does look pretty pathetic. He hasn’t gotten anything done since you left other than wait for the phone to ring or send you a random email in the hopes you’d respond and stay connected to him that way.

“He wants to keep in touch with her,” Clark realizes. He pushes out of his chair and walks to Jimmy’s desk.

“I’m not done,” Jimmy mumbles, wiggling his mouse so the computer doesn’t go to sleep.

“No, I- I just wanted to ask if you want to talk about anything?” Clark offers.

Jimmy pulls a piece of paper out from under his keyboard and lightly traces the doodles lining the top corners. “I miss her,” he admits softly.

“Then why don’t you write her letters?” Clark suggests. “That way, you can tell her what’s happening here and have stories to share when she gets back?”

Jimmy looks up from the paper, his hand stilling against the edge. He considers the idea. But the thought of sitting down each afternoon to write to someone who he used to just invite out for milkshakes isn’t exactly exciting. Besides, he writes enough for work.

“Just try to find a way to make her feel a little closer,” Clark advises. “If you want to join us for dinner to get out, you’re more than welcome.”

“Thanks, Clark,” Jimmy mutters, returning to his thoughts of you.

“He’s acting like she moved around the globe,” Cat muses when Clark returns to his desk. “She’s in Gotham for, what? Ten more days?”

“Eleven,” Clark corrects.

“You eager for her to get back, too?” Lois checks, raising one brow.

“Don’t be jealous I can remember dates,” Clark teases.

Cat sighs, then asks, “Think Perry would let me work from home, so I don’t have to witness this?”

“He’d be better off sending Jimmy to Gotham to join his girl,” Lois counters.

Jimmy taps the camera bag against his hip as he walks home from the Planet. This time last week, you were walking beside him and cracking jokes. Now, the noise of the city is overbearing and the space beside him seems too big and empty.

He glances up when he approaches an intersection, stopping when he notices a sticker on the back of a street sign. It’s a handmade sticker, like someone doodled the Superman emblem on it, the same way you draw in the margins of the drafts you proofread for him.

You once claimed that drawing while you read helped you focus on more than the single word or sentence you were on. Maybe that’s what Jimmy needs to do — focus on preparing for when you come back rather than dreading the next minute without you.

So, he removes his Polaroid camera from his bag and snaps a picture of the sticker. The sun is a backlight against the sign, sending visible rays of light out in all direction. When the picture finishes developing, it’s even better than Jimmy thought it would be. Somehow, with the lighting and the ethereal nature of the image, it reminds him even more of you.

Jimmy rushes home, then finds his favourite pen in a kitchen drawer. He flips the photo over and writes a quick note on the back about his memory of you drawing on his papers and telling him why you did it.

Maybe, he realizes, Clark wasn’t totally wrong. Jimmy isn’t going to sit down and write letters to you each night, but he can take photos that remind him of you to share when you return.

“I’m a genius,” Jimmy tells his empty apartment.

Throughout the next week, Jimmy keeps his camera on him at all times. Anything that reminds him of you, he captures in a photograph. Then, he writes how he sees you in the item or the place in the picture. Slowly, a stack of Polaroids builds in his home, all to share with you.

There’s a photo of a flower shop he passed, the bright colours in the window reminiscent of how your eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

A figurine on Cat’s desk makes Jimmy think of your favourite story or movie, so he poses it beside your Superman duck for the photo.

The last picture he adds to the stack is a wide shot of his own empty apartment. Precisely where he wishes you were right now. “I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly," he writes on the back.

He had originally planned to keep the photos and give them to you when you return, but the desire to get them to you becomes overpowering. So, Jimmy begins looking around his apartment for a box he can use to mail them. If he uses the overnight shipping option in the Daily Planet’s mail room, you’ll have all of his pictures and the pieces of his heart he scribbled on the back by noon tomorrow.

A box in the top of his closet is the perfect size, but his retrieving it is interrupted by his phone ringing. Jimmy nearly trips rushing to answer your call — the custom ringtone like a homing beacon.

“Hi,” Jimmy greets, slightly out of breath.

“Jimmy!” you call excitedly. “I have good news!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! I just wrapped up with Wayne Enterprises and I’m coming back sooner than expected,” you explain. “Perry just arranged for me to come back tomorrow. I should get to Metropolis around 6 p.m.”

“Wow,” Jimmy breathes out, looking at the stack of photos. “That’s great! How did it go?”

“It went really well. But I’m homesick. I miss Metropolis and the Planet and you.”

Jimmy smiles, moving around his room as his heart rate increases. He can’t remember the last time he was this excited. You’re coming home!

“You said six?” he checks. “You should come over for dinner, have a nice welcome.”

“Oh, I don’t want to put you out like that,” you reply kindly. “You’ve been working too.”

Cat and Lois will be the first to tell you Jimmy did very little work in your absence, but he doesn’t argue the point now.

“I’d love to see you,” he says instead.

And, as he hoped, it softens you enough that you say, “Okay. I’ll be there. Thank you, Jimmy!”

You talk for a few more minutes, then tell Jimmy goodnight. He looks around his place and starts working.

The first thing he does is string up all the photos around his apartment. Now, when you come in, you’ll see the impact you’ve had on Jimmy’s life. Maybe, if he’s lucky, you’ll stay long enough for him to return the favor.

You’re exhausted but excited simultaneously when you knock on Jimmy’s door after returning to Metropolis. The article you were working on is drafted and waiting in Perry’s inbox to be reviewed. There’s a chance he’ll send you back to Gotham for edits or a rewrite, but that’s not what you’re thinking about tonight.

It’s been two weeks since you saw Jimmy Olsen, and you’ve felt that loss. Even when you were completely focused on the article, a part of you wished that Jimmy was at your side to crack a joke or carry a box of files while insisting that Superman could beat Batman in a fight.

“Hi,” Jimmy greets when he pulls the door open.

You smile and wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly. Jimmy’s arms circle your waist, holding you close as he breathes you in like you’re the first breath of fresh air he’s had since you left.

“I missed you,” you murmur against his shoulder.

“I missed you, too,” he replies without hesitation. “C’mon, I made dinner. It’s a recipe that’s supposed to be like that place you like downtown.”

You gasp excitedly, then step back and freeze when you see the first polaroid hanging beside you. Jimmy nods, encouraging you to go closer.

It’s a photo of your desk, a figurine in focus. On the back of the photo, Jimmy has written a note about how he watches your favourite movie when he misses you.

“Jimmy,” you breathe out, wide-eyed as you look at him.

“They’re all about you,” he confirms, gesturing nervously around the room.

You turn in a slow circle, taking in the expanse of what he’s done for you, the evidence of how often he thinks of you. Then, you move to the next photo — a flower shop that made him think of your beauty.

By the time you turn to where Jimmy can see you again, your eyes are glassy and you fail to stifle a sniff.

“Whoa, whoa,” Jimmy panics, extending his arms toward you. “No, you’re not supposed to cry. Is it weird? I can throw them all away right now. Clark said I should write you letters because you felt so far and I—”

You shake your head and lift his camera from the table beside his couch.

Jimmy stutters on a question, then silences when you grab his shirt with your free hand and pull him toward you. He moves without argument, humming when you kiss him. His hands move to your waist like you’ve done this before, and you smile against him as the camera shutter clicks beside you. Jimmy reaches out, takes the camera, drops it on the couch, and pull you flush against him.

Perhaps Clark knew what he was talking about when he suggested a love letter.

Two Weeks Later

Clark stops beside your empty desk, looking for a blue pen he can borrow. The last one he left on his desk was his favourite — a Japanese ballpoint that he’ll have to replace this weekend, since someone reappropriated it to their own desk. Rather than finding the colour pen he needs, he sees a polaroid tucked in the corner of your monitor.

He shakes his head and keeps walking, sure that the photo is from Jimmy. What he doesn’t see is the picture slipped under Jimmy’s keyboard of you wearing a new outfit you bought in Gotham. It says tonight 6 p.m. on the back, accompanied by a lip stick stain.

