𓏵MONI'S BRIAR U LIBRARY𓏵

“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.

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He was laughing with Garrett over something, beer bottle hanging loose from his fingers, but his eyes were still on yours. The second he notices you looking, he mouthed, “Upstairs?”, tilting his head towards the stairs.

“No,” you mouthed again.     

This time, you moved from his line of sight, away from temptation and to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room. It was a useless effort, not even two minutes passed before Logan followed you to the dance floor. His hands found your waist as your hips moved to the music.

“Logan,” you warned, even as you ground back into him.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he begged, warm breath tickling your neck. “I’m so thirsty.”

“Then have a glass of water.”

The world blurred for a dizzying second as he spun you around so you could face him.

The corner of Logan’s mouth pulled up into a wicked smirk. “I’m not that kind of thirsty.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re insatiable.”

“And that’s entirely your fault,” he said it solemnly, as if it were a rational thing. “I think I deserve compensation.”

You let out a soft laugh, the vibration caught between your chests as the bass from the living room speakers thudded around you. “Is that so? And what exactly does compensation look like, Logan?”

“You know exactly what it looks like,” he murmured. His hands shifted from your waist, to the strip of bare skin exposed by your short skirt. The touch sent a familiar rush through you, enough to make it harder to remember why you'd been saying no in the first place. “Upstairs.”

“This would be like the fourth party I’ve missed,” you pointed out, though your fingers were already tangling into the short hairs at the back of his neck, betraying your own words.

“I’ll be quick,” he promised, though his voice lacked a shred of sincerity.

You knew he was lying. Logan had been finding excuses to eat you out every chance he got lately and he always took his time. It was like he'd somehow forgotten that he'd already won you over, and was trying to prove his worth.

Without waiting for a third no, Logan tugged at your arm, and you easily followed. Dean and Tucker let out a loud ‘Woop!’ as Logan hauled you past them and up the steps. He ignored them, entirely focused on getting you into his room, but you felt a warmth flood your cheeks.

The bedroom door had barely closed before Logan pinned you against it, boxing you in.

He kissed you like a man starved, and like he hadn’t just finished doing so two hours ago. A low and needy groan rumbled deep in his throat when your hands scrambled up his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt just to keep your balance.

His knee slid in between your legs as he continued kissing you and you shamelessly ground yourself down on it. For all your protesting downstairs, heat pooled at the bottom of your belly quickly, panties dampening. It wasn’t long before the throb between your legs became unbearable, desperate for real stimulation.

“Logan,” you gasped against his lips. “How do you want me?”

“Bed,” Logan grunted.

The best was yet to come, but that didn’t stop the soft whine that left you as he removed his leg from between your legs and pulled back. A second later, his hand was slipping underneath your skirt, hand on the waistband of your panties. He impatiently tugged at the fabric, tutting loudly when it got caught on your thighs.   

“Let me,” you laughed. Batting his hand away, you pulled your panties off and stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor.

Anticipation, and impatience, clung to Logan like a second skin, mouth practically salivating as he watched you settle on the edge of the bed and spread your legs wide.

Kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed, he hiked up your skirt further, eyes hungrily tracking the way your arousal glistened on your pussy lips.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he murmured as leant forward, pressing his nose where you ached most.

“You literally ate me out this morning.” Your voice came out breathily as he used his nose to circle your throbbing clit.

“It’s not enough,” he sighed. His warmth breath fanning your pussy had your hole clenching around nothing.

Calloused hands came to the backs of your thighs, pushing them slightly wider so you were even more exposed to him. The cold air hit your pussy, and your hips shifted on the bed.

“You promised to be quick,” you whined.

At that, Logan’s tongue darted out, licking at your clenching hole. It took everything you had to contain your moans to a reasonable level as he circled your hole with his tongue. All the while his nose kept bumping against your clit.

Your back arched off of the mattress as his tongue plunged into your hole.

“Fuck~.”

“Feel good, baby?” He asked, tongue vibrating against your hole as he spoke.

You responded with another moan, lewd and loud as your fingers slipped between your legs. With two fingers, you spread your folds wider for him, toes curling as his nose nudged your exposed clit.

It was almost overstimulating how his nose rubbed against where you were most sensitive again and again. You cried out, back arching off of the mattress. The sounds coming from your mouth only encouraged him to move harder and faster against you.

“I’m too close,” you gasped. The pleasure felt too good, and you so desperately wanted to prolong it. “I don’t want to come yet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Logan pulled his tongue from your hole and begun licking flat and long stripes up your pussy. He paused on your clit, sucking it into his mouth before moving back down your pussy again.

“Yes~ Loge. Yes~!” You purred.

Blunt nails dug into the flesh of your thighs as he pressed you back further, lifting your hips higher off of the bed. Logan hummed and cooed around you, loudly slurping and sucking up your slickness. He was purposely messy with it, letting your juices coat the lower half of his face.

“Mmmm, delicious, baby,” he groaned against you. “Wish I could bottle this up, have a taste whenever I want.”

“How much more do you need?” you laughed, only half-joking though. In the past week alone, you couldn’t remember how many orgasms he’d pulled out of you from just his tongue alone. most times, he didn’t even want anything in return, entirely content to get high off of your scent.

“24/7, baby.”

He emphasised that by pressing an all to chaste kiss to your pussy lips. Raising your head, you looked down between your legs, watching as he continued pressing delicate kisses and soft licks between your legs. For some reason, that turned you on more than anything and your clit throbbed.

“Need to come. Now,” you said, head falling back against the mattress.

Logan got to work immediately, tongue flicking against your clit relentlessly and sloppily as he eased two fingers into you. the room was filled with his soft moans of delight and the sounds of his fingers squelching within you.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt the orgasm build up, starting as a knot in your stomach before tightening and exploding electric pleasure throughout your body. You came with a loud cry of his name, hips gyrating on his tongue.

His mouth stayed on you the entire time, licking up every drop that you could give him.

Despite his promises that he’d be quick, he’d make you cum several more times before he had his fill, and it was yet another party that you missed because your boyfriend was insatiable.

It was never easy finding time where all three of you could have a weekend completely free. But the moment you had, Dean had whisked you and Allie away to Cape Cod, where you’d spent most of your time stretched out on Beau’s family’s private boat.

Dean had insisted he wanted nothing but the best for his girls, and his own boat was going through an upgrade.

Weekends like this were your favourite kind of luxury. Dean had picked the destination. Then, Allie had packed your bag before you’d even thought to do it. They remembered your favourite snacks, reminded you to drink water, and quietly took care of all the little things before you’d even noticed they needed doing.

Normally, you were the one making every decision. Between your demanding major and the need to plan three steps ahead these days, your brain rarely got a chance to switch off. By the end of the semester, even deciding what to eat for dinner felt exhausting.

But being with Dean and Allie felt like finally being able to take a deep breath after being constrained for so long. You so naturally let go, trusted them to know you in a way that you didn’t know yourself. With them, all you had to do was exist and that was enough.

Behind you, Allie shifted on the lounger until her knees rested on either side of you. She leant forward, her chest warm against your back as she loosely wrapped her arms around your waist. the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with the salty summer air had you relaxing almost instantly.

The afternoon grew warmer as the boat drifted across the water, the sun beating pleasantly against your skin.

“I think it’s time for sunscreen,”  Dean suddenly announced, reaching into the cooler for another bottle of water.

You instinctively reached for the sunscreen beside your towel. Dean’s hand shot out to catch your wrist. “No.”

Blinking, you turned looked up at him. “No?”

“No,” he repeated, gently taking the bottle from your hand. “Your only job today is to sit back, look beautiful, and let us take care of you. Can you do that for me?”

Heat crept into your cheeks despite the breeze; it always did take a reminder for you of your role. “Yes, Dean,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” Allie praised softly, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. “You’re doing so well already.”

You shifted against her, she knew how much you liked praise and always made sure to keep you full of it.

Dean squeezed a generous amount of the sunscreen onto Allie’s palm.

“It’s cold,” she warned you.

The warning was appreciated, but it didn’t stop you from jumping slightly as the first touch of the cream hit your shoulder.

“I did warn you,” she giggled.

“I know,” you whined.

Dean laughed from where he sat in front of you both, one hand absentmindedly rubbing slow circles over your knee while the other rubbed the cream over your leg. Behind you, Allie carefully worked the sunscreen across your shoulders and down your arms.

“Lean forward for me, babe, so I can get your back,” Allie murmured, her hands gently guiding you forward. You complied easily, leaning forward and sighing as she massaged it into your back.

Neither of them rushed.

Allie made sure to cover every bit of exposed skin, even lifting your arms so she could get the backs of your hands before carefully rubbing over and between your fingers.

“There,” she said proudly. “No sunburns on my watch.”

Dean leant forward, studying you with exaggerated concentration. “Hmmm, I think you missed a spot.”

“What? Where?” Allie frowned, she took her job very seriously.

“Right...” Dean cupped your cheek, his expression looking far too serious for about half a second before he leant in and pressed a deliberately sloppy kiss to your mouth. “...here.”

You giggled against his lips as Allie theatrically gagged behind you. “Oh, boo!”

Dean pulled back just enough to look at her over your shoulder, one eyebrow arched. “So, you don’t want one?”

“When did I say that?” She retorted.

“Did you not just boo me?”

“I was booing the drama.”

Dean grinned. “You wouldn’t love me without the drama.”

Allie huffed before reaching over your shoulder, wrapping her hand around the back of Dean’s neck, and tugging him across the small space. “Shut up and kiss me, Di Laurentis.”

Dean barely had time to laugh before she gave him a quick kiss. He kissed her back eagerly, before she shoved him away with an eyeroll.

Nestled comfortably between them, you couldn’t help but smile. This was where you always loved being, sandwiched in the middle of their constant back and forth, equal parts flirting and bickering.  

“I could get used to this,” you sighed.

“Aren’t you already spoilt?” Allie teased, pinching your waist lightly.

“I am,” you admitted, “you really know how to look after a girl.”

“That was the plan,” Dean said as he reached into the cooler for snacks. “You’ll never be able to settle for less than us.”

Leaning further back into Allie, you smiled once again. The most difficult decision you had to make right now was whether to take a nap now, or after lunch. Thankfully, it was one that Allie and Dean were more than happy to make for you.

The reality was that it had been almost two years since you’d said goodbye to the Hawks and ventured out to a new city.

Today, however, it was as if time had literally slowed down, the seconds stretching out in an almost painful way.

The air in the reception hall was thick, almost suffocating. It was filled with a heavy mixture of expensive perfumes, fading floral arrangements, the warm August heat, and the sharp burn of men’s aftershave. The smells were so overwhelmingly strong that it left a dull ache behind your temples.

You suspected the smell wasn’t the only reason why your head was swimming.

You and Logan had broken up not long after you’d gotten together. It was fun at first, the sneaking around, but the pressure built up quickly the few months that you were together until it suffocated you. When it ended, you didn’t just leave him; you’d left Massachusetts all together. You hadn’t been back since. You hadn’t let yourself go back to the hockey crowd. They were his friends, after all. Even though you had grown close to them during your time as their media manager, it wasn’t close enough to excuse your presence in their lives.

So, when the cream envelope arrived in your mailbox, your heart had clenched so violently it physically hurt. You hadn’t been a forgotten piece of their story; you were wanted at one of their weddings. More importantly, it gave you a perfect excuse.  

An excuse to see him again. To simply in the same room, breathing the same air, if only for an afternoon.

It had taken you months of agonising over the invitation, months of late-night arguments with your own reflection, to convince yourself that showing up was the right move.

You’d told yourself it would be a quick fix, a brief desperate glimpse to quiet the ache behind your ribs before you buried yourself back in your work.

Lying to yourself came so easy the more you told it.

From your seat near the back, you watched Logan on the altar, his broad shoulders filling out his tuxedo, nodding along as the pastor spoke of forever and happy endings. But every so often, his eyes would drift, sweeping over the crowd in slow motion, taking in every face.

You wondered if there were women in the crowd who sat up a little straighter when his eyes passed over them, hoping the handsome, rising NHL star was looking for them. You knew he wasn't.

He was looking for you.

But still, every time his gaze drifted near your section, your stomach flipped. You wanted to see him, not have him see you. You moved, hiding behind the broad shoulder of the stranger in front of you.