Jimmy certainly won’t regret buying you your own polaroid camera.

Jimmy Olsen Taglist🏷️ @ilocuras24 @alohastitch0626 @person-005 @seriousaliysa

MONTH SEVEN

“Hey Gar—”

“And this is your nursery, where we have almost everything set up. Daddy built that crib, where you’ll hopefully sleep through the night, because Mommy and Daddy really need their beauty sle—”

“What are you doing?” You giggle, bracing yourself against the wall as you slowly get up from the floor, placing a hand on your large bump. Garrett stands in front of you with a smile on his face and an old camcorder in his hands, backwards hat atop his head and grey sweats hanging low on his hips, showing off his chiseled body.

“Found this in the attic,” He murmurs, walking over to you and placing a soft kiss to your lips, “I’m making video diaries for the baby.” You hum, placing your hands on his chest as Garrett flips around the viewfinder.

“Oh my gosh, I look awful!” You squeal, covering your face, which you hadn’t realized was covered in paint streaks from the mural you were doing on one of the nursery walls. “You look good,” Garrett laughs, “come on, do a spin for the camera, Mommy. Let me see that outfit.”

You roll your eyes but entertain him anyway, doing a spin in your light denim overalls, hanging off of one shoulder to show off your butter yellow tube top. He wolf whistles before setting down the camcorder on the carpeted floor and walking over to you, his chest pressing against your back as he lifts your bump with large hands.

“Oh my God,” You groan, leaning your head back against him as he sways the two of you back and forth, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Feel good?” You nod, “Feels amazing. Your kid is huge, I hope you know that.” You giggle, and he slowly lets your bump down, grabbing the waist of your overalls to turn you towards him as he gives you a quick peck.

Garrett picks up the camcorder again, and you laugh as he walks around the room, showing off the work you’ve already done—mostly with his help, but still—the room is gender neutral (because you wanted it to be a surprise, even though Garrett objected) and is painted a light orange, the unfinished mural on the wall filled with characters from Winnie the Pooh and Cat in the Hat.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna have a baby soon,” You murmur, placing your manicured hands on your bump, feeling soft kicks from the baby inside of your womb. “I know, that’s fuckin’ crazy,” He chuckles, turning the viewfinder towards himself, “We’ll see ya, kid. Hopefully you’re into hockey.”

He shuts the viewfinder and turns off the camcorder, basking in the comfortable silence while he pulls you into his bare chest. “You’re warm,” You mumble, melting into his touch. “Mm…”

“Home stretch, baby,” He whispers into your hair, stroking your upper back.

“Better come quick, my back hurts.”

MONTH EIGHT

Garrett huffs as you swat his hands away. It’s the middle of the night—3:20 AM—and your pregnancy pillow has practically taken up the entire bed. He gets up, runs a hand through his hair, and gives a nasty look to the giant, grey-colored plush before going downstairs to get a glass of water.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Jesus fucking—” Garrett jumps, the water in his cup sloshing against his bare chest as he turns around from the fridge to see your brother, Dean, sitting at the island, his words muffled by a bagel as he crunches down on it.

After regulating his nervous system, Garrett takes a deep breath, placing the cup on the countertop. “Your sister is cheating on me with a pregnancy pillow.” Dean snorts so hard that crumbs come flying out of his mouth. Then, he coughs because he started to choke on the bagel. He pounds at his chest and Garrett just sighs, handing him the glass of water.

“DiDi’s uncomfortable, bro. Your big ass baby is just roomin’ in there. Don’t take it heart, my dear friend, for you can always sleep with me,” Dean muses, wiping non-existent tears from under his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up,” Garrett laughs, a smile on his face. He’s about to say something else to Dean when he hears a small whimper come from behind him. Both Dean and Garrett look up to see you standing at the base of the stairs—hair mussed from sleep, eyes slightly puffy as you squint.

“Hey baby, what’s up?” Garrett asks, his voice soft as he makes his way over to you. “You left me,” You whine, pouting. “I’m sorry,” He murmurs, lifting you up effortlessly. Dean makes a gagging noise from behind, and you flip him off as Garrett carries you back upstairs to the bedroom, tucking you in.

He goes to get in bed beside you, and is about to become the big spoon when you do the thing he dreaded most—picked up that damn pregnancy pillow up from the ground, placing one end under your head and the other between your legs, the curve resting perfectly against your growing bump which had become unbearable in the amount of time you’d been pregnant.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Garrett huffs, before turning away from you, his curls smashed into the silk of his pillowcase. You just smirk to yourself, turning your head but not daring to turn the rest of your body—you had just gotten comfortable. “Garrett,” You say lowly, your voice laced with a teasing edge, “are you jealous of my pregnancy pillow?”

“…No.”

“Baby,” You giggle, your fingertips tugging at his shoulder so he turns toward you—he does, but dramatically, flopping on his back with a sigh like a sick Victorian woman. “You can still cuddle me like this, you know.” Garrett whines, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout, “But it’s not the same. You know I like to hook my leg over you, and do all this other weird shit—there’s a giant intruder between us.”

“Do you want me to hold your hand?”

His eyes soften as he considers the question, which he knows is half of a joke. “That would be nice.”

You grin, lacing your fingers with his.

You feel his lips hit your temple, and then you drift asleep.

MONTH NINE

“Garrett, if you tell me to curb walk one more time, I’m gonna beat your fucking ass.”

“I didn’t even say anything, I’m eating,” Garrett deadpans, shoveling a spoonful of Corn Flakes into his mouth. “Corn Flakes, blech,” You shudder, placing a hand on your stomach as you feel the baby kick. “I know, your daddy’s a bit weird. He eats weird food combinations.”

“You literally ate nachos last week that had queso, Nutella, dill pickle relish, and pico de gallo on it. And you wonder why I refuse to kiss you some days,” He teases, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he slurps the cereal milk from the bottom of his bowl.

“Upstairs,” You say, your sentence short and clipped. Garrett just sits at the kitchen island, not moving until you smack his shoulder, to which he says, “Did you brush your teeth today?”

You smack his shoulder again, and he chuckles. “I’m movin’, I’m movin’. Gotta get this baby out through some sweet lovin’, huh?”

About ten minutes later, you’re whimpering as Garrett pounds into you, although his movements are a bit softer, as you’re in the final stages of pregnancy. He’s got you on all fours, a pillow under your knees to help support you. “I’m gonna cum,” You pant, crying out as your hands grip and twist the sheets next to your head. Garrett groans, increasing his speed just slightly.

“Yeah, baby girl, there you go—ohhh fuck, I’m close,” He grits out, his hands gripping your ass. You let go around him, and for a moment, he’s completely stunned, thinking that you’ve squirted—you squeezed him so hard that he came, after all.

But then the trickle doesn’t stop. It gets heavier, and seeps into the pillow below your knees and the rest of the bed. “Garrett, I think my water just broke…”

“My dick game is on fucking fire! Let’s gooooo, baby!” He cheers before slowly pulling out of you, making you wince.

An hour later, you’re fully set up in a labor and delivery suite, dressed in a butter yellow birthing gown as you do your makeup. You had just gotten your epidural, and now, you felt as if you were on Cloud Nine.

Of course, Garrett was there with his camcorder.

“Four centimeters dilated, how we feelin’ Mommy?” He asks, zooming in on your face dramatically as you dust blush over the apples of your cheeks. You look up at him, a goofy grin plastered on his face. “I feel good,” You chuckle, motioning to your back, “got my drugs, got my makeup, and a handsome baby daddy. Life is good.”

“That’s a good answer,” Garrett hums, leaning down to kiss your lips. “We’re ready for ya, kid. Hopefully you come quick.” He grins, tapping your bump before turning off the camcorder.

It’s been eleven hours.

Safe to say the baby doesn’t know what “hopefully you come quick” means.

As the nurses get you in position to begin to start pushing, you look at your phone and gasp.

12:10 AM, January 1st.

“Happy birthday,” You croon, giving Garrett a kiss as his hands fluff the pillow behind your head. One of the nurses makes a soft ‘oooh’ sound. “Daddy and baby are going to share a birthday? How exciting!”

You giggle, but are then reminded of where you are and what you’re about to do when two fingers breach your vagina—“Okay, Mama. You’re ten centimeters, it’s time to meet your baby!”

You nod, and Garrett pulls your hair back with one hand, the other gripping yours. “If you look down there, so help me God I will beat the shit out of you,” You threaten, teeth gritted. Garrett just nods, swallows harshly, and says a prayer in his head.

“10…9…8…you’re doing great, DiDi—7…6…5…4…3…2…1…and, take a small break, and 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1.” The nurse instructs, her gloved hand helping to hold one of your legs.

“This is hard,” You whimper, “I don’t know if I can do this.” Garrett chuckles, “Baby, it’s been two pushes.”

You scowl, but begin to push again when the nurse tells you too, crying out as you bear down with all of your strength. You didn’t even realize your eyes had closed when all of a sudden, the doctor between your legs was telling you to lift your baby.

“Oh my God,” You sob, the wrinkly, vernix-covered newborn wailing as you lift it and place it on your chest, the nurses rushing to rub it down with towels. “Wait, what is it?”

“It’s a boy,” Garrett checks, his sniffles turning to more intense sobs as he shakily kisses your lips. “He’s so beautiful,” You cry, “hi Teddy!” The baby continues to wail, and you shush him soothingly, rubbing his naked back. “It’s okay, Mommy’s here. We’ve been waiting to see you!”

“He has so much hair,” Garrett chokes out, kissing your forehead, and then the baby’s forehead.

“He gets it from his daddy,” You sniffle, kissing the baby’s head. “Happy birthday, Teddy. And happy birthday, baby.”

+1 — THE MEETING

The next day, you’re awaiting the arrival of the most important people in your life—your parents, Dean, your older brother Nick, and your little sister, Summer.

“He’s so perfect,” You murmur, watching as Teddy latches eagerly onto your breast, soft noises coming from his tiny body—which really wasn’t tiny at all. Nine pounds and four ounces, twenty-two inches long. The doctors had said it was a miracle you didn’t tear.

Five minutes later, Teddy is done nursing, so you unlatch him, cover yourself up, and burp him over your shoulder with soft pats to his back. You’re about to ask Garrett to get you a water when there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Hellooooo?” Lori asks, Peter, Nick, Dean, Allie, Summer, and Colin behind her as she enters holding a handful of balloons—two of which read It’s a Boy! and another one that says It’s a Girl! “Mommy,” You whimper, your chin quivering as you open your free arm to hug her. “Oh, my sweet baby girl,” She whispers, stroking your hair. “How are you feeling, are you okay?” You nod, wiping at your eyes with a shaky hand.

“I’m okay,” You sigh, “just—he’s a unit.” Lori’s hands go up to her mouth as she lets go of the balloon bundle, causing them all to float to the ceiling. Luckily, Garrett is right on time, gripping the strings. “It’s a boy?” She asks, and you nod, handing her the newest addition to the family.

You call the rest of your family over after handing the baby over to your mother, the waterworks beginning again as your father begins his sentence with, “Oh, my beautiful baby girl.” “Daddy,” You cry, and he hugs you, kissing the crown of your head as he cradles it.

After finally calming down from the tears, you give Garrett a small nod, and he takes that as the signal to hand Dean the birth certificate. “Read it out loud,” Garrett instructs, sitting down next to you on the bed, putting an arm around your shoulders. “Teddy De—oh, are you fucking serious?” His voice shakes as you laugh, already beginning to wipe your eyes. “Teddy Dean Nicky Heyward-Di Laurentis Graham. Nine pounds, four ounces, twenty-two inches long.”

“Hey, why am I not in that name?” Summer argues, but sighs deeply as her, Nick, and Dean all pull you in for a group hug. “Thanks for not putting down Dicky as a middle name,” Dean says, his words muffled against your shoulder.

“I would never do that to you, my dearest Deanie.”

“Our next kid is gonna be named Dicky.”

“Shut up, Garrett!”

One

It's freshman year and you are terrible at keeping your liquor down. It's a true party foul that has cockblocked Dean on more than one occasion (because he fucks anyone anywhere, the shared bathroom included), but Garrett made your family a promise that he would keep an eye on you if you two wound up at the same college together.

It's harder to keep than he thought - not because he doesn't want to, but because you keep physically disappearing on him.

His heart is in his throat after ten minutes of searching for you. The wind in the backyard doesn't carry your laugh with it. He walks in on Dean with his tongue shoved down the throat of another instead of finding you with your head in the toilet bowl. You aren't in the kitchen with Tucker, you're definitely not lounging on the couch next to Logan while he starts another game of NHL, and no one who attempts to stop him with congratulations has seen you.

It shouldn't be this hard to find you; you're yay tall and wear only the most egregiously yellow soft sweaters or his last name on the back of his jersey you wear to the games. You make a point to say hi to everyone at these parties, even those who sneer at you behind your back and beam at Garrett instead, and there's always a trail of your perfume wherever you go. If you were retching into a bush and wanted his hand firmly planted on your neck for support or needed a degree of separation between you and the guy from your English Lit class again, he would have known and he would have been there.

Which is why he fumbles with the handle on his bedroom door, because he knows his phone is charging in there, and maybe you would have texted him -

He flicks the lights on and sees a lump of you at the edge of the bed, awkwardly tangled in his sheets with your jeans still on.

"Sunshine," he hisses, already pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he foots the door closed behind him. "Have you seriously been in here this whole time?"

Your responding low moan is enough proof of life for him, so he carefully turns the lights back off and moves towards you, because he always gravitates to you like you are the sun no matter how much he tries to drag his feet.

"Hey." Garrett's voice is softer when he crouches down next to you, careful to keep his body off the mattress as his hand hovers over the crown of your head. "Talk to me. What are you doing in here?"

"Sleepy," you mumble, something citrusy and warm on your breath. He hears the rustle of the covers as you flop your arms to either side of your head. "Wanted you, couldn't find you, bed."

Garrett would snicker at your lack of full sentences if his blood wasn't thrumming in the side of his neck, his eyes adapting to the dark and taking stock of every inch of you like he's looking for one hair to be out of place.

Against his better judgement, he lets his palm sweep over your forehead and brush some tendrils back. "Don't do that without telling someone where you're going," he murmurs. "I couldn't find you, and I..."

"I know." You nod against his hand, nuzzling into it like a cat that has found warmth. "You always find me."

He swallows against the lump in his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

You blearily peek one eye open at him, everything about you twinkling even in the dark. A small pout plays at your lips. "Because they asked you to, right? I'm a liability?"

"No," he breathes out easily. "I just - I've been here for two years now and they expect me to watch after you, be a good influence." He pauses. "Not supply you cheap alcohol and just let you wander until Jackson, or Jake, or whatever his name is - "

You groan again. "Ugh, I hate that guy - "

" - asks you for more than your notes when I'm not there to do anything about it."

You both fall still, him now on his knees on the floor and you curling your hands under your chin as you turn to face him better. His fingers fall from your temple; he braces his hands against his thighs to stop himself from reaching out again.

"Just to be clear," you add, voice quiet and raspy with sleep, "he didn't tonight. I just came up here because I wanted somewhere to be comfortable."

Hearing that does something very dangerous to Garrett's psyche.

He nods once, twice, maybe a third time. "Good," he hears himself say after a moment. "You can always stay in here."

Your body seems to relax at that, sinking further into his mattress. He starts to roll back onto his heels, ready to stand and maybe guard the door the whole night like a fucking dog while you slumber peacefully in his bed, when your smaller fingers wrap gently around his forearm.

"Will you stay, too?"

Garrett can't hear anything else - not the sound of his ceiling fan, not the stumbling and giggling in the hallway. The only thing his traitorous ears pick up on is the quiver in your voice, like maybe you're just as unsure as him and yet you can't do anything about the gravitational pull, when you very quietly, so sweetly whisper only to him, "Please."