The ceremony itself was mercifully short, ending in an eruption of applause as Garrett dipped Hannah and kissed her as if they were in a romcom.

As the newlyweds and the wedding party began to filter out, Logan remained on the stage for a moment longer. He stepped up to the microphone, his voice vibrating through the chapel speakers as he made a brief announcement about what was next on the agenda.

But when his announcement concluded, he didn't move.

He stood there just a beat too long, the silence stretching until it became awkward. His eyes scanned the remaining crowd one last time, a heavy sigh moving his chest before he finally turned and followed the rest of the party out.

Once he was truly gone, the tight band around your ribs loosened slightly. You were finally able to breathe. That should have been the moment you took to take your leave. You’d seen the vows, you’d seen him. That was enough, anything longer was tempting fate, playing a dangerous game with a heart you had spent two years trying to rebuild.

But instead of turning towards the exit, your legs betrayed you. You walked as if on auto-pilot out into the humid evening air with the other guests.

For a while, you let yourself get lost in the white noise of polite conversation. You caught up with old, but familiar, faces from Briar, trying to draw out the conversations so you had an excuse as to why you were still there.

Eventually the chatter died down as the guests were invited into the reception hall. You chose a seat near the very back of the reception hall, intentionally hiding behind a massive floral arrangement. It was a cowardly move and you knew it.

Keeping your fingers wrapped tightly around your glass, you focused your eyes on the way the bubbles popped, doing everything in your power to avoid looking at the head table.

It was a foolish task. You knew you wouldn’t be able to keep from looking. You were already sneaking glances, your eyes betraying your mind. Trying to protect your heart was never going to work. Not when Logan was, and always will be, your heart. How do you protect your heart from the person it belonged to?

With a gentle clicking of silverware against the glass, came the toasts. Garrett’s arm was looped tightly around Hannah’s waist, both of them beaming, enveloped in the kind of radiant love that you used to dream about.

Logan stood up, and the breath caught in your throat. You finally allowed yourself your first real, uninterrupted look at him.

The past two years had done devastatingly good things for him. The boyish charm you were used to seeing through the screen capture during his junior year had hardened into something broader, sharper, and intensely magnetic. In a tailored black tuxedo that clung to his broad shoulders, his dark hair pushed back, he looked every bit the professional NHL star he had become. He gripped the microphone, a rare flash of nerves crossing his face before he looked out at the room.

You nearly jumped in your seat when he looked directly at you. He didn't search. He had known exactly where you were this whole time.

The air was instantly sucked from your lungs, leaving your chest hollow and cold. For a terrifying, beautiful second, the background noise of the hall faded.  

Logan cleared his throat, his gaze lingering on your face for one heartbeat too long before he spoke into the mic. His voice was deep, rough, and so achingly familiar it memories of it whispering against your skin come flooding back.

 “We all know Garrett,” Logan started, a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. “We know he’s stubborn, we know he’s competitive, and we know he doesn’t like to lose. But the smartest thing he ever did was recognise what he had with Hannah when he found it. He didn’t let stupid fears or bad timing get in the way for too long. He fought for her.”

“Some people,” Logan continued, “some people are stupid. They let fear of the future dictate their choices, and they end up letting the best thing that ever happened to them slip right through their fingers.”

A few people in the crowd laughed softly, probably assuming he was making a joke about the fact that he was single. But you knew better.

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. He was bleeding out his deepest regrets into a microphone in front of a hundred people, just so you would hear them.

Logan’s speech continued, but the words became a blur, drowned out by the deafening ringing in your ears. Playing the part of an attentive guest, you forced a smile and laughed as if on cue when the rest of the table did. Hoping nobody noticed how you were always a fraction behind.

The moment the room finally erupted into applause, you quietly slid your chair back.

It was still warm when you slipped through the side exit, the late August sun still shining through the trees, painting the estate in a golden light. You took a deep breath to steady yourself, pulling out your phone to open the Uber app.

Your hands were shaking so badly you could barely type your hotel's address. Your vision blurred around the edges. You just needed to get to your room, needed to escape before the memories of what you lost consumed you.

“You’re leaving already?”

Thumb hovering over your phone screen, you froze. For a cowardly second, you contemplated pretending you hadn’t heard him. But then the gravel crunched behind you as he moved closer. Logan’s hand gently brushed the bare skin of your arm, leaving goosebumps behind.

“Are you leaving already?”

Slowly, you turned around.

Logan had ditched his jacket somewhere back inside the hall. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the thick muscles of his forearms, those had grown nicely. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run out the very second he’d put the mic down.

Seeing his face this close, it was like the mental block in your mind just crumbled. Stronger memories rushed in, the ones that you could physically feel. They were muddy and chaotic; the dark corners of the Briar arena, the weight of him pressing you against a wall, and the long nights that always bled into lazy mornings.

“I’m tired. It’s a long drive back to my hotel,” you said finally. Your voice was remarkably steady despite the fact that every blink was blurred with a new memory with him.

“I haven’t seen you in two years... I haven’t heard your voice in two years.”

“We made one another a promise, John,” you whispered, the use of his government name making your heart squeeze. “We can’t go ba–.”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. He stepped closer anyway, the clean scent of him and the expensive cologne he only wore for special occasions wrapping around you. “I remember everything about our breakup, and I remember the promises we made. You don’t need to remind me.”

There was no right way for you to respond to that. So, you didn’t.

Your eyes traced over him, helpless to stop themselves. He looked devastatingly good. Tucked beneath his unbuttoned collar, the chain of the silver necklace you had bought him for his birthday gleamed against his tanned skin. His hair was styled in the exact messy, pushed-back look he knew you loved. He still looked like he was yours, like he was dressing just for you, even though he hadn’t been yours in so long.

And as you took him in, he did the same to you. His eyes ran over your body in a way that was somehow disrespectfully respectful.

“You look incredible. You are so beautiful,” he murmured. The words slipped out of him on autopilot, a reflex he couldn't control, sounding as comfortable as if no time had passed at all.

The compliment pierced straight through your fragile walls, “you don’t look so bad yourself, Loge. the look suits you.”

“Yeah?” A tiny, painfully hopeful, smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished the moment he noticed your posture and the way your eyes darted to your phone. “Please stay for just one dance,” he pleaded. “Just give me tonight, and if you tell me tomorrow to never call you again, I swear to God, I’ll leave you alone. Just... don’t leave yet.”

“Why would that be a good idea?” you asked, the question meant more for yourself than him. You so desperately wanted him to convince you. You wanted him to give you permission to break your own rules, and he knew you well enough to know exactly what you needed to hear.

“Why don’t you tell me why you ran when you heard my speech?” he countered softly.

You blinked, that wasn’t the answer you’d expected. “You know why.”

When he just watched you, a single dark eyebrow raised in quiet challenge, you let out a breath. “It’s a wedding, Logan. It’s romantic, it’s emotional, and you’re up there with your loaded speech... I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“No one knew what I meant except you,” he argued. “I just needed you to know.”

“Know what? That you have regrets?” Your laugh was small and humourless as you looked away from him. “That’s not a surprise. You know the choice we made wasn’t because we didn’t love each other. But we did make a choice, and we can’t go back. I can’t afford to get pulled backward into... whatever this is.”

“Backward?” Logan repeated, the word sounding as though it physically pained him. He closed his eyes for a split second, his jaw tight. When he opened them, his doe eyes were wide. “Is that how you would see being with me? A step backward?”

“Maybe,” you said, though the word tasted like ash on your tongue. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, defying every instinct that begged you to soften. “Maybe a massive one. I’ve spent years making sure my name is respected in this industry because of my work, not because of who I’m dating. If anyone saw us–.”

“There’s no one here,” he cut in, “there are no cameras. No one is watching us. I’m not asking you to jeopardise anything. I’m just begging for a dance with my girl.”

My girl.

It was probably pathetic that, deep down, you had never really stopped being his girl. But, evidently, he hadn’t stopped being your Logan.

“Please,” he whispered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Let me make new memories of you that I can carry with me.”

You felt faint, your legs suddenly warm and unsteady. You wanted so badly to step forward, to let your forehead rest against his chest, to just let him hold you. But your fears stopped you.

“I– I really can’t,” you stammered, the excuses tripping over your tongue in a panicked rush. “My Uber is... the driver is already five minutes away, and I have an early flight tomorrow, and...”

“You’re lying,” Logan said softly. There was no accusation in his voice, only certainty. “I know you.”

‘Walk away,’ your brain demanded. ‘You worked too hard to get over him. If you step back into his orbit, even for a night, you’ll ruin the peace you built.’

But your heart, the secret romantic you tried so hard to suppress, was screaming louder. He was right there. He was standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were the only person left in the world.

‘Just tonight,’ you thought. ‘Just let yourself have tonight.’

“Just one dance,” you whispered, the surrender tasting sweet and terrifying all at once. “Just one, Logan.”

The relief that washed over his face was almost palpable, his shoulders dropping. “Just tonight,” he promised.

He reached out to take your hand, and you let your fingers slide into his. Your hand still git into his perfectly, as if it had been carved specifically for him.

When you stepped back into the ballroom, the reception was in full swing. The free-flowing alcohol had made the crowd loud, warm, and loose, the air thick with laughter and the sweet, dizzying scent of champagne.

Before you could fully adjust to the sensory overload, Dean Di Laurentis was sliding into view.

You pulled your hand from Logan’s grasp in a sudden, panicked blur, muscle memory kicking in.

“You’re here!” Dean grinned; a half-empty drink cradled in his hand and a wicked, appreciative smirk instantly spreading across his face. Beside him, Tucker and several of the other old Briar hockey guys turned at the sound of your name.

“Jesus,” Dean whistled softly, his eyes scanning down the length of your dress. “The years have been incredibly kind to you, sweetheart. You look absolutely stunning. Doesn’t she, Logan?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the muscle jumping in his cheek as his chest puffed out instinctively. He took a subtle step forward, placing his shoulder slightly in front of yours as if to shield you from Dean's gaze. His eyes narrowed at his friend and former teammate.

“Back off, Di Laurentis,” Logan grumbled.

Dean only laughed, unbothered by the sudden territorial display. He stepped closer, raising his glass in a mock toast to you. “Come on, Logan, don’t be greedy. You can’t keep the prettiest girl in the room to yourself all night.”

Turning his attention back to you, Dean’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You owe me a dance, sweetheart. For old time’s sake.”

Beside you, you could feel Logan practically vibrating with tension.

It was a physical sensation you hadn’t realised you’d missed so desperately. The fierce and entirely primitive way he staked his claim on you was intoxicating. In the two years since the breakup, you had assumed he must have told at the guys, probably at least Garrett, about what you two had been.

You weren’t sure if Dean actually knew and was playing games, or was just genuinely being his flirty self. Back in the Briar days, Dean had loved to flirt, and you had mastered how to flirt back whilst keeping your professional boundaries. Logan had spent his entire junior and senior years practising how to subdue his burning jealousy in front of his team. It was a fun game you liked to play.

And technically, tonight, you were single. There was absolutely no reason for you to play the pining, loyal ex-girlfriend.

“I’ll save a dance for you,” you said smoothly, trying not to smile as you caught the sharp inhale Logan took beside you.

The second Dean and the guys drifted out of earshot, Logan turned on you.

His hand made contact with the small of your back, pressing you forward to the dancefloor.

“You’re not dancing with him,” he muttered, his voice tight with a childish jealousy. “You’re not dancing with anyone else.”

“Oh? And who decided that?” you teased, tilting your head back to look up at him. The foundation of your walls were breaking further with every passing second.

 “You did,” Logan said, turning you to face him, his chest nearly brushing yours. “You told me in the garden. Just one dance.”

You gave him a familiar smirk; the exact one you used to give him in the Briar locker room when he’d try to negotiate for extra media coverage.

“I agreed to just one dance with you,” you pointed out. “I never said anything about my plans for the rest of the night. A girl has to network, after all.”

Logan’s jaw dropped slightly, a frustrated groan escaping his throat. “You are unbelievable,” he mumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

He spun you around the crowded dancefloor. When the one song you’d agreed to dance with him for ended, his grip on your waist tightened just enough to let you know he had absolutely zero intention of letting you go.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near Di Laurentis,” he muttered.

“You can’t watch me all night.” What were you saying, you didn’t plan to be there all night. you were supposed to be leaving now.

“Can’t i?” he responded, eyebrow raised.

“What if I need to go to the bathroom?” you asked, ignoring the fact that you had fallen back into old conversation patterns all too easily. “Are you going to follow me there, too?”

Logan paused and looked down at you. you realised the stupidity of your words as you’d said them. Of course he would. It was something he’d done before. When you’d first started dating at Briar, you had been so all over each other that you’d ended up locked in Malone’s bathroom as Justin’s band played on stage. It hadn’t been your proudest moment, but it certainly hadn't been your worst.

Before you could dwell on the memory, Logan pulled you flush against him as another slow song came on. You swayed in his arms, naturally following his lead.

It was terrifying how easily, how seamlessly, the two of you fell back into the old rhythm. Within seconds, the music, the lights, and the crowd faded into a blur.

Slowly, carefully, his hands slid lower down, while your arms found their familiar place around his shoulders. You leant into him, burying your face in his chest, breathing him in. He smelt like home.

A half-hour later, you spotted Dean scanning the crowd, likely looking to cash in on his promised dance. You caught his eye across the room, but before Dean could take a step towards you, you pointedly wrapped your arms tighter around Logan's neck, burying your face into his shirt.

When the DJ transitioned into faster tracks, you laughed as Logan tried to show off, spinning you out only to pull you back against his chest a little too fast.

A wedding was the absolute worst place for this reunion, you thought. The atmosphere was already thick with romance, practically begging you to make a mistake. But the feelings and the energy floating in the thin space between your bodies was electric. The way he looked down at you, his eyes dark and heavy, made your mouth water. You craved a kiss so badly.

Before you even realised it, the crowd had thinned to a lingering few. The DJ’s songs were practically echoing off of the walls of the empty room, even Hannah and Garrett had left. The staff were quietly clearing half-empty champagne flutes from the tables. Around you, people were whispering their final goodbyes, slipping into coats, and heading out into the quiet August night.

Yet, you and Logan were still in the centre of the floor, moving in a slow sway.

"Hey," Logan whispered, his breath fanning your face.

"Hmm?" you murmured, not wanting to open your eyes and face reality.

"We should go; they're turning the lights up soon...” When you finally looked up at him, he was watching you. “Don’t go back to your hotel.”

Your heart almost stopped beating. "Logan…"

"I'm not asking for a promise," he said. "I'm not asking you to change your mind about your career, or us, or anything else tomorrow. But tonight... just let me hold you. Let me wake up next to you, just once. Please."

“You’ve asked for a lot today.”

“I know,” he said, “I know, I’m being greedy. And I’m not sorry about it.”

The danger with Logan was that no matter how much of yourself you gave him, no matter how many of your boundaries and walls you broke down, you always wanted to give him more. You wanted to give him all of you. and that made it hard when you were trying to build a name and be independent the male-dominated world of the NHL.

You should have told him no. You should have reminded him that you had promised exactly one dance, but you’d already given him hours. However, you couldn’t. It wasn’t enough for you and you understood all too clearly why it wasn’t enough for him, either.

Looking up at him, you took in the anxious crease between his brows, the desperate hope shining in his eyes, and the way his hands were trembling slightly against your hips. You tried to conjure up the rational part of your brain, but your mind was silent.

All you could feel was the phantom ache of the last two years without him, and the desperate need to soothe it.

"Okay," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

Logan’s eyes widened slightly before he let out the breath he’d been holding. "Okay," he repeated.

He took your hand, his fingers instantly slotting perfectly between yours as he led you off the dancefloor and out of the venue.

The hotel the wedding party were staying at was only a short walk across the estate’s grounds, but there wasn’t a word uttered between you. it was as if you were both too afraid that speaking would shatter the fragility of where the night was going. His grip on your hand only tightened as you crossed the quiet, marble-floored lobby, riding the elevator up in silence.

Logan guided you down the hallway, his keycard clutched tightly in his palm. When you finally reached his door, his hand was shaking so badly it took him two tries to get the lock to flash green.

He pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you enter the room first.

The first thing, the only thing, you noticed was the sheer size of it; the Grahams had obviously splurged on the hotel block for their wedding party.

"Do you want water? Or... I can order something?" Logan asked, he looked almost nervous.

"I'm okay," you whispered, even as your mouth went dry.

You walked over to the sofa in the corner of the room. Through a half-open sliding door, you could see the plush king-sized bed and you looked away immediately. You didn’t need those thoughts running through your mind.

Logan watched you move, his eyes tracking the sway of your hips. He slowly unclasped his heavy watch, placing it on the glass coffee table, before sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa. He turned his body toward you.

For a long time, you just talked.

You updated each other on all the things you’d missed in each other’s lives; about the transition from Briar to a professional hockey team, the endless travel, the pressure, the loneliness of a new city.

Both of you deliberately danced around the subject of other people. You didn’t want to ask if he had been with someone else. He had every right to, it had been two years, after all, but the mere thought of another woman holding him, of him giving her his smiles, felt like a slow-turning knife in your stomach.

As it went past two in the morning, the conversation became more unrestricted, turning into the kind of raw truths that were only meant to be whispered in the dark. He asked you which city you’d moved to and you hesitated to answer. You knew he would follow you to the ends of the Earth if you gave him even a sliver of hope, and perhaps, in some selfish corner of your mind, that was exactly what you wanted.

So, you told him.

"I looked for you," Logan confessed quietly, his eyes fixed on his hands, "In every arena. Every time we played a road game. I kept looking, hoping I’d see you with your camera. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just missed you.”

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat, drawing your knees up to your chest on the cushions and wrapping your arms tightly around them.

"It was hard for me, too," you confessed. “Do you know how hard it is to be in the NHL and not see your face? I had to mute your name on my personal accounts. Because every time you scored and did that silly arrow thing you do or every time you did a post-game interview looking tired and so fucking hot... I felt weak.”

It was as if your words was the permission he needed to crowd your space. He slid across the sofa and pulled you forward so he could manoeuvre you into his lap. You let him easily, dress bunching up around your thighs as you straddled him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours. “I’m so sorry I let you go.”

Your chest tightened. The truth was, he had only respected your needs. You couldn’t fault him for that. You weren’t sorry he let you go; you were sorry you had been fragile enough to ask him to.

“Can you just kiss me now?” You breathed, and then he was kissing you.

He kissed you like he was trying to apologise for every single day he had spent away from you. It wasn’t slow, he wasn’t savouring you, he was showing you what two years of bottled-up longing felt like. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him closer. Fingers tangling in his dark hair as he groaned deep in his throat, lifting you slightly to press you deeper against his lap. You kissed long enough that your lips begun to ache, spit collecting in the corners of your mouth.

On shaky legs, you climbed off of his lap and stood up. Reaching to the side, you pulled the zipper and let your dress fall, pooling on the floor.

Logan’s breath hitched, his eyes sweeping over your body, tracing every familiar curve. He then stood up too, his fingers frantically unbuttoning his shirt, throwing it to the side before he stepped out of his trousers.

You took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

The second you laid down; Logan was all over you. he remembered your body, where you were most sensitive, and exactly how to angle himself in a way that had you seeing stars. Every touch came through pure muscle memory, a loud reclamation of what had always been his.

He acted as if he knew he was on borrowed time, letting an overwhelming and frantic passion take over. It was all consuming, leaving you sensitive to the lightest touches like your nerve endings had light up. Even the words whispered in the dark rang loudly in your ears.

The room was filled with soft, undone gasps, desperate confessions murmured against damp, sweaty skin, and the sounds of your bodies meeting. Every desperate drive of his hips felt like he was branding himself back onto your skin.

“I love you,” Logan murmured, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips. His fingers were with yours on the pillow, his body still buried deep inside you. “I never stopped.”

You couldn't answer with words; it was too heavy to speak aloud. Instead, you pulled him down into another kiss, arching your hips to meet him, letting him take all your space and air until both of you finally collapsed into an exhausted sleep, a tangled mess of limbs.

You woke up disorientated, the backout curtains in the hotel room had kept the morning light at bay, though the bedside lamp that you’d forgotten to turn off was still casting a glow over the room.

An involuntary smile hit your lips as you turned your head to watch Logan sleep next to you. He still twitched in his sleep, a boyish habit you had forgotten.

You laid still for a moment, letting the reality of the night crash over you. the dull ache between your legs and the faint bruise where Logan had gripped you tightly serving as physical reminders of what you’d done.

But as your heart swelled with a dangerous warmth, a cold dread settled deep in your stomach.

The real world was waiting outside of the door.

If you stayed until he woke up, you knew exactly what would happen. He would look at you with those pleading brown eyes, he would beg you to stay, and you would lose the battle again. You couldn't let yourself slide back. You couldn't risk your heart breaking a second time.

Very slowly, you slid out from under the covers.

Logan stirred, letting out a discontented mumble in his sleep, but he didn't wake.

You stood by the edge of the mattress, shivering slightly in the cool draft of the air conditioning, and looked down at him. He looked unbelievably good, his dark hair messy against the white pillow, his bare chest rising and falling.

It took every ounce of your willpower to turn away.

You gathered your discarded clothes from the carpet, dressing quickly in the bathroom. When you walked back out, you grabbed your shoes and your purse, taking one last look at his face.

Then, you turned to leave. You didn't write a note. You didn't leave any reminder that you were there minus the scratches down his back. You just quietly opened the heavy door and slipped out of the hotel room.

Friendships weren’t much different. You were always the one to organise, to text first, to check in.  

Over time, you’d learnt how to shrink yourself to fit into the narrow personality that others allowed you.

The worst part of it was, despite it all, you still had hope. You still clung to the idea that if you just tried a little bit harder, performed a little better, or needed a little less, you’d finally be chosen.

♬ So, I'm patient, you're learning, pretend it's not hurting, oh (Oh) / They say it's a virtue to not let good love slip away ('Way) ♬

The problem with learning to survive on crumbs, was that it meant that it was all too easy to convince yourself that the scraps you were given was plentiful. You told yourself that you couldn’t let him slip away. You forced yourself to believe that this was what real love was supposed to feel like.

When your ex showed up hours late to your birthday dinner, you were quick to make excuses. ‘I’m his first real girlfriend,’ you reminded yourself. ‘He just needs time to learn how this works.’

Sometimes, your compliant façade would break. You’d send a quick, desperate text.

A ‘Hey, where are you?’ whenever he was late without telling you.

A ‘Please answer the call.’ When he’d take days to respond to your texts.

A ‘Do you still love me?’ when he’d be silent for too long.

A ‘Please don’t leave.’ When he’d question why you’re questioning his ‘love’ for you.

Somehow, you always ended up apologising. He was trying, and you were just being ungrateful.

♬ All that I want is to know undoubtedly / That you just have eyes for me / Could you make it clear? ♬

Everything you thought you knew changed when you began dating Dean. You realised that you had never really been loved before.

As old wounds constantly resurfaced, sudden realisations would hit you. You couldn’t recall a time where you’d had to ask him to show you affection, his hand would easily, absentmindedly, find yours whenever you were together. Compliments and affirmations simply rolled off of his tongue before you could even open your mouth to question.

Hald of the time, his affection would be given so freely that you felt like you were imagining it. You quickly discovered that, despite the playboy persona he presented, you never had to compete for a thing. You never had to fight for his gaze, even with half the campus throwing themselves at him.

Slowly, and cautiously, you were learning to accept it. But the thing about old wounds was that they loved rearing their ugly head.

It was Friday night, and Dean had promised weeks ago that this evening belonged to you. A quiet movie night, just the two of you. A rare luxury given his hockey schedule.

You were humming softly, packing your overnight bag, when your phone buzzed on the mattress.

Dean: hey babe. Dean: mind if we swing by the park for an hour before the movie? the guys are throwing a bonfire to celebrate the win

It felt like such a silly, trivial, thing to be upset over. It was just an hour. But, in your experience, an hour never actually meant an hour, time would fly, the crowd would grow, and the next thing you knew, the sun would be rising. You truly did like his hockey teammates, but this wasn’t the evening you were promised, nor the one you wanted.

Every muscle in your body locked up. An all too familiar, suffocating ache bloomed beneath your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs. Panic ran through your mind. If you asked him to stay, you’d be the needy girlfriend. If you complained, he would think you were suffocating him. So, you just swallowed it.