Garrett thinks back to all of the times in your childhood that you would have never, under any circumstances, shared a bed: camping trips, summer movie nights, when Phil's voice could be heard booming from next door and your parents prepared the guest room for Garrett as he fought back the tears in his eyes. You were always there to squeeze his hand goodnight, but then you were gone, and he would toss and turn all night.

He doesn't know why this time is different, but it takes him very little convincing to find you both a change of clothes and settle in beside you. There is no pillow divider, no separate sleeping bags, no children afraid of the dark; only a man fighting every instinct to pull you closer to him.

Many hours later, when he finally starts to fall asleep and you start migrating to his side of the bed, your hand scrunching at the waistband of his sweatpants, he tells himself it's because he made a promise.

He tells himself he's just watching the door.

He tells himself he's just taking precaution in case you need to throw up in the middle of the night.

He tells himself anyone would do this for a friend.

He falls asleep repeating that one word, and he wakes up to your head nestled underneath his chin with his body wrapped fully around you, and finally, silently, claims you to him.

-

Two

Garrett has a mildly bruised ribcage and an increasingly annoying throbbing in his head that won't go away.

Tucker has been fretting over him all night, adhering to the team doctor's orders without missing a beat. Garrett has barely had time to close his eyes and adjust in his own bed without the shrill reminder to take his meds when warm knuckles tickle the stubble at his jaw.

"It's just me," you shush him when he jerks back into his pillows. Your fingers trail up into his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp the way you've learned he likes; only then does he relax again.

He can barely hold the volume in his voice when he murmurs your name. "What are you doing here?" he rasps.

Your lips thin into an unamused line. "If you thought your best friend wasn't going to show up after watching you get obliterated on the line, you're more concussed than I thought."

Tucker, who took it upon himself to rearrange Garrett's pillows and fluff the covers over him despite everything already being in fine condition, scoffs. "I'm the best friend here."

Garrett almost smiles, but winces when he tries. "Didn't think people would be fighting over me with my concussion. Wonder how the other guy is doing."

"Stop talking," you toss back, but your voice doesn't harbor any heat in it. There's a waver of panic there, and Garrett's face drops into a frown despite the pain that he knows will come with it.

Before you can say anything else, Tuck backs off and dims the lights on his way out. "Don't forget to wake him up every few hours," he quietly adds before shutting the door behind him.

"You're staying?" Garrett hates that he perks up and can't blame it entirely on the pain pills.

You don't respond, rubbing at a spot on your sternum that hurts all of a sudden. Garrett tracks every movement of yours despite his loopiness, hating even more when he catches the moisture pooling in your eyes even though you think you're avoiding his gaze.

"Hey, hey," he starts, nearly forgetting his injuries to push himself up to grab you. You stop him with a gentle hand on his chest, feeling every pulse of his heat through his henley and into your bloodstream.

You wipe underneath your eyes and shake your head at him. "We really should be whispering," you warble weakly, "or not talking at all. Rest. You're hurt. I'm here to take care of you, not - "

"Sunshine."

"No, listen - "

"I'm okay," he soothes, and your shoulders drop, because - damn it - that's the tone you should be using with him instead. "Everything is okay."

A sigh shudders past your lips when his hand comes up to swallow yours where it rests over his heart. Before you know what you're doing, your thumb is moving back and forth along the fabric of his shirt and his is curling around yours.

Garrett finally settles back after you take a few calming breaths. He keeps your hand trapped beneath his grip, but closes his eyes and hums in contentment when you continue smoothing your fingers over the hard planes of his chest. It was only today when you realized that he is not as invincible as he looks.

"You scared me," you admit in a whisper. "Of course I was going to be here to make sure you were okay."

Garrett is numb enough that he can sort of raise his shoulder on the side of his body that isn't bruised in a shrug. "Jus' never had anyone take care of me after a game before, s'all."

Your sternum feels that burning sensation again. You ground yourself against the steady beat of him beneath your hand. You watch as his long eyelashes flutter open and closed, open and closed again - like he's fighting sleep just to get one more good look at you.

That decides everything for you then. "Lift your good arm up for me, Graham."

"Hmm?" is his sluggish response, but it's you asking, so of course he does it without much thought anyway.

You've already toed off your sneakers, leaving you in those fluffy socks he bought you so many years ago all because you had mentioned being cold once. You pull the covers up, careful not to jostle him where he lies perfectly in the middle, keeping both of your sides warm. You slide carefully into him, running your palm along his abdomen to press him closer to you as your toes dance along his shins. Your cheek finds his good shoulder. His arm slots perfectly around you. You both release a heavy breath that neither of you knew you were holding in.

The headache suddenly goes away. Garrett isn't sure if there were ever actually bruises marring his skin before.

"I got you," you murmur when his whole body falls lax into yours. You gingerly reach up and brush your lips against his cheek, and it ticks beneath your touch.

"Gonna be the longest four weeks of my life," he slurs. He nudges his nose into the top of your head and might press a kiss there, too. "But not if..." A huge yawn overtakes his face.

You stroke his shirt again, peering up at him. There's a soft smile gracing his features, and you know sleep is imminent.

"Not if what?" you whisper.

Garrett falls into a dream about you while mumbling, "Not if you're here."

-

Three

Allie and Dean are god-damn shit stirrers. They are no better than front desk hotel employees.

"...so, yeah," Allie is saying, ears gone a bit pink like she's been caught in an act that she typically performs without being betrayed by her poker face. "Or, um, the girls could room together..."

"Baby doll," Dean chides, slinging his arm around her shoulders. "They don't want to split up the other couples here. I'm sure they'll be just fine in this big bed. I mean, look at the view of the rolling hills, and the ocean! Oh, the ocean, Allie Cat. Isn't it just wonderful? I hear this part of California even has love birds, can you believe it?"

Allie momentarily gets caught up rolling her eyes at what Garrett can only assume is Dean's dramatic improvisation.

Garrett's jaw clenches. "I think I'll just take the living room, thanks."

You try - and fail - not to flinch at that. He pretends he doesn't notice it.

Dean is nodding like he was waiting for the counter. "Up to you, G, but we may keep you up pretty late."

A low, rumbly sound rolls off of him. Dean presses his lips together to stop from laughing at him.

"It's fine," you jump in, already setting your bags on the floor. "The bed is big enough."

"Your boyfriend would be okay with that?" is Garrett's sharp retort. He can't even look at you when he asks.

Two other pairs of eyes volley between you and Garrett in the deafening silence that follows.

"Ha!" You jab a finger into his chest accusatorially and scowl when it meets hard muscle. "I knew it. You were acting weird the whole drive over here."

Allie squeezes Dean's forearm in warning. Garrett glares down at you, shuffling his feet until they go head-to-head with yours, defiant and itching with frustration, suddenly forgetting you have an audience.

"I'm sorry I'm not comfortable with you dating the fourth line bench warming prick who makes a point to antagonize the entire team every time we play him."

"We went on one date, Garrett. A single date. We are not dating."

"Who gives a fuck! It's the principle!"

"Well, I do, because you've been acting like a petulant child for the past two weeks, and you're supposed to be my best friend, and I miss you, but you can't even look at me anymore, and all I wanted was a nice night, to be wined and dined, and he did that, and he was a gentleman and respectful to me, but that's not enough for you, and nothing I do anymore is enough for you, and - "

Both of your gazes swing to the door Allie and Dean retreat through. Your chest rises and falls rapidly with each angry intake and exhale. Garrett clenches and unclenches his fists by his side.

"Fuckin' assholes," he grumbles, only half-serious. The fight leaves him immediately, his shoulders dropping.

With the rest of your run-on sentence stuck in your throat, you deposit your bags onto the bed and angrily open and close drawers to put your clothes away. With your back now turned to him, Garrett is safe to watch you, and so he does, shamelessly; the rigidness of your shoulder blades, the flush on your neck, the hoodie he's been missing for two or three months now finding its way into the dresser. Even mad at him, yourself, Allie and Dean, that fucking guy who has no business knowing you, whoever, or maybe life itself, and he still thinks you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

He doesn't say anything to you the rest of the afternoon. You don't ask him to.