With trembling fingers, you typed your reply.

You: no problem. you should go and have fun.

The screen instantly lit up with an incoming call from Dean. as you stared at the screen, you let it ring out, terrified he would detect the threat of tears in your voice.  

When you didn’t answer, Dean texted you.

Dean: why don't you want to come with? Dean: it’ll be fun Dean: the guys would love to see you too

The problem with surviving on crumbs for so long is that you knew how to pretend like you weren’t hungry.

You: honestly, i'm kind of tired anyway. you earnt the win, go celebrate :) You: see you tomorrow

You didn’t wait to see if he replied. You set your phone face-down on the nightstand, walked into the living room, opened your laptop, and started the movie alone in the quiet room.

♬ So, I'm cool and forgiving, I'll take what you're giving, oh (Ooh) / But nothing's quite enough, when I know that to get it, I begged / Yeah, to get it, I begged ♬

You sat cross-legged on the sofa, tears hot and biting against your eyes. Dean was incredible, you knew that. But that couldn’t stop the dark, poisonous thought in your mind. ‘Does he only like me because I never ask for anything? if I asked him to chose me over his teammates, would he?’

Even just the thought of having to plead for Dean’s attention hurt worse than anything you’d been through before. You couldn’t slip back into that agonising and humiliating cycle of pleading for undivided attention. You couldn’t do it again, especially not with Dean.

A sudden knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts.

Wiping your face quickly, your heart hammered against your ribs as you stood and walked over to the door. You took a deep breath and plastered on a smile before swinging it open. Dean was standing on the threshold, looking slightly winded, as if he had run up the stairs.

“Dean?” You said, voice dripping with confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Dean stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and made a beeline for the sofa.

“Your texts were weird, then I called you twice and you didn’t answer.” He sat down on the sofa and patted his lap. “Come here.”

Without argument, you walk over and settle on his lap, sitting sideways across his legs.

His hands immediately settle on your waist, rubbing circles there. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you laughed nervously. Dean didn’t laugh.

“Talk to me, please.”

You turned your head to look at him, he was looking up at you, pleading with his eyes. The intensity was too much, so you looked over at the wall. “You didn’t need to come here. I told you, I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that,” Dean pleaded, he turned your head to look at him again. His eyes searched yours, desperate to find the answers to your thoughts. “You can trust me with the truth.”

“I was just... I was really looking forward to tonight, Dean,” you confessed, throat burning and your voice trembling with an anxiety you couldn't suppress as a tear finally spilled over. “We haven't had a night just for us in weeks, and when you asked to go to the bonfire, it just… it felt like I was being shoved to the side again. I didn't want to be the needy, demanding girlfriend who ruins your fun...”

You braced yourself for the inevitable shift in his expression. You waited for the flash of irritation, to be told you were overreacting. You braced yourself to plead your case.

“Again?” Dean asked.

You blinked, the breath catching in your throat. You didn’t think to choose your words carefully; you weren’t used to being listened to in the way that Dean did.  

“Not you,” you clarified, “I just... I just meant that...”

You didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Would he think you were pathetic if he knew the truth?

“People have made you feel this way before? Enough that it’s had this effect on you?”

Dean looked at you, but not with the pity you were expecting. You shrug in response because nodding would make it too real.

His arms tightened around you.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel this way, sweetheart,” he said, he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “I wasn’t even thinking, I just got caught up with team stuff, but that’s a lousy excuse.”

It was almost too much for your nervous system to process. The lack of conflict felt foreign.

You broke then; it was like the dam holding back years of tears broke. Dean just held you, strong, steady, and supportive like he always was.

Later, when you’d finally settled and you were watching the movie that you’d planned, he pulled you back to look into your eyes.  

“Let me make this incredibly clear to you right now. You are my priority,” he said, voice steady but intense. “If you want me here, I am here. You never have to shrink yourself for me, and you never, ever have to hide how you feel.”

Looking into Dean’s devoted eyes, you finally realised that with him, you didn't have to fight to be seen. With Dean, you were effortlessly chosen.

"I'm so sorry, babe," Logan said the second you climbed into the passenger seat, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"No problem," you replied, your voice clipped.

But there was a problem, and you both knew it. Logan knew you well enough to pick up the subtle signs in your texts and body language. Your reply to his text had been short; your clipped response now was unusual; you looked unimpressed, all clear signs. But the biggest one was the fact that you hadn't leant over to give him a kiss. Hadn't tried to soothe the tired lines in his face.

Logan noticed it all, but he chose not to press. He'd had a long day too and was wound just as tightly as you were at the minute.

The silence in the car stretched as he pulled away from the curve, driving you to the party hosted by the Lacrosse team. The silence allowed your thoughts to ruminate unnecessarily over the situation, working yourself up until the irriation boiled over. Under your breath, you muttered a tight "I should have just walked."

It was meant as a throwaway comment, a petty jab to vent, and you truly didn't mean to start something, but it hit its mark.

"I said I was sorry." Logan's grip on the steeting wheel tightened.

"I know."

"Then what's that supposed to mean?" He snapped, his already low patience wearing thin.

"Exactly what I said," you snapped back, crossing your arms. "I just meant I should have walked."

"Yeah, because I was late, right?"

You knew you should have stopped the conversation there, apologised, let him know you'd had a bad day, and moved on. But a stubborn part of you needed this fight, needed to get out the emotions you were bottling up.

"I don't know why you're being like this. I wasn't trying to start anything."

Logan let out a sharp exhale through his nose. "Kinda feels like you were."

"Well that doesn't make it true," you retorted, continuing to stare straight ahead through the windshield.

"Look, I'm exhausted," Logan said, voice dropping low. "I barely slept last night. Practice was hell. Coach was on my ass the whole time. I got stuck in traffic on my way here, and now the only thing I'm hearing from you is that I should have gotten here quicker."

"There's no need for that tone, Logan."

Logan's head snapped to look at you, his eyes flashing before he forced his attention back to the road. "I'm only giving you a tone because it seems like nothing I'm saying is good enough for you."

"I never said that!"

"You've been in a mood since you got in the car." You were about to protest when he interuppted, "Don't deny it. You're picking a fight. What am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe think that I was just frustrated."

"And so was I, but I didn't take it out on you."

That made you pause. Deep down, you knew that Logan was right. He hadn't taken out his crappy day on you the way you were with him. But, at the same time, the longer this conversation went on, the more unheard you felt.

"Okay, but I am allowed to be frustrated too," you muttered.

"I didn't say that you weren't." Logan pressed his foot on the brake, pulling the car over to the curb with more force than necessary. Turning in his seat, he shifted to look at you.

"What do you want me to say?" He asked, throwing a hand up. "I apologised. I texted you. I told you practice ran over. What more do you want from me?

"A text twenty minutes later than you were supposed to be here."

"Did you want me to pull out my phone while coach was talking?"

You opened your mouth before closing it again. "Obviously not," you admitted. "Maybe I just wanted you to understand why I'm upset, rather than acting like I'm attacking you."

"I do understand," he said, voice softening a little. "But every time I apologise, it feels like you find another way to tell me I screwed up."

Your stomach dropped.

"Forget it." Stubbornly, you turned your hear away, staring out of the passenger side window.

Logan sighed heavily, turned the engine back on, and drove you both the rest of the way to the party. As he pulled into crowded driveway of the party, he broke the silence that had settled over you both, keeping his eyes glued to the steering wheel.

"You don't need to come in if you're just going to be pissed at me all night," Logan muttered.

You folded your arms tighter across your chest, his words leaving you seething. "If you don't want me to come with you, just say that."

"Can you stop twisting my words?" You could hear the frustration in his voice, and it only made you more frustrated. "I never said that."

"Whatever, Logan."

"Have fun," he said flatly as he shut off the ignition.

"Oh, I will."

You slammed the door to his car a little harder than necessary and stormed into the party.

Inside, the party was in full swing. Someone called your name, but you only offered a tight smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Within seconds, a drink was in your hand. Less than a minute later, the first drink was gone and you were pouring a second, heavy on the booze, light on the mixer.

You welcomed the burning heat of the drink as it hit the back of your throat. It felt better than the ache in your chest. As the drinks, and music, kept flowing through you, you forgot why you even needed it in the first place.

But the alcohol could only make you forget for so long. Every couple of minutes, you found your eyes scanning the crowd to find Logan. And when you finally did, your chest tightened. He was standing with Garrett and a few of the lacrosse team, head thrown back in laughter, unaffected and carefree.

'He hasn't even looked for me,' you thought, a bitter lump forming in your throat. 'He didn't text to see if I wanted to talk. He doesn't care. As usual, he'd rather drink with his buddies than deal with his emotional girlfriend.'

Suddenly, every emotion you'd been trying to bury came bubbling to the surface. Tears blurred your vision, turning the fairylights into halos. You stumbled towards the exit, desperate for fresh air.

"Whoa, steady there. I gotcha."

Strong hands caught your forearms, holding you steady as you practically fell into a chest.

Blinking hard, your vision focused on Tucker's worried face.

"Hey, what happened?" Tucker's brow furrowed as he took in your dishevelled state, mascara streaked down your flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears.

Before anybody else could notice, he carefully steered you toward the kitchen.

"Here," Tucker said gently as he handed you a cup. "Drink this, it's water."

You frowned at the cup as if it had offended you. "I don't want water."

"Please? For me?" He coaxed, using that soft gentlemanly tone he was so good at.

"Fineeeee." You downed the first cup, and let him refill it. By the time you finished the second, your head was pounding slightly less, but the emotional dam was still broken, stray tears still running down your face.

Tucker guided you to a quieter hallway near the downstairs bathroom, leaning against the wall. "Do you want me to go and get Logan for you?"

"No," you wailed, the sound muffled as you hid your face in your hands. "He doesn't care, he hates me."

Tucker sighed sympathetically, you were obviously shit-faced drunk, so he didn't expect much logic from you. "I don't think that's true. Tell me what happened."

"He hates me," you repeated, a hiccup interrupting your words. "He's gonna break up with me for being difficult."

"What makes you say that?" Tucker asked, completely baffled.

"Because he said I was pissed off and picking fights," you cried, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand.

Tucker stared at you for a minute, fighting the amused twitch of his lips. "And... were you?"

"Yes," you hiccuped loudly. Falling into Tucker's arms, you buried your face into the front of his shirt.

Tucker wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back in soothing circles as you began dramatically retelling the car ride. Between slurred and jumbled sentences, you explained how he arrived late because he only cared about hockey, how he 'yelled' at you, and how he basically told you to go away.

Tucker listened patiently, nodding along, knowing damn well that this was a result of two tired people knowing how to push each other's buttons, rather than the hateful breakup you were telling him it was.

"Alright, let's just breatheeee," Tucker said slowly, gently pulling you away from his shirt. "Listen to me, that boy is crazy about you, like literally crazy. You're just really drunk, alright?"

You nodded slowly, wiping the snot from your nose.

"Come on, let's go get your boy."

Half-carrying, half-guiding your body, Tucker navigated you through the sea of college students. You stumbled along, clinging to his arm and still crying softly and mumbling about how Logan wouldn't want to see you.

Logan was still standing where you'd last seen him. He was talking to Garrett, but he wasn't really paying attention. His eyes were scanning the crowd, clearly looking for you.

The moment he spotted you clinging to Tucker, tears streaming down your face, his posture changed. He pushed through a couple of people to get to you.

"What happened?" He asked frantically, scanning your body for injuries. "Did someone hurt you?"

He didn't wait for you to answer, he pulled you from Tucker's hold into his arms, tucking you against his chest.

"She's fine, man," Tucker said gently, "she just missed you and is very sorry about earlier."

Before you could say anything, Tucker turned back into the crowd, giving you both space.

Your tears had stopped the moment you were in Logan's arms, instantly calmer. "I'm sorry," you mumbled into his shoulder. "Don't be mad anymore and please don't break up with me."

Despite himself, Logan laughed softly. "It's going to take a lot more than a stupid argument for me to even consider breaking up with you. You're stuck with me."

"I'm so sorry," you slurred, eyes closing as you swayed. "I-."

"Let's talk about it later," he interrupted, already pulling you towards the exit. "First, let me take you home."

The three-dot text bubble appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again. In the several minutes it took for his reply to arrive, a wave of anxiety hit you. You worried you’d overshared. Your relationship with Dean was... complicated.

Despite being in a committed relationship, the attraction you’d had to one another was palpable. It hung in the air, thick and obvious, and so you’d done the decent thing and not gotten too close while you were in a committed relationship. That was over now, had been for a few weeks.

The conversation you were having now was territory you had never broached before, and you weren’t sure if the attraction was built more because you were something he couldn’t have.

Your phone buzzed, and Dean’s texts proved your spiralling thoughts wrong.

Dean: you should come over. Dean: let me apologise on behalf of all men ever.

30 minutes later, you were slipping through the unlocked front door of the hockey house. You tiptoed up the stairs to Dean’s room and knocked softly. The door swung open almost immediately. Dean stood there wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, his hair rumpled.

He didn't say a word. He just grabbed your wrist, pulled you inside, and shut the door behind you.

You walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, your eyes tracking him as he paced the length of the room.

“I can’t believe how useless he was,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

You wanted to laugh; he seemed madder about the situation than you were.

“Dean, it’s fin–.”

“It’s not fine,” Dean interrupted, stopping dead in his tracks right in front of you.

You knew exactly why you had come here tonight, but the sudden intensity in his gaze had you instinctively pressing your thighs together.

“The fact that any guy could have you in his bed and not make it his priority to make you cum multiple times is a crime,” he growled, stepping closer. “It’s insulting actually.”

You crawled back on his bed, moving until your back hit the headboard. “Well, what are you going to do about it, Di Laurentis? Show me how a real professional fucks?”

Dean sank onto the mattress, his eyes locking onto yours as he grabbed your ankle. With one gentle, deliberate pull, he dragged you down until you were lying flat on the mattress, before slowly manoeuvring himself between your legs.

“Yeah,” he murmured, a dangerous little smirk playing on his lips as he hovered over you. “I am.”

Dean closed the distance between you at an agonisingly slow pace, determined to drag it out until you were a begging mess under his arms. When he first pressed his lips to yours, it was just a gentle, barely there kiss. His lips brushed against yours, warm breath fanning your lips.

“Dean~,” you purred. “Stop teasing.”

“It’s not teasing,” he replied as his warm hand slid under the hem of your shirt. “It’s called seduction.”

And Dean was very good at seduction, you decided. His hand moved over your torso and chest expertly, caressing you in ways you didn’t even know you liked. When he finally finally kissed you for real, it wasn’t gentle. It was full of the passion, the fire, that you’d never had with your ex. Dean had a point to prove, and he used the kiss to prove it.

The time with your ex had made you rusty, your mind could barely keep up with all the sensations. His mouth sucking on your tongue; his hand running up your back; his hips rocking into you slowly, it overwhelmed you in the best way.

By the time he pulled away from you, you were left breathless with a dampness between your legs that bordered on embarrassing.

Dean’s thumb traced your plump bottom lip.

“Arms up,” he whispered, voice sounded strained.

You did as he asked and he made a point of slowly taking off your shirt, and then your shorts, humming in approval when he noticed you’d opted out of wearing panties.

Sitting back on his heels, he spread your legs further, taking a minute to appreciate how good you looked.

The way his eyes raked over your body should have made you feel embarrassed, but, somehow, the heat of his gaze only made you feel bolder.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped. You shuddered as he ran a finger though your folds. “Soaking just for me.”  

You didn’t even want to wipe the cocky grin off of his face. He deserved it. “You know what you’re doing.”

Dean’s smirk widened. “You know, I’m tempted to set up a camera right there on the dresser.”

Your mind was so focused on the way his fingers were moving between your legs that you weren’t even sure you heard him right.

“A camera?”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured. “A little video tutorial on how to fuck you right.”

Dean slid a finger into you, fucking you slowly on it as he experimented with how much you could take.

“How benevolent of you.”  

Dean chuckled, dark and low.

“Okay, I admit. I want it for myself.” He added another finger, curling them inside you. “I want to be able to replay the look on your face when I make you cum.”

 The thought of being fucked by Dean on camera and being able to watch that back whenever you wanted had your hear racing. “Yeah? You wanna watch how well I take your dick?”

“I do,” Dean grinned, his eyes blazing with a mixture of arrogance and arousal. “And then, the next time you're lying awake at night, aching to be touched, you can watch it too and remind yourself what a real man feels like.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling low as his weight shifted over you. “Get the camera.”

He didn't take his fingers out of you as he frantically reached toward the nightstand, his fingers wrapping around his phone.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

He unlocked it quickly and turned the camera on, blood rushing to his dick as he saw you through the screen. He brought the camera closer to pussy, hoping the microphone could pick up the way your pussy squelched as he fucked you with his fingers.

Trying to hold the camera angled steady at your soaking pussy, he moved until he was flat on his stomach on the mattress, head between your legs.

Dean panned the camera to his face and spoke to the camera, “I wish you could smell how good she smells, I wonder how she tastes.”

“I’ll hold the phone,” you stuttered, holding yourself up on your elbows and looking at the hungry look in Dean’s eyes.

Taking the phone from him, you spread your legs wider. He used two fingers to spread your folds wider, his other hand guiding your wrist so he could position the camera over your clit.

“Look how flushed and swollen you are for me.” His breath fanned over your clit and it throbbed.

You forced yourself to stay propped up on your elbows as his lips closed around clit. Your hips bucked into his mouth as he sucked harder. He worked two fingers back into you, fucking you on them as he licked through your folds. He was sloppy with it, messily eating so the sounds could be picked up.

“So good,” you cooed.

He looked up at you with a cocky grin plastered on his face. There was a line of spit from your pussy to his lips that were glistening with your arousal.  

“Say my name, let them know who’s fucking you.”

He looked up at you with eyes full of desire and you knew that, when you watched this back, this would be the part you had on repeat.

“Dean~ your tongue feels so fucking good, Dean.”

You moaned a little louder than you usually did, urging him on as he dived back into your pussy. It’s not like you’d never been tongue fucked before, but you’d never been eaten like this. Overwhelmed was the only word you could think of to describe it, but you didn’t want it to stop.

Head lolling back against the mattress, the hand holding the camera dropped. Dean moved swiftly, taking it from your hand and angling it down to where he was flicking his tongue against your clit.

“There are various techniques to eating it,” Dean told the camera. “My personal fave is sucking on the clit; it drives women crazy.”

Dean wrapped his lips around your exposed clit, sucking harder than before. He panned the camera over to catch your reaction, your back arched off of the bed, breathing heavily.

Panning the camera back, he wiggled his eyebrows.

All other vocabulary minus ‘fuck’ and ‘Dean’ left your mind, unable to form rational thoughts as he flattened his tongue on your clit, moving it over you as he tested how much pressure you needed.

“It’s all about getting the right pressure,” he said around your clit.

“Like that~,” you told him, hips grinding on his tongue. “Don’t stop.”

And Dean didn’t, he kept that exact pressure on you. he could feel that you were close, your thighs were shaking around his head, your moans unabashedly falling from your lips.

Flipping the orientation of the camera, he recorded your face as you cried out with your orgasm. Your body twitched with the unexpected force of it for a while.

“And that is how you make your girl cum,” he said to the camera. “Ready to go again?”

Your father made an unwarranted visit to the rink today. His visit, like always, sent you both into a downward spiral. A piece of you screams that you should stay and be there for your brother. Another piece says it is selfish to pretend you are spending the night at Hannah's, knowing that you are essentially taking away his ability to seek comfort from her tonight, too.

But then, you remind yourself of how he shut down the second you left the ice. He refused to talk, insisting he wanted to be left alone. If he is going to shut the both of you out anyway, you might as well seek out your own comfort.

Garrett leans against the doorframe, checking his watch. “I could drop you off, you know,” he offers, his voice carrying that familiar heavy protectiveness that always flares up whenever your father tries to force his way back into your lives.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” you say, your voice unnecessarily short as the guilt of your deception pricks at your conscience. The screen of your phone illuminates, a little banner reading ‘Your Uber has arrived’. “Plus, my Uber is here, so...”

Lifting your fakely packed overnight bag higher onto your shoulder, you step out onto the porch. Garrett follows you.

“Text me when you get there,” he calls out.

“I will,” you promise. You turn to walk down the steps, but a sudden surge of guilt stops you in your tracks. You turn back, catching his worried gaze. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Garrett says, a fond smile briefly touching his lips.

Over his shoulder, through the still-open front door, you catch Dean lounging on the sofa in the living room. His posture is relaxed, his eyes casually tracking the scene, but there is a knowing smirk on his face as he pretends not to listen in.

Only once you’ve climbed into the waiting Uber and it’s pulling away from the curb does Garrett finally close the front door.

Once you are halfway down the block, you tap on the driver’s shoulder. “Could you just drop me off around the corner? You don’t need to cancel the trip, though.”

“Sure thing, miss,” the driver replies with a nod, turning the next corner. You step out onto the quiet street and pull out your phone, quickly firing off a text to Hannah.

You (20:40): left about a min ago, still okay to cover for me??

Hannah (20:41): Always. I’ve got you covered if he calls.

You (20:42): thanks sis❤️

You double back, moving quietly until you reach the rear of the hockey house. The metal of the fire escape is cold beneath your boots as you climb upward, aiming for Dean’s second-floor window. As expected, he’s left it cracked open just for you.

He’s cleared the stuff from the table under the windowsill, so you’re able to quietly slip inside the dark bedroom. You don’t need to turn on the light; you know your way around well. Moving in the dim light of the hallway spilling through the doorway, you strip off your clothes, leaving yourself in just your panties and a matching bra, as you slip beneath the cool sheets of his bed.

Downstairs, the house is alive with commotion as they start to pregame for their night out. You hear Garrett saying he’ll meet them out, but the way he storms up the stairs and slams the door tells you he’ll likely spend the rest of the night locked up in his room.

“I’m not out tonight boys,” Dean’s voice floats up from the bottom of the stairs, dripping with faux-exhaustion. “Some of us actually worked hard at practice today.”

There’s a series of boos and loud, mocking groans from Tucker and Logan.

It feels like an agonisingly long wait as you lay in the dark, waiting for Dean to come up. A minute later, the bedroom door pushes slightly open as Dean slips into the room.

“You took your time,” you hiss quietly once he’s closed the door.

He chuckles, pulling off his shirt in the dark. “Sorry. Wasn't easy to convince them that I'm sleepy at nine fucking thirty. I’m pretty sure Graham saw right through me.”

“Are you scared of Garrett?” you ask, watching as he strips out of his trousers.

“He’s a psycho when it comes to you and Hannah,” Dean admits, a dry laugh escaping his lips as he crawls into bed beside you. He pulls the covers off of you and gives an approving nod as he notes your matching set. “Hot.”

He pulls you closer, shifting so that he’s on top of you. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, breath hitching as you watch his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Usually, you tried to avoid kissing Dean, it brought about feelings you were too scared to try and dissect. But he kissed you now and you welcomed it. His body is warm against yours, the kiss so messy and passionate that it leaves your mind dizzy.

He pulls away from the kiss and an uncomfortable feeling of pride settles within you as you see how utterly dishevelled he looks, his eyes lidded and lips swollen.

“Do you wanna talk about today?” he asks gently.

The mention of the day immediately sours your mood. The sudden anxiety and old family baggage come rushing back, and even though you know Dean is just trying to be supportive, the frustration immediately takes over.

You push slightly against his chest. “If I wanted to talk, it wouldn’t be with you.”

“Oh. Ouch,” he says, looking genuinely wounded.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you sigh, the tension turning into exasperation. “I just meant if I needed to address my daddy issues, I’d do that with a licensed therapist or some shit.”

“Daddy Dean can help,” he offers, his eyes flashing with a playful glint.

“And just like that, I’m dry,” you deadpan.

He reaches between your bodies, touching the damn of your panties. “The lie detector determined...”

“Dean.”

He laughs, a deep rumble vibrating against your chest. “I just mean I can be there for you.”

“I know, Dean,” you whisper, shifting closer to look into his eyes. “But right now, I just need you here.”

Dean closes the distance between you again. This time, he kisses you with deliberate purpose. It’s a kiss meant to prove a point, an unspoken promise that he can be so much more to you than just a fun hookup or your brother's teammate.