Allie at least has the decency to look chagrined when you come out to the backyard hours later. Dean offers you an awkward smile with a glass of sangria, like that'll fix everything - and maybe it will, after a few. Logan and Grace unceremoniously shove themselves into one wicker chair around the bonfire, sharing kisses and giggles and fruit-coated breaths that you can no longer look at. Tucker is leaning in close to Garrett, showing him something on his phone, and Garrett is...

There, across from you through the flames. Broad and huge, his powerful thighs spread wide. He's already sun-kissed without needing to bake all day. The beer bottle is loose in his hand between a few long fingers, and he's slouching and laughing like nothing is wrong.

But everything is wrong, and you're losing your best friend. He doesn't seem to care.

Which is why not too long later, you're shoving the blanket off you and saying your goodnights. Sabrina frowns subtly at you like she knows everything the others do not, catching your arm in her soft hand. You shake her off with a weak smile, and Garrett notices, because Garrett always notices, and yet he still does not say anything when you walk away from him once more.

It's much later after that, two or three in the morning, when the bed creaks beneath you. Your eyes fly open, your body pulling taut at the familiar scent of his cologne and the natural awareness you always have when he's around. You're in your tiniest sleep shorts and the softest of his hoodies, but you're still so mad, betrayal creeping in whenever you breathe too deep or think of him too long.

"I'm sorry," Garrett murmurs softly, mouth almost on the bare skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You fight back the shiver. "I have been mean, and unfair, and childish, and whatever else you were going to call me earlier."

You don't respond for a moment, calculating. Then, "I was going to call you a fourth line bench warming prick, actually."

You hear the pin drop. You feel his chest rise and fall steadily behind you. Then, without notice, his arm brandishes itself against your chest and hauls you back towards him.

"Hey - "

His palm seals over your mouth, forceful enough to take your next words but not tight enough that you couldn't wrench yourself free if you needed to - if you wanted to. Both of you think maybe you don't.

You make an unintelligible protest underneath him, fingers curling around his wrist at where his massive hand paws your jaw.

"I deserved that," is his quiet admission, "but you drive me insane."

If his arm were any lower, he would feel the unmistakable hardening of your nipples against his punishing hold. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the waves crash onto the shore. It might be your heart in your eardrums.

His fingers start to slacken against your cheek. "If I move my hand, do you promise to let me finish my apology?"

I've been waiting for you to talk all day, is what you so desperately want to retort, but your body is traitorous, even against you, always when it comes to him. You nod slowly instead.

With your mouth free, Garrett rearranges you so that you slot perfectly into him. You don't dare say anything, letting him fix your legs inbetween his and budging down when he beckons your head to be lower on his chest. He tightens around you almost protectively, like he's shielding you from himself.

You should be so, so, so mad. You're something entirely different.

"I'm sorry," he says again, tucking his head against yours. "I was wrong to be jealous." You feel his mouth open and close, maybe considering his next words. "I am jealous. You're my best friend."

You only exhale.

"I asked Dean if he thinks it's because you're my best friend and I don't want to share your time with someone else. He said yes."

"You talked to Dean?" you whisper in the dark.

Garrett chuckles with no humor. "Desperate times call for desperate measures." He pauses. "I don't think Dean is right."

"Oh."

"I think he said that to make me feel better for not knowing."

You relax further into his chest, warm and fuzzy all of a sudden. "What do you not know?"

Garrett's thumb has started doing that thing above your belly button. Your hips may push back into his involuntarily, the movement infinitely small. He feels it everywhere anyway.

"Why I'm jealous," he manages, the other hand braced against your waist to stop the next motion. The flex of his fingers, strong and sure against you, causes you to let out a quiet and bewildered moan, nearly heady.

It dissipates into the night.

"Go to sleep, sunshine," Garrett whispers. His arm tightens around you as imperceptibly as your hip movement. "Let me figure it out."

You want to tell him that you already have, that he doesn't need to worry anymore; but you have never felt so small, so securely tucked against someone else, safe and cozy, that your eyelids droop on their own accord. He presses the softest of kisses into your hair.

You sleep. He does not.

-

Four

Garrett does not have it all figured out. In fact, he's even more confused than two months ago in that bed with you, because you've gone on three more first dates since then. They have not been with him. He practically begs for the recaps from the girls and only gets them through osmosis from the guys, which is somehow worse because they have all the details wrong and can't even describe what you were wearing for someone who wasn't him, or if you kissed them.

How do they not know if you kissed them? Was no one else bothered by this?

Now he's desperate and he still doesn't know why. You've decided you can no longer wait around in agony to be wanted while he trapezes through an investigative journalism major.

The breakups hit harder for that reason.

None of them really landed as actual breakups, per se, and certainly not the kind that made you have to pack up your belongings through your heartbreak and leave the shared room or town - but they were enough. One texted you saying you were sweet, but not quite compatible enough to make the conversations worthwhile. Another fully admitted to still being in love with his ex.

The most recent date did not call you back last week. You didn't know why until his friends started snickering every time they saw you in the cafeteria. Today was the last straw. You took one look at him sitting there, welcoming the laughs at your expense, and slammed your tray back down so hard it rattled more than your bones.

Garrett hears about it, because Garrett always hears about it, and doesn't hesitate to drive to your apartment in lieu of finishing out his next two classes.

Unfortunately and understandably, your roommate has the same protective streak as him, blocking the entrance politely. "I don't think it's a good day for company," she tries.

"Please," he all but growls. She might be scared of him if she didn't already know how soft he gets around you, hearing so often how he would never raise his voice at anyone after his childhood.

"Fine," she concedes, "but you're doing my sociology homework for the rest of the semester."

He doesn't even blink. "Done."

She's taken aback by that. "I was just joking. Aren't you busy with hockey?"

"I'm not busy for this one thing."

"Oh... oh," is all she can choke out before he's gently shouldering past her and into your orbit.

Maybe the violence is still embedded beneath his skin, because he takes one look at you crumpled up on your bed and almost turns back to campus to find the asshole responsible.

"I'm going to kill him," Garrett seethes.

Your head jolts off the pillow. "What the hell, Garrett?"

He thinks you're referring to his murder plot, not the fact that he's standing in the middle of your room while your mascara tracks down your cheeks without any other announcement. He continues pacing.

"I'm going to need Tucker for this. Logan, too. Dean can't keep his mouth shut to save his life."

"Garrett, what the hell are you doing in my room?"

Garrett stops and takes one more look at you, awareness prickling at his skin. He can barely stand the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and puffy lips. He thinks he might be dying.

"I..." He shakes his head, incredulous. "What do you mean? Of course I'm here. You need me."

Your lip wobbles then. Hurt fills your eyes, followed by a fresh set of tears. He's definitely dying. "Need you?"

Garrett is still trying to figure out what was wrong with that sentence by the time you've blindly grasped the pillow next to you and soared it through the air at him. For a man who is planning to go professional in reaction time, he does not react fast enough; it hits him squarely where his heart might be if it wasn't already constricting at your crying. His breath whooshes out of him. They just keep coming after that.

"Needing you is the reason I'm in this predicament!" A pillow. "You" - a chuck - "are such" - another launched - "a selfish" - harder this time - "ass!"

"How many fuckin' pillows do you have?" he snaps.

The second to last throw narrowly misses the corner of his eye. You're gearing up to assault him with the final one - the one you were holding tightly to your chest like a lifeline - when he suddenly has enough of your nonsense and charges you. He rips the fabric free from your hands, and in one motion, pulls you back to the headboard, the place he sits up against while cradling the back of your head in one hand, the other placing you securely in his lap.

You hesitate against him so quickly he almost misses it, but then he murmurs something low and soft into your ear, and you melt into him. You sob harder.

"I just want," you gasp through the tears, clutching the front of his shirt tightly enough that your knuckles pale. "Want someone to want me. I want to be wanted, I want..."

"Shhh," Garrett soothes roughly, not to cut you off, but because your breath is hitching so much it's starting to worry him. "I know. I know, baby. Take a breath."

Somewhere through the fog, it is not fully lost on you that it's the first time he's ever called you that. You're not Sunshine right now, and maybe it's because the cloud of rain is so heavy and dark in your room, but you wonder if you could become that - baby - instead.

In the middle of holding you, Garrett decides you already are that to him.

"I know," he tuts again, but perhaps it's said to finally agree with himself on something rather than speaking it aloud to you.

Both of his hands swoop along the length of your back, moving your hair from your shoulders, up and down again in the loveliest rhythm. You rub your nose against his collarbone and take a calming breath of him, all smoky woods and soft lavender.

It takes another minute for your hiccups to subside. Once they're gone and Garrett doesn't quite feel like he's dying anymore, you peer up at him with the widest eyes you've ever made at him.

"You called me baby." You swallow. "Or did the emotional regulation make that up?"

Garrett hums nonchalantly, rubbing your cheek carefully like you might crack beneath his ministrations. He chooses his words carefully, too, and ultimately banks on - "Yeah, guess I did."

"Why?"

Garrett feels the most honest he has in a long time, maybe forever, like he accidentally leaned on a rusty switch that hasn't been turned on in years. "Felt right."

Your lips open in a purse at that. You blink down to where you're straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, fallen open at some point when he was clutching you to him while your salty tears gave away all of your secrets.

"Hey, Graham?" you whisper. Garrett is too busy memorizing the shape of your lips and the crinkles at your eyes when you start to smile at him that he misses your words completely.

"Hmm?"

"Are you ever going to kiss me?"

His eyes flicker back up to yours then. There's need written all over him, but something else, too. You wonder how long that's been there; if both of you might have been blind to it.

He shifts underneath you slightly, dragging his hands down to your waist. "Not after you've been crying," he murmurs. "Breaks my heart to hear you cry."

Your lips twitch. His eyes go there one more time. "Making excuses again?"

"What if I did?"

"What, kiss me?"

"Yeah."

"I think I'd like that."

Garrett's eyes flare. "That wouldn't ruin anything? We'd still be best friends?"

"Is that what we've been afraid of this whole time?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

You shake your head at him and he tracks the movement. Unconsciously, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Your breath is warm against him. You shift further down onto your knees and press your weight fully into him, pelvises aligning. He lets out the groan he's been holding in for years and squeezes your lower back, throwing his head back against the headboard and chanting something about crying and best friends and waiting underneath his breath.

"Kiss me," you whisper, gently fisting dark tufts of his hair at the nape of his neck. You angle his chin up to yours. He prays to a god he doesn't fully believe in. "Want me."

That's the problem, he realizes; Garrett has wanted you for so long that a part of him turned on him and made him believe he didn't deserve it, didn't deserve you. That part of him is so quiet now that he thinks he might've killed it.

You're warm and pliant, coaxable beneath his touch when he lifts up and meets you in the middle. He kisses you like he plays hockey: hurried but controlled, with something to prove, tender but intense, worth every bruise to his mouth. He learns the playing field of your mouth first - how to drive you wild with a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth and the peak of your cupid's bow - before his tongue, heavy and competitive, meets yours.

You moan something into his mouth, and he nods as if he's both heard and understood what you've said when neither is true. He holds you tighter at the base of your spine and then at your thighs and then at your face and jaw because he can't get enough of you and there's too much time to catch up on to touch you in only one place.

"This does not mean I forgive you for waiting so long," you mumble against his mouth as he lays you against your back, the pillows long gone to the floor.

"Baby, I won't forgive myself for that either."

-

Four & A Half

You realize it's a date before he says anything.

The boys aren't home.

There's a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen island.

Garrett is wearing an apron, probably Tuck's, both too small and too big on him, and a nervous grin.

He pushes the brownie sundae towards you, because he's Garrett, and Garrett knows everything about his best friends, and right now all you want is dessert before dinner.

The cherry stem on top of the ice cream gets tied by his tongue at some point. The dinner moves to the couch in the living room, where you two laugh during storytelling and pretend to watch a movie, when really you are so intently focused on the other person that the picture-perfect couple in the movie is digitally offended.

You get sleepy at some point; Garrett offers to carry you up to his room.

"Carry me?" You rub at your eyes sleepily. He has already dimmed the lights because anything that hurts you hurts him. "You're promoting me to being carried to bed?"

Garrett tries not to smile and fails so terribly it's sickening. "It's not too much of a raise. We still have to share one bed."

Garrett gives you the shirt off his back and lets you pick whichever side you want. It feels semipermanent, being able to choose and potentially having it forever.

When you fall asleep that night, curled safely into his ribs on your side of the bed, you realize the dilemma comes from choosing him, potentially for forever.

-

Five

Your husband muffles a curse into the mattress. Little feet and hands continue balancing precariously on his lower back, which is still sore from last night's rivalry game against the Canadiens. He thinks he may be getting old.

"Daddy," your mini me scolds once and only once, no room for argument in her tone. "That's a bad word."

Garrett turns his head slowly towards you, sleep lines marring his skin, hair poking up in every direction. He should be getting at least another hour of sleep before he slips out of bed to make you your coffee, but duty calls, and he takes being a father very seriously.

The sleep leaves his voice immediately. "When did my little monkey get so big?"

A squeal of delight sounds from above you two when he twists to his back and catches her in the air. He tucks her back underneath his arm and turns to you, placing her in the middle of the bed between you two. You both lean in at the same time to cover her face in kisses.

Garrett's free hand finds you and strokes up and down your arm while you get an earful about waffles with chocolate chips. He closes his eyes briefly, soaking it all in.

You share a bed now. Your little girl climbs into it every morning he's home, sometimes too early to function properly. Garrett couldn't imagine life any other way.

“No way.”

The sudden sound of your voice pulls Garrett from his borderline nap as he feels you sit up slightly from where you’re lounging against his side. 

He shifts against one of the many fluorescent colored pillows that litters Soul Ties—(Garrett thinks they’re tacky, you think that they are the only thing preserving your modesty to the American public, both of you agree that they are ridiculously easy to nap on)—letting out a questioning hum.

“Okay, don’t look now, but Dean is totally pulling Allie for a chat right now—,”

Garrett turns to look, because last he saw, Allie was having a very boring looking conversation with Sean by the pool and he can only imagine what the guy must be looking like as he watches the newest bombshell in the Villa pull his partner away for a chat, but you’ve already tangled your fingers into his curls, jerking his head back towards you.

“Ah—Hey!” Garrett lightly pinches the muscle of your calf from where it’s thrown over his lap.

“I told you not to look, just—I’ll tell you what’s happening, but don’t be obvious.” Your fingers smooth the slight sting against his scalp absentmindedly, but your eyes stay focused on whatever’s happening over his shoulder. “Okay, act like I’m chatting you up with the sexiest lines you’ve ever heard in your life.”

Garrett snorts lightly. “Yeah, because that’s believable.”

You let your jaw drop in mock offense. “Fine. I guess you don’t want to hear about how Dean’s physically helping pull Allie up from the bean bags right now.”

“No shit.” Garrett’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise.

“Yes shit,” you confirm excitedly. “He’s, like, fully holding her hand, fingers interlocked and everything. Oh, Sean looks pissed—Stop trying to look!”

“Okay, okay,” Garrett laughs lightly, relaxing back into the cushions as he starts tracing absentminded circles on your ankle bone. “What’s happening now?”

You squint. “They’re still chatting on the lawn—I’m gonna try to read their lips.”

“...You’re gonna—?”

“Shh! Okay, so Dean’s being like, ‘Hey Allie, I was thinking we could explore our connection more’.”

Garrett shakes his head in amusement as you drop your voice an octave to mimic Dean.