His hands are warm and sure as they glide over your skin, touching you everywhere apart from where you need them. He traces the curve of your waist, the line of your ribs, his fingers brushing the waistband of your lace panties before maddeningly pulling away to map the skin of your thigh.

“Dean,” you whisper against his mouth, a quiet plea wrapped in a gasp. You tug at his hair, trying to pull him down, trying to force him to skip the foreplay and just give you the distraction you are craving.

He hums against your lips. “That desperate for me, Graham?”

“Shut up,” you breathe, shifting your hips against his.

He whines softly as you keep shifting your hips up into him.

“How do you want it?” He manages out.

“I just need you to fuck me, and I don’t want it slow.”

Dean does as he’s told, shedding off his boxers before helping you out of your panties. “I’ll kiss you next time, baby,” he says to your pussy before lining himself up to your entrance, and bottoming out. Dean holds himself there for a few seconds, pupils blown.

“Move,” you whined, purposely clenching around him.

Dean grips your hips, fingers sinking into your skin with a pressure that you know will leave a bruise. He snaps his hips into you at a relentless pace, just as you asked. Your body and mind is consumed with him, the little grunts and pants he lets out as he gives you all he can.

It’s exactly as you wanted, hard and fast and makes you forget your own name. Your body revels in the burn of being used like this. You look down and watch as his length disappears within you, reaching the spot that had you seeing stars easily.

No amount of biting your lip is able to stop the loud moan that rips from your throat. Dean instantly leans over you, his palm covering your mouth as he keeps fucking into you.

“Shh, baby,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “They’ll hear you.”

He doesn’t move his palm from your mouth or take his eyes off of you as he keeps fucking you. Sweat’s rolling down his neck now, dampening his hair. A sudden burning desire to pull him closer, to lick the sweat off of his neck before kissing him deeply hits you.

“Do you want to cum?” He asks, ever so considerate.

You nod against his palm and he reaches between your bodies, three fingers pressing down as he rubs on your clit.

You cum as quietly as you can, biting down on his palm to keep quiet. As you come down from your high, he finally moves his hand from your mouth, his fingers locking with yours against the pillows.

When he finally cums in you, he holds you fiercely. It’s too much, too intimate. His hips move slower and with a passion that forces you to feel every single second of his orgasm.

The adrenaline fades, and the reality of the evening comes crashing back down on you. The heavy weight of the day hits you all at once, made worse by Dean’s spoken, and unspoken, confessions. You can feel the tears begin to prick at your eyes.

Before anything can truly settle, you slide out from beneath him, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of the cum dripping from your hole. You stand up and immediately start grabbing your clothes from the floor, pulling them on with hurried, trembling fingers.

Dean props himself up on his elbow, watching your frantic movements in the dark. “Wait, where are you going?”

You had planned to spend the entire night here, tucked safely away in his bed, but you can't breathe in this room anymore.

“I’m going to Hannah’s,” you say, your voice tight as you pull your shirt over your head.

“But I thought you were going to stay?” Dean asks, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looks up at you.

“I don’t think I can,” you say softly, unable to meet his eyes.

“Please don’t leave,” he begs. The vulnerable tone in his voice is a rare thing, and it is almost enough to pull you right back into the bed, back into the safety of his arms.

But the voice in your head is too loud. “Sorry, but I have to.”

You pull on the last of your clothes and grab your overnight bag. He doesn’t stop you as you climb back down the metal fire escape. Tears stream down your face as you pull out your phone, typing in Hannah's address to call an Uber for real this time.

Allie slid her fingers out of you and laid back on the mattress. “Then come and sit your pretty pussy on my face.”

Climbing to your knees with shaky limbs, you moved until you were straddling her breasts. The way she looked down at you sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, your tired clit throbbing again.

“Please let me touch you,” you begged, desperate to show her how grateful you are for how well she’s taken care of you.

Cupping her hands under your cheeks, she gave a gentle slap to your ass and completely ignored your plea. “Don’t make me wait, baby.”

At her command, your body moves automatically, moving forward until your knees were bracketing her head.

“Keep your eyes on me, my sweet girl,” Allie commanded as you lowered onto her waiting mouth.

The first touch of her tongue to your soaked folds almost had you seeing stars. She lapped at you eagerly, licking over your hole as her nose rubbed against your clit.

“Oh my God, Al~,” you whined, forcing yourself not throw your head back in pleasure.

Despite the fact that you’d already came twice, the pleasure, and desperation, you felt was still just as intense. You unashamedly rode her face, wantonly moaning at every swipe of her tongue, never taking your eyes off of hers.

“Look at my pretty girl,” she praised around your pussy, sending tingles up your body.

“I love you, Allie,” you said, overcome with emotion as you looked down into her eyes. She looked drunk off of you. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby,” she replied, hands coming to squeeze your nipples.

She knew how sensitive you were there, so she pinched your nipples hard, rolling them between her fingers and flicking at them.

“Fuck~,” you whined, thighs trembling around her face as you felt the pleasure building up already. “You take care of me so well.”

Using two fingers to spread your folds, you leant forward slightly, silently begging for her attention on clit. Finally giving it attention, she bit ever so softly on the throbbing bundle of nerves.

You cried out, the pleasure becoming too much at once.

Allie kissed your clit before sucking it gently into her mouth, alternating between circling her tongue and sucking on it. You could hear her moaning softly beneath you, enjoying the taste of your juices on her tongue.

It only made the ache between your legs stronger, and so you begged for her to keep going, for her to squeeze your nipples tighter, for her to moan louder so the sweet sound could fill your ears.

She pulled off of your clit to mumble, “cum on my face, baby, make a mess.” Before latching on again, tongue flicking over your clit as her hands played with your nipples.

The coil snapped almost immediately.

“Fuck, ngh, fuck~.”

Your vision went spotty as you came on her face, thighs clamping around her head. She kept her mouth on you through it, drinking it up as you grinded on her face through the crashing waves of pleasure.

Your body fell forward, exhausted and completely spent.

Allie groaned at the sight of how wrecked she made you, “that’s my girl.”

However, every time your mind tries to drive your attention back to the open textbook in front of you, your gaze keeps shifting lower, completely captivated by the view on the floor.

Logan is shoved halfway under the kitchen sink.

He’s wearing a fitted maroon t-shirt that spreads tightly across his shoulders every time he strains against a stubborn pipe. Whenever he lifts his arms, the shirt lifts too, exposing the patch of skin just above where his faded jeans are hugging his waist. You see the patch of hair that leads down his stomach, like an arrow directing you to look at where one of your favourite body parts of him lies.

It's really not your fault. You really did have the best study intentions.

A stray smudge of grease is smudged against his forehead. And his brown curls look messy from rubbing against the bottom of the cabinet. He holds a massive pair of pliers in one hand, propping himself up on one elbow to look up at you with a cocky grin.

“Take a picture, babe. It’ll last longer,” he teases.

You shake your head out of your daydream, pressing your thighs together and shifting in your seat.

“I might just have to,” you reply, leaning your chin on your hand. “I forgot about how handy you were.”

Logan tosses the pliers into the open, rusted red toolbox by his hip.

“Yeah, the P-trap was leaking, and Tucker was complaining about the smell. Figured I’d take care of it. Didn’t realise it would turn you on so much otherwise I’d have done it earlier.” He’s got a stupid cocky grin on his face that he totally deserves to be wearing, you’re practically drooling.

“I never said it turned me on,” you lie.

There’s just something intensely, undeniably, absolutely attractive about seeing him handle tools, the effortless confidence with which he fixes things. You start thinking about all the things in your dorm that you could break, just so you could ask him to come and fix it.

Logan slides out from under the sink, standing up to wash his hands. He turns back to you, leaning against the counter as he dries his hands on a towel.

“You didn’t have to say it.” He sets the towel down beside him. “Come here.”

He curves his index finger, gesturing you over.

“Logan, we’re in the middle of the kitchen,” you protest weakly, even as you slide off of the barstool and walk over to him. “Anyone could walk in.”

“Garrett’s out with Hannah, Tucker’s with Sabrina, and Dean is... well who knows where Dean is but it’s not here,” Logan murmurs. He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of your shorts, tugging you flush against his chest. The faint scent of motor oil and copper mixed with his clean cologne wraps around you like a vice. “We’re fine.”

Before you can argue any further, his mouth crashes into yours. It’s demanding and makes you completely forget what you were even protesting about. You whimper into his mouth, your hands instantly finding their way into his soft hair and tugging at it.

His hands slide down to rest firmly on your ass. He gives it a little squeeze before giving it a slap.

“You have no idea how hard it was to focus on that pipe with you watching me like that,” he murmurs against your lips.

You yelp as Logan’s hands cup under your ass, lifting you up to set you on the kitchen counter. He begins to trail light kisses along the inside of your knee, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Logan,” you breathe out, your head tilting back, “We really shouldn’t. Someone is going to-.”

“I told you,” he interrupts, his breath warm against your skin as he moves his path higher. “Nobody is home.”

Pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, he pulls your shorts and underwear off swifty.

You lay back, your head resting on top of the long-forgotten textbooks and other stationary.

Logan spreads your legs further, appreciating how you’re already clenching without him even really doing anything.

“Logan~,” you breathe, your hand reaching down to try and find his head so you can push him into you.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

He lifts up your shirt, pressing a kiss to your bellybutton before kissing a slow trail down.

When you finally think he’s going to kiss you where you’re aching, he moves to your inner thigh, pressing kisses and sucking on the skin there.

“Logan~~,” you whine, louder this time. You’re becoming desperate for it.

“Say my name again,” he says against your thigh. He’s so close to where you need him, his warm breath fanning over you.

“Logan~, Logan~, Logan pleaseee,” you chant.

You bite back a moan as blows on your throbbing clit. He does that a few more times, each time leaning back to admire how your muscles contract.

Before you can beg him again, he finally takes your clit into his mouth. He’s gentle with it, giving you a soft suck before releasing it. He tongues his way down to your whole, lapping up your arousal.

“Mhmm, you taste so good, baby.” He swipes a finger up between your folds, coating his finger in your arousal. “Have a taste.”

He leans over, putting his finger in your mouth. Keeping your eyes firmly on him, you suck it into your mouth.

“See how good you taste?” He asks, his voice heavy with need.

You hum around him finger and he looks back at you with a proud look on your face.

Pulling his finger out of your mouth, he settles back between your legs. Lewd, wet, sounds fill the large room as he laps at your pussy.

Your back arches and your finders find his hair as he sucks on your clit again.

“You like that, baby?” He asks.

“Yes~ I’m dripping wet,” you respond.

Just as you start to feel the pleasure coiling, the heavy front door swings open, the sound echoing into the kitchen.

“Yo! Anyone home? I brought food.”

It’s Dean.

Panic hits you like a bucket of ice water. You try to scramble back on the counter, your face flushing a deep, vivid red.

“Logan! Move, it’s Dean!” You hiss frantically.

Instead of jumping up, Logan’s grip on your thighs only tightens. You can’t help but moan as he licks at you again.

Dean rounds the corner, a brown paper bag in one hand and half-eaten chip in the other. He stops dead, taking in the entire scene. You, breathless and dishevelled on top of the kitchen island, and Logan, face pinned between your knees.

Logan lifts his head to look at Dean, his chin and lips are glistening and there’s a line of spit connecting his lips to your pussy. You freeze, hiding your face in your hands.

Dean lets out a loud whoop!

“Well, well, well,” Dean sings, leaning casually against the wall. He casts his eyes over the tools on the floor. “I knew you were handy, Logan, but I didn’t know you offered full-service plumbing. I guess when duty calls...”

“Dean, oh my God, go away!” You squeak, face still hidden behind your hands.

“Hey, don’t mind me! You carry on.” Dean laughs, completely unbothered. “In the kitchen? Respect.”

Before Dean’s even gone, Logan face is already buried back between your legs.  

“See ya later, lovebirds!” Dean struts up the stairs, leaving the two of you alone.

You bite down on your forearm as Logan sucks on your clit again.

“Don’t go quiet on me now, let him hear how wet I get you.” There’s a glint in Logan’s eye, he obviously thrives on this.

The tension leaves your shoulders as Logan works two fingers into you. His tongue presses flat against your clit as he shakes it side to side. It doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build up again, his fingers scissoring and curving inside of you.