You continue, “Allie doesn’t really look impressed.” You pause. “Okay, now Dean is giving her crazy bedroom eyes—He’s like, ‘I just think we could explore our connection with our mouths. Like, my mouth on your mouth. Being all hot and sexy with our mouth connection—’,”

“He is not saying that.”

“Oh yeah? And how would you know?” You look down indignantly.

“‘Being all hot and sexy with our mouth connection’,” he mocks. “I don’t think there is a single guy in the world that has ever said that.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were the lip reader here.”

Garrett laughs. “You’re not even letting me look.”

“Exactly. Now—,”

He watches your face as you follow the two other Islanders with your eyes, the excitement on your features morphing to disappointment as you pout.

“—Ugh, I can’t see them anymore.”

Garrett lets his hand travel up your leg to the dip of your hip—with zero protest from you—playing lightly with the strings of your bikini bottoms. “Well, if I had to guess from the whole ‘mouth connection’ thing, they’re probably just picking up from where they left off last night.”

You still, finally reverting your gaze back to him. “What happened last night?”

“I mean…” Garrett tries to suppress his grin when your eyes narrow. “All I know is that I saw them walking out of the photobooth together last night. And Dean’s not exactly subtle so…”

“And you’re just telling me this now?!” You lightly slap his bare chest.

Garrett’s hand spreads against your hip, his fingers digging possessively into the skin. “Well, I was going to tell you earlier, but then I remembered that you didn’t even finish, like, a third of your water bottle yesterday.”

“Oh, so you’re purposefully withholding gossip from me as punishment because I can be a little forgetful?”

Garrett meets your dramatic gaze with a flat look. “If it makes you drink water, yes.”

“Fine—,” You pick up your water bottle, exaggeratedly going to take a defiant sip. 

Your water bottle seems to agree with Garrett though—deciding to also punish you for the fact that you’ve had less than 5 sips of water today—because no sooner had you brought the nozzle to your mouth and squeezed the white plastic than a jet of water suddenly spurts in your face.

A surprised laugh forces itself out of Garrett’s throat, mixing with the sound of your giggles when you can’t help but join in. 

“That was the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It was not that funny!”

“You’re laughing!” Garrett points out incredulously before you both dissolve into another fit of giggles.

“Shh, shh, shh,” you try to quiet yourself down, creasing over until your temple is bumping against his shoulder. “Sean is definitely looking at us like we’re freaks right now.”

“Let him.”

“No, because he’s gonna think we’re laughing at him or something,” you try to argue—even though, only moments prior, you had been laughing at him.

Garrett just shakes his head, his tone sickeningly sweet as he stops laughing and looks at you through half-lidded eyes. “C’mere.” 

And then with a gentleness not at all necessary for the situation, he cups your face with a large hand, tenderly wiping at the water droplets clinging to your skin. Your expression softens, laughter trickling off into quiet breaths as you still underneath him, letting him continue to trace over every inch of your face with his calloused thumbs.

A small, drowsy smile makes its way onto his face and suddenly all the energy you had just a moment earlier drains. The summer Fiji heat settles like warm honey, pulling you and Garrett back into the quietness of the afternoon. You let out a small sigh when Garrett finally leans down to press a lazy kiss against your lips, fingers tangling in the thick curls at the nap of his neck.

You feel him pull away slowly, your eyes still closed as he presses one, and then two, more lingering kisses to your lips before settling down next to you, his large hand tracing soothing patterns up and down your back.

Distantly, you can hear the sounds of two Islanders chatting as they use the gym equipment, the steady taps of a ping-pong ball bouncing back and forth, hushed whispers between a few of the girls that you’re sure you’ll hear more about when you all get ready for the evening. But that all fades away as you listen to the steady inhale and exhale of Garrett’s breaths. You let out a content hum from where you’re tucked under his chin. 

“Don’t think I’m just gonna forget the fact that you didn’t tell me about the Allie and Dean thing.”

You feel Garrett’s chest vibrate with laughter underneath you. “Oh, I know you won’t.” 

The first thing you notice is your heart, slamming against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

It’s beating too fast, every frantic thud rattling your chest and clawing its way up your throat. For a split second, you’re convinced you must have woken from a nightmare, but there’s nothing—no dream, no echo of shouting, no footsteps creaking across the floorboards. Just the thick, sour taste of fear flooding your mouth for absolutely no reason at all.

Only the dark outline of Logan’s bedroom, the familiar shapes warped by shadows, and the absolute certainty that something is wrong.

The clock on his nightstand reads 3:07 a.m.

Logan is asleep behind you, his arm draped heavy and warm across your waist, his face buried in the pillow so close you can feel his breath stirring the hair at the back of your neck. Most nights, the weight of him is enough to anchor you, to press the world back into place. Tonight, it barely touches the panic crawling beneath your skin.

You drag in a shaky breath through your nose and let it out as slowly as you can, counting the seconds, hoping your body will listen.

Your chest tightens anyway, squeezing until it feels like your ribs might crack.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

Logan shifts, and you freeze. He has practice in a few hours. He’d barely stayed awake through the movie downstairs before pulling you up to bed, and Garrett already considers six-thirty a reasonable time to start yelling at people.

You don’t want to wake him because your brain decided to lose its mind in the middle of the night.

Carefully, you peel Logan’s arm away and push yourself upright. The room tilts, the shadows stretching and warping until nothing feels steady. You press your shaking hands between your knees, knuckles white, and stare at the thin, accusing strip of light beneath the door.

You list off the facts in your head, desperate for something solid. Logan’s room. Dean is probably asleep across the hall, TV flickering blue behind his door. Garrett’s at the end of the hallway. Tucker’s passed out on the couch downstairs. Everyone is exactly where they should be.

You are safe. You repeat it, over and over, as if saying it enough times might make your body believe it.

Your body refuses to listen. Every muscle stays locked, waiting for something awful to happen.

The mattress moves behind you.

“Where’re you going?” Logan’s voice is rough with sleep.

“Nowhere.”

“Why’re you sitting up?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Go back to bed.”

“I am in bed.”

The lamp clicks on. Logan pushes himself against the headboard, hair sticking up and a red pillow mark across his cheek. He looks half asleep until his eyes settle on you.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

You glance over. “Okay?”

“Not okay like I believe you.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Okay like I’m waiting for the real answer.”

Your hands tremble harder beneath the light. “I woke up anxious.”

“How bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

“Panic attack?”

You nod.

Logan reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand and holds it out. “Drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Didn’t ask.”

You give him a look but take it. The plastic crackles beneath your grip, water shifting as you raise it to your mouth. Logan places his hand under yours, steadying the bottle without mentioning the shaking.

“Better?” he asks after you swallow.

“No.”

“Worth a try.”

You set the bottle down, fingers still trembling, and pull your knees tight to your chest. Logan shifts closer, his shoulder pressing solid and warm into yours, grounding you with the simple weight of his presence.

“Do you know what started it?”

“No.” Your voice catches, thin and unsteady. “That’s the worst part. I was asleep. I was completely fine, and now it feels like something horrible is happening and I can’t even see it.”

“But you know nothing is?”

“Yes.”

“And it still feels real?”

“Yes, John.”

“I’m asking.”

“I know.”

You press your palm hard against your chest, desperate to quiet the pounding underneath. Logan’s hand closes gently around your wrist, pulling it away before you can leave a mark.

“You’re gonna bruise yourself.”

“Maybe it’ll distract me.”

“Probably not in a helpful way.”

He keeps your hand in his, thumb tracing slow, steady circles over your knuckles. The rhythm is hypnotic, something for your mind to cling to when everything else feels like it’s spinning.

“You want to get up?” he asks. “Walk around? Go downstairs?”

“And do what?”

“Wake Dean and make this everybody’s problem.”

A short laugh escapes you.

Logan smiles. “There we go.”

“That wasn’t funny.”

“You laughed.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

The panic doesn’t leave, but the laugh cracks it open just enough to let in a little air.

“Talk to me,” you whisper.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“That’s dangerous.” Logan leans back against the headboard. “You missed Dean trying to cook chicken.”

You turn toward him. “What?”

“After you came upstairs, he decided he needed protein.”

“At midnight?”

“Apparently his muscles were having an emergency.”

Your mouth twitches.

“Tucker found him holding a raw chicken breast in one hand and a beer in the other.”

“Did he cook it?”

“He tried. Tucker took the pan away.”

“What did Dean do?”

“Called him controlling.”

You laugh again, quieter but real.

Logan keeps talking, filling the room with stories that are so stupid they almost sound made up. Garrett found wet clothes abandoned in the washing machine and threatened to throw everything into the yard. Dean blamed Tucker, even though every single sock was his. Then they argued for twenty minutes about whether cereal actually counts as dinner. It’s ridiculous. It helps.

The stories are stupid.

They help.

The room begins to feel familiar again. You notice the hum of the fan, the smell of detergent on the sheets, and Logan’s warm shoulder against yours. Your heart is still racing, but it has stopped climbing.

Logan reaches for his laptop. “Movie?”

“You need sleep.”

“So do you.”

“You have practice.”

“I’ve played hungover.”

“That’s not a defense.”

“It is technically a fact.”

He finds a comedy you’ve both watched too many times and sets the volume low. Then he pats his thigh.

“Come here.”

“I’m sweating.”

“Hot.”

“John.”

“Still hot.”

“I’m having a panic attack.”

“And somehow you remain attractive. Impressive, really.”

You roll your eyes, but you move anyway, curling up with your head in his lap. Logan tugs the blanket around your shoulders, tucking you in like you might fall apart if he lets go, and runs his fingers gently through your hair.

The movie murmurs quietly from the laptop, barely more than background noise. You focus on the warmth beneath your cheek, the slow, careful movement of his hand through your hair, and the way your breathing finally starts to match his.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“Waking you.”

“You didn’t.”

“You were asleep.”

“And now I’m awake.”

“That’s what waking someone means.”

Logan looks down at you. “I woke up because you moved. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You pick at a loose thread on his sweatpants. “Still.”

“Stop apologizing every time you need something.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Kind of.”

His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing softly over your skin. “You’d wake up for me.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because it’s you.”

“And you’re you.”

“That made no sense.”

“It made sense to me.”

The sharp edge of panic has dulled, replaced by something heavier and older. The kind of fear that settles in your bones, built from every time you ever needed comfort and it made someone angry.

“What if you get tired of this?” you ask.

Logan’s hand stills. “Of what?”

“Me waking you up. Needing you. Being difficult.”

His expression sharpens. “You’re not difficult.”

“You say that now.”

“I’ll say it tomorrow.”

“John.”

“Baby, I’m not leaving because you had a bad night.”

“I didn’t say you were leaving.”

“You were thinking it.”

You look away, throat tight, wishing you could hide inside the blanket.

Logan sighs and leans back against the pillows. “I hate seeing you feel like this. I hate that I can’t fix it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His mouth lifts slightly. “Kind of.”

A small laugh slips out.

Logan brushes his thumb beneath your eye, catching a tear before it reaches your cheek. “I’m not tired of you.”

“You’re literally tired.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll recover.”

Your eyes burn again, hot and stinging, and you bury your face in his stomach, hiding from the world for a second.

“Don’t,” you mumble.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was going to tell you your mascara looks great.”

“I’m not wearing mascara.”

“Then you’re naBy the middle of the movie, your hands have finally stopped shaking. The pressure in your chest is still there, heavy and stubborn, but it doesn’t feel impossible anymore. You can breathe around it.here, but it no longer feels impossible to carry.

“Better?” Logan asks.

“A little.”

“Normal shitty or really shitty?”

“Medium shitty.”

“Progress.”

You take his hand and press it over your heart, needing the weight of him there. His palm is warm through your shirt, thumb moving in slow, steady circles that almost match your heartbeat.

“Love you,” you whisper.

He leans down and kisses your forehead. “Love you too.”

“What if it happens again?”

“Then you wake me again.”

“You have practice.”

“I’ll tell Graham you kept me up all night.”

“He’ll kill me.”

“He’ll kill me first.”

“True.”

Logan slides lower against the pillows, never moving his hand from your chest, as if he can keep your heart steady just by holding it.

“Close your eyes.”

“Bossy.”

“You like it.”

“Sometimes.”

“Good enough.”

The movie continues quietly in the background. Somewhere downstairs, the refrigerator opens, followed by Tucker loudly demanding to know which asshole left an empty milk carton inside.

Logan’s breathing settles into a slow, steady rhythm above you, and, almost without meaning to, your body starts to follow.

with bf!dean i can imagine… you and dean have a VERY sarcastic and witty relationship. constantly teasing, joking and making fun of each other all the time. everyone around you guys cannot stand you, garrett is whining about you guys needing a room, tucker is working like a single mum with 2 jobs, logan just wants grace and beau is simply just standing in the corner…

liked by garrettsgspot, wellsyswall and 47 others…

magicdickdean: i loooooove my life, pissing and my gf (obviously) 😛

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yourusername: i beg you delete the first photo😔

magicdickdean replied: baby, i gotta show my dominance 🙂‍↔️

garrettsgspot: is this what happens when we leave him unattended?????

tuckerisoverwhelmed replied: don’t even… i can’t with him. WHATS YOUR USERNAME, CAP????😳

yours and dean’s song: on the floor by jennifer lopez

—

with bf!garrett i can imagine… you guys having a very sweet n’ simple relationship. a lot of physical touch and a fuck ton of acts of service… from fucking to kissing n’ snuggling to cleaning up his frat house or his room together, studying together, bed in breakfast or garrett going out of this way to help alleviate your stressful school days!!!

liked by wellsyswall, yourusername and 89 others…

garrettsgspot: hockey, hockey, hockeyyyyy games!! 🏒

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yourusername: who’s that unbelievable handsome man in the second photo???😝

garrettsgspot replied: uhhh, your hot ass bf 🫡

johnlogang: oh brother we’re definitely going to be drafted to the bruins 🙏

garrettsgspot replied: manifesting it brother 😮‍💨

yours and garrett’s song: stupid song by olivia rodrigo

—

with bf!logan i can imagine… him being the biggest sweetheart everrr!! from literally buying you flower everyday, walking to you class, fixing ANYTHING you own to the tiniest loose screw to your car and showering you with endless lover letters from your backpack, bedside table or dotted around your messy bedroom when he stays the night.

liked by beaudriving, alliecat and 36 others…

johnlogang: 🧰🌲

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tuckerisoverwhelmed: pls come home 😔

yourusername replied: no❤️

yourusername: can i bounce on it real quick???? i beg 😋

magicdickdean replied: where’s your dignity girl, smh 🤦‍♂️

yourusername replied back: god forbid a woman has megan’s knees, BUT SAYS YOU… SIX FLAGS?????

yours and logan’s song: cologne by beabadoobee

—

with bf!tucker i can imagine… that he’s always seen in the kitchen and no where else! that man is constantly cooking for youuuu 😋. oh, you sent a tiktok to him AGESSS ago, of a meal you wanted to try??? oh honey, it’s cooking on the stove! random add-on but, he’s always waking you up to bed in breakfast!!! whenever it’s thanksgiving or christmas, now you’re trapped in the kitchen with him, protesting to the household that you’re being held against your will… garrett, logan and dean aren’t doing anything to help free you, they’re definitely just taking this piss out the entire situation, won’t stop milking the shit out of this later on!

liked by magicdickdean, alliecat and 34 others…

tuckerisoverwhelmed: well-deserved oven mitt tbh…

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alliecat: fed me, i’m starving 😮‍💨

wellsywall replied: me too !!!!

yourusername replied too: me three !!!!!!!

tuckerisoverwhelmed replied back: ladies, ladies, i’m tryna do my work today… leave me alone type shift ✋🙂‍↕️

magicdickdean: why don’t you teach me how to cook anymore???? i’m feeling: betrayed 😔

tuckerisoverwhelmed replied: HA, real funny that.. get the fuck outta my face 🤨