You’re babbling now, trying to find the words to articulate what you need from him, you’re on the edge, you’re so close. But he knows what you need and with one final flick of his tongue, electricity runs through your body.

You see stars under the force of your orgasm. Your entire body jerking as you scream Logan’s name.

He holds you close until your pulse begins to slow, telling you how beautiful you look when you cum.

He slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, a smug look of satisfaction on his still shiny face. He stands up, smoothing his shirt. The evidence of his excitement is clear.

He wiggles his eyebrows at you. Just before you’re about to speak, a loud shout echoes down the stairs.

“Hell yeah, Logan. Let’s goooo!” Dean yells through his closed bedroom door.

Luckily for you, the project partner that you had been assigned was the most dedicated of students. For any one idea or piece of research you contributed, Luca contributed two more. The only catch was, his schedule only aligned with yours during evenings and weekends.

That’s why, for the last two weeks straight, your social life had basically been non-existent. You spent all of your free hours hunched over textbooks, creating and scrapping PowerPoint presentations, and trying to understand research articles written by people with decades more experience than you had.

You and Luca were creating something you felt truly proud of, the hours and sacrifices you were making made sense.

Unluckily for Luca, he also had the misfortune of being genuinely funny, annoyingly handsome, and completely oblivious to the fact that the men you usually spent a significant amount of time with were... territorial.

Admittedly, giving enough attention to your two needy men was a challenge you were losing recently. You often went back to your dorm exhausted, having only managed to send a few texts to the group chat before falling into deep sleep.

On the rare occasions they did finally catch you, like today, you were usually about to rush back off to the library.

“Again?” Dean asked, arms crossed as he leant against your dorm room doorframe. “You’re going to spend time with him again?”

Your eyes narrowed at the accusatory tone. You cared for Dean, more than you could admit out loud without having spoken to Beau about it first, but he had no right to be implying whatever it was that he was implying.

“That’s usually how group projects work, Dean.”

Beau scoffed from where he was lounging on your bed and Dean turned to glare at him.

“You think this is funny, Maxwell?” Dean asked, his voice devoid of its usual teasing angle. “Because I’m failing to see the punchline here.”

Beau rolled his eyes, tossing his phone onto the mattress, the relaxed posture he’d had gone. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m not laughing at you.”

“I called you three times last night,” Dean said, turning back to look at you. “Every single time, it went straight to voicemail. Then I get a text at two in the morning telling me how you were still with Luca?”

A sharp spike of annoyance hit your chest, masking the sudden heavy ache of guilt that was rising. “I just want to pass the semester, Dean. We’re only focused on working.”

“Right...” Dean mocked, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. “With a man who happens to be a 6’2 varsity athlete who keeps his desk close enough to touch your shoulder. I know his game. I know the type. I am the type.”

“You’re being unreasonable,” you retorted, your fingers gripping the strap of your backpack. “If you can’t trust me to sit in a brightly lit library with a classmate, then we have much bigger problems.”

“It’s not about trust,” Dean growled. The defensive mask he always wore was slipping, revealing the terrifyingly fragile insecurity beneath it. He hated how much he cared about someone he technically wasn’t in a relationship with. He hated that another man was occupying your mind. “He’s looking at you, he’s making you laugh, and you’re letting him take up every single second of your day while we’re left with whatever scraps you have left.”

The heavy silence that followed Dean’s words was suffocating, ringing in your ears like the aftermath of a physical blow. You felt an uncomfortable and nauseating swirling in your stomach, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs as you stared at the raw hurt on his face.

“Scraps?” You whispered, looking between the two of them, it wasn’t fair that you felt guilty right now. “Is that really what you think this is?”

“Isn’t it?” Beau’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “Dean’s acting like an asshole, but he isn't entirely wrong. You come back here, you drop your bag, you sleep for eight hours, and then you leave again. We barely see you.”

You looked at Dean, waiting for his face to break out in a smile or a teasing wink that told you he was just messing with you. But it wasn’t there, his face was tense, lips pressed into a thin, straight line.

Even worse, when you looked at Beau, his face mirrored Dean’s.

“I have a deadline,” you said, your voice trembling as you adjusted the heavy strap of your backpack. “A deadline that dictates seventy percent of my grade. If I don't go right now, I'm letting Luca down, and I'm ruining my own semester.” You turned to look directly at Dean, your tone turning sharp. “And honestly, Dean, you don’t get to be jealous. I don’t want to get into this with either of you right now.”

Dean flinched at your words, his jaw tightening so hard it looked painful. A flash of raw, ugly envy crossed his features before he forced his wall back up.

“We’re just... feeling a bit neglected, babe,” Beau said, his tone softening. He looked at your tight grip on the backpack strap and sighed heavy. “Look, I get it. I know it’s seventy percent. I know you’re stressed out of your mind trying to pass this class, and we want you to. We’re proud of how hard you work. It’s just... we miss you. Just go finish it, okay? We’ll be right here when you’re done.”

The sudden reassurance made a tight knot in your chest dissolve, the wave of relief hitting you instantly. You managed a small nod toward him. “I miss you too. I promise, the second it’s submitted, I’m all yours.”

You looked over at Dean, but he still wasn’t making eye contact with you.

You opened your mouth to say something. To defend yourself, or maybe to tell him how much you actually missed him. But you hadn't officially spoken to Beau about what Dean meant to the two of you yet. You were still operating in this grey, unlabelled, territory where Dean joined you on weekends, and the weight of what you wanted to say felt too massive to drop now.

“I’m leaving,” you said, turning on your heel.

Dean let out a bitter laugh, stepping back just enough to clear the doorway. “Right. God forbid you keep Luca waiting.”

You didn’t look back as you pushed past Dean and stepped into the hallway. The walk to the campus library was a blur of angry tears and a suffocating weight in your chest. You spent the next four hours staring at a laptop screen next to Luca, but your mind was back in your dorm.

The next day, you’d finally submitted the final draft of your project. You didn’t go back to your dorm, opting to immediately make your way to the hockey house. You shot a quick text to Beau, asking him to meet you there.

When you pushed open the door to Dean’s bedroom, Beau was already there, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Dean was stretched out on the other side of the bed, his back resting against the headboard with his headphones around his neck, staring blankly at his phone screen.

“It’s done?” Beau looked up at you.

“It’s done,” you breathed, stepping into the room. “We submitted it.”

You waited for Dean to look up, to offer a sarcastic comment or a lazy smirk, but he didn't even move. He kept his eyes pinned to his phone.

“Dean, what’s up? Please look at me.”

Dean slowly lowered his phone, his eyes flicking to yours. “Congrats. I’m happy for you.”

His voice sounded anything but happy.

Your eyes flicked over to Beau’s, you weren’t sure you understood what was happening here, but clearly, he did.

“I think you’re going to need to fill in the blanks for her, Dean,” Beau said.

“You told me I don’t get to be jealous,” Dean whispered. “And you’re right, aren’t you? I don’t. I’m not your boyfriend.”

“Oh.” You felt the oxygen rush out of your body. “No, Dean, that’s not what I meant. I–.”

“It’s fine,” Dean cut you off. He tossed his phone onto the blankets and stood up from the bed. “People come to me for a good time, not a long time or a serious time. And that’s fine by me.”

It clearly wasn’t fine by him. His jaw was ticking again.

“Dean, I don’t see you like that, we don’t see you like that,” you said, gesturing between you and Beau. “I just meant you didn’t get to be jealous of me and Luca, when I saw you and some puck bunny laughing it up the other day.”

Dean’s head snapped to your direction.  

“You... what?” Dean stammered, his arms slowly uncoiling from his chest.

“I saw you by the athletic centre on Wednesday afternoon,” you confessed, the words spilling out fast. “You were laughing with some blonde and she was practically throwing herself at you. I was stressed out of my mind about this project, completely exhausted, and then I see you doing that. So, when you started interrogating me about Luca, I snapped. I said you didn't get to be jealous because I was hurting.”

From the edge of the mattress, Beau snorted. He rubbed a hand over his face, a look of profound relief softening his features. “Jesus Christ, you two are idiots.”

“I don't even remember her name,” Dean whispered. “We spoke about the game, that’s it. I swear.”

“Okay.” Is all you said.

“Okay?” Dean asked.

“Yes. Okay.”

Dean’s brows furrowed at your cryptic words.

“I think what she’s trying to say, in a non-emotionally constipated way, is,” Beau said, coming over to wrap an arm around you, “we like you and it’s about time we’re absolutely clear on what we want.”

“Exactly,” you agreed softly, leaning into Beau’s sturdy side.

Dean’s throat bobbed, his shoulders dropping. “What do you want?”

“I want you to be our boyfriend,” you said clearly, making sure every single syllable sank in. “Officially. Publicly. Will you?”

Lifting you by the waist, Dean positions you over Beau, who’s lying flat on the mattress. You’re already aching, your pussy quivering as you’re suspended over Beau. You can hear him breathing heavily under you, eager to have a taste, and it’s driving you insane.

“Wait-” you call shakily, you’re not fully seated yet but Beau’s already lifting his head, trying to lick at you. “Ahh, Beau.”

“I want you to smother him,” Dean whispers into your ear as he lowers you down fully over Beau. “He can take it.”

“I can, I can take it,” Beau tells you; his breath is hot against your core and you shiver. Strong hands come to spread you open as Beau sucks on your clit. He’s relentless, sucking and flicking his tongue where you’re most sensitive.

Hinging forward, you press your chest against Beau’s stomach, ass rising to the air as your forearms press into the mattress to hold yourself up. As Beau’s tongue continues to move over you, you reach out, lazily dragging your hand along his length and teasing the tip.

From behind, Dean has the perfect view of you spread open, dripping and ready for him. Your hole clenches as you feel Dean’s finger slide alongside Beau’s tongue. You won’t last long like this.

“Dean, please,” you beg, “I won’t last much longer, fuck me. Please,” your voice quivers, and it sends jolts of electricity down their spines.  

“So, so, needy,” Dean teases. He grabs hold of your waist and slowly drags his dick along your folds. “Are you ready for me?”

You whine in response. It’s a redundant question, he knows. Your folds are glistening, drenched in your excitement.

Over Beau’s head, he lines himself up and slowly sinks himself into your wet, hot, pussy. His eyes flutter shut as you squeeze around him. “So tight, so perfect,” he whimpers.

The praise has you pushing your hips back into him. He fills you up completely, thick and veiny. The dual attention leaves you dizzy, Dean slowly rocking into you as Beau’s tongue circles your clit again. Your thighs quivering around Beau’s face.

Tears prick your eyes in frustration as Beau’s mouth leaves yours. You were so close, “why,” you whine. Beau tilts his head up, tongue coming to where Dean disappears inside of you. As Dean plunges into you, Beau licks along the vein of his dick.  

Dean pulls back slowly, letting the tip catch on you.

“Look at our greedy girl clenching around nothing.” You never should have let them know just how much you like it when they’re mean and teasing.

“I know you want to see your boyfriend taste you on my cock,” Dean speaks to you sweetly, a stark contrast to the lewd things coming from his mouth.

“I do,” you whine. You want to turn, but Dean keeps one hand pressed against your lower back. Beau’s got his arms locked around your waist too.

You can hear the sound of slurping, as Beau tastes you on his ‘best friend’.

Desperate for some friction, to be touched, you grind down on Beau’s chin.

“Ow, are we not paying you enough attention?”  

“Please,” you sob. They’ve been edging you for almost half an hour now, bringing you close then leaving you dry. You need to cum.

“Ok, I’ve got you.”

Dean slides back into you as Beau takes your clit in his mouth again. Both moving with renewed vigour and a determination to make you cum.

“I could stay like this forever, buried deep inside you. I never want to leave.”

“Mhm,” Beau agrees around your clit.

Nails digging into Beau’s thighs, your mouth falls open as you wantonly moan.

You can tell Dean’s close as his thrusts get sloppy. He practically folds over you as he buries himself into you.

“F-Fuck, I’m… Fuckkkk.” Dean holds you in place as he squirts ropey cum into you. You feel the coil tightening in your belly, the pleasure rising up your body at the feeling of being so full and so surrounded.

“Yes, yes, I’m gonna-” your words cut off as your orgasm crashes over you. You collapse forward, falling onto Beau as you clench around Dean’s softening erection. He winces, he’s too sensitive but he doesn’t want to come out of you yet.

“That’s it, cum for us,” Dean coos, your body twitching as you come down.

Beau keeps his mouth on you throughout, not sucking, just on you gently. You hiss as Dean slides out, somehow feeling over and under stimulated at the same time. His cum leaks out of you, dripping onto Beau’s face.

You’re given no more time to rest as Dean lifts you by the waist again. You’re not small, but you’re flung around like you’re weightless. The joys of being with athletes, you muse to yourself as you’re flipped over.

There’s a lewd squelch as you’re lowered down onto Beau’s still stiff erection. A mixture of your wetness and Dean’s leftover cum making it an easy slide down him.

You’re spent but you want to do this for Beau. You lean forward, hands resting on his chest as you grind down into him. You rock your hips a few times, Beau’s dick circling around your walls.

Beau looks up at you, dark pupils blown as he takes you in.

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is strained.

Pulling you down so you’re chest to chest, Beau plants his feet on the mattress and fucks up into you. Each thrust sends Dean’s load deeper into you.

Despite your fatigue, when he hits that sweet spot inside you, you feel the coil start to tighten again.  

Dean’s fingers slide in between you two. He knows just the right amount of pressure to apply, just the right way to circle you, and just the things to whisper to you, to get you to cum again. You cry out against Beau’s shoulder.

Your pussy is swollen and sensitive but Beau’s so close.

“Please… I can’t,” your voice is hoarse, your body is tingling.

“You can,” Dean calls. “You can take it.” He strokes your cheek, it’s soft and intimate. If you really couldn’t take it, you knew the word to say to get all activity to stop. They know you know it, you confirmed it before you started this, so Beau continues pounding into you through your whines.

“I’m almost there,” Beau grunts.

Beau spills inside of you, his cum mixing with Dean’s inside of you. You feel him twitch inside of you as he continues shooting ropey cum into you. You’re sticky, hole overflowing with cum, but content.

As aways, Dean’s ready with a warm washcloth to clean you up.

Beau rolls out of the bed to open the window. He spots your book, the one that inspired today’s activities and smiles fondly.

“This book of yours is incredible,” Beau says, flipping through the pages.

“Yeah, big fan,” Dean smirks, “What’s next?”

After all, the other guys were supposed to be away.

You skip all the way to the fridge, with a stupid grin on your face, opening it and pulling out the carton of orange juice. Fucking not one, but two, athletic men is really doing wonders for your mood. Now you walk around the house grinning and skipping and shit.

The sudden sound of your name coming from the living room makes you shriek and you spin around to see Garrett and Logan peaking their heads up from behind the sofa, wearing matching massive grins.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you mumble as your cheeks flush. You’re wearing nothing but Dean’s shirt, not even bothering to put on underwear. The sudden draft on your bare legs leaves you feeling overly exposed.

Panicking, you set the carton down and desperately tug the hem of Dean’s shirt lower down your thighs.

“Didn’t expect us in the house that we actually live at?” Logan retorts, his lips still curved in a stupid grin.

Fair point. You don’t have an answer for that.   

Logan’s eyes narrow on you, studying your swollen lips and the love bite on your neck. “So... not that you aren’t welcome here, but what exactly are you doing here at...” he pauses to check his watch, “...seven in the morning, wearing Dean’s shirt?”

“It’s not Dean’s shirt,” you lie. A ridiculous lie considering the name DI LAURENTIS is stretched across your back in bold letters.

You can practically see the gears turning in Logan’s head as the puzzle pieces click together.

“Oh my God,” Logan gasps, his eyes widening. “Are you the source of all that noise last night?”

Your heart stops and your stomach flips. Every single incredibly lewd sound that you had made last night flashed through your mind with incredible clarity. The breathless begging, the unhinged moaning, the way your voice had cracked when they both went down on you.

‘Awesome,’ you think to yourself. ‘They heard everything.’

“I actually... don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” you choke out.

You’re not embarrassed for them to know that you both were with Dean, but you are embarrassed that your unfiltered moans have apparently become public knowledge.

When they both stare at you, you swallow hard. Surely it can’t get worse than this.

“Does... Does Beau know that you’re here?” Garrett asks. He doesn’t sound judgemental, but you can see the awkwardness written all over his face.

So, apparently it can get worse.

They think you’re cheating with on your boyfriend with his best friend. You have this sudden urge to leave the country, change your name, and never look back.

“Um. Yes. He knows,” you blurt out, desperate to clear your name and newfound reputation.  

Their eyes widen even further, Logan’s grin turning into a full-blown smirk. To them, this is the juiciest scandal of the year so far.

Logan turns to slap Garrett’s arm. “Dude, I fucking told you I heard another male voice coming from that room last night.” Spinning back to look at you, his face is completely lit up. “Beau was up there with you guys, wasn’t he?

When you freeze and offer no response, Garrett pipes up again. “Let me go get Tucker, he’s going to love this.”

As Garrett sprints down the hall to get Tucker, you scramble toward the staircase, still holding down the hem of Dean’s shirt.

“Dean! Beau!” You shout up the stairs, your voice cracking slightly. “Get down here right now. Please!”

Beau comes down the stairs first, running a hand down his face. Right behind him is Dean, his hair’s a mess. You wish he could have at least brushed it before he came down; the whole ‘thoroughly fucked bed hair’ isn’t making this any easier.

To top if off, both are dressed in only their boxers.

“What is all the screaming about?” Dean grumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He blinks, finally registering Logan leaning over the back of the couch. “Oh, you’re here!”

“Yeah, we’re back!” Logan cheers, practically vibrating with excitement.

“In fact, Dean,” you say through clenched teeth, “they were back last. night. So, they heard everything.”

Both Dean and Beau process that just as Garrett and Tucker stroll into the room. They take a seat on the couch next to Logan.

“Tucker’s all caught up now,” Garrett announces.

The three of them watch the three of you like a pack of hyenas, waiting to jump you.

“I’m just going to hang out down here if that’s okay with everyone,” you say as you drop to the floor behind the kitchen island, shielding yourself from their grins.

Beau moves to stand beside you, giving you a reassuring pat on the head as you crouch on the floor. Dean looks unbothered as he moves to the kitchen and begins pulling out breakfast ingredients.  

“Okay, I have so many questions,” Garrett begins, looking between Beau and Dean. “Is this like... a regular thing? Are you guys a trio or whatever?”

“Yeahhh, who initiated it?” Logan presses, his eyes sparkling. He turns to Beau. “Is Dean just crashing your relationship or is she dating both of you?”

You pull your knees up to your chest and bury your head there. Dean and Beau fly around the kitchen, still unbothered by the barrage of questions.

“Wait, I have a question,” Tucker calls out. “What happens if you get jealous? If you argue, who sides with who or are you not allowed to take sides?”

Dean turns to the group on the sofa. “You’re all thinking way too much. We all like each other. We all sleep together. It’s not that complicated.”

“I don’t know it seems kind of complicated,” Tucker mumbles under his breath.

“Well, I guess that explains why you’ve stopped hooking up with puck bunnies,” Garrett adds much louder. He looks way too deep in thought for such an unserious environment. “Actually, you’ve not brought a girl back in months. Is that how long this has been going on for?”

Logan snickers next to him. “Why bring another girl when he’s too busy stealing Beau’s?” He quickly holds up his hands when Beau glares at him. “Joke! It’s a joke!”

The trio continue to throw rapid-fire questions at Dean, who easily deflects them. Beau crouches next to you.

“Are you okay? Do you want to stand up now?” He whispers to you.

“I’m good down here, thanks. I think I’m just going to play dead until the room clears.” You genuinely do plan to hide here for as long as it takes. They had heard you begging!

Beau laughs a little. “Would it help if I went and got you some pants?”

You nod your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead before turning to run up the stairs and grab you something to wear.

Dean chuckles from the stove, flipping a rapidly burning pancake. “Look, maybe if you all had more interesting lives, you wouldn’t be so focused on ours.”

“Oh, so it’s ‘our’ life now,” Logan points out instantly. “You have a life together?”

You groan loudly, burying your face deeper into your knees.

Dean throws a grin over his shoulder. “You sound jealous. Don’t be. Not everyone can handle a crowd like I can.”

Beau jogs back down the stairs, tossing a pair of sweatpants over to you. You quickly scramble into them, finally feeling a fraction of your dignity return.

He slides onto the floor next to you, pulling you into his side. “They still giving you a hard time?”

You give him a look that says, what do you think?

Jumping up, Beau looks over to the trio on the sofa. “Are you all bored yet? We’d like to eat breakfast in peace.”

Logan sighs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”

The trio on the sofa turn to face away from you.

“Wanna play NHL?” Tucker asks, already getting up to grab the controllers and turn on the TV.

Logan’s focus shifts immediately as the TV screen flashes with the game’s start up menu. Within minutes, they are completely locked into their match, shouting at the screen and trading insults as if the morning’s interrogation had never happened.

You let out a long heavy breath, your shoulders finally dropping as the spotlight is away from you.

You stand up and stretch before taking a seat next to Dean. Beau’s taken over the cooking, and he slides a stack of unburnt pancakes towards you. “Eat up, sweetheart. You had a busy night.”

You roll your eyes, a small laugh escaping your lips as you take a bite.  

But, in other ways, it was the most disorientating transition of your life. The deeply embedded envy that used to make your chest feel hollow when you were around them was replaced by something so thick, something so intensely imitate, it left you so breathless you could hardly see straight.

Between your collective college classes, Dean’s demanding hockey schedule, Allie’s theatre rehearsals, and the exhaustion of navigating this newfound passion, the three of you had barely found a moment to breathe... let alone go out on a proper date.

Dean had been adamant about changing that. He demanded a real celebration.

Which was how you found yourself tucked into a plush leather booth in one of the finest restaurants in the city. Every where you turned was wealth and sophistication. The walls were a deep, rich, chocolate brown. On them, was fine art that looked like it cost more than your tuition. The melodic sound of a piano being played floated through the air, just loud enough to mask the low murmur of wealthy conversations around you.

You almost felt out of place being in a restaurant so luxurious, but, tucked into the booth with Dean and Allie by your side, you had never fit anywhere so perfectly in your life.

Allie was a vision next to you, wearing a long, classy but revealing dress with a slit on the side. You could feel the head of her bare leg pressed flush against yours beneath the table, hidden by the tablecloth.

Directly across from her sat Dean. He looked unnecessarily handsome, the top few buttons of his dress shirt left undone. He didn’t even look at the menu to order, instead keeping his eyes on you and Allie.  

“I’ll grab the next round,” you volunteered after the waiter cleared the dinner plates, offering them both a bright smile.

Allie shifted her legs slightly to let you slide out of the booth. “Hurry back, babe,” she murmured. “We miss you when you’re not here.”

You felt a giddy thrill run through you, making your skin tingle as you slid completely out of the booth. New relationship bliss was probably your favourite feeling in the world.

Reaching down, you pulled at the hem of the dress that Allie had spent hours helping you pick out for this occasion. It was short, silk against your skin, and hugging your curves in all the right places.

The bar area was a bit more crowded than the main dining area, but you could still see the booth where the three of you were sat from here. Looking back, you watched as Dean gently tucked a piece of hair behind Allie’s ear, their heads tilted close as they whispered across the table.

You were so busy watching them that you hadn’t noticed when a guy moved to stand next to you. He leant back against the bar, swirling his glass of what you assumed to be bourbon. He was undeniably attractive, and his lazily confident posture screamed ‘man with money’.

“A lady as stunning as you should not be waiting for her own drink,” he smooth-talked, tilting his head with an appreciative glint in his eyes. His voice sounded as expensive as he looked, and, had you not been in a committed relationship, you may have even bit.

But you were. So instead, you just laughed. The sound was light, the deliriousness from the excitement of the night and the few drinks you’d had coming through. Honestly, after weeks of hiding your feelings and feeling invisible, it just felt good to be noticed so openly.

“I appreciate the chivalry,” you replied, turning your body slightly towards him. “But I promise I’m tougher than I look. I can handle a busy bar.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second,” he chuckled, sliding a step closer. He raised a hand, immediately catching the attention of the bartender, he was obviously a regular. “But it’d be a crime if I didn’t try. I’m Nathan, what’s your name?”

Before you could answer, the bartender slid over. “What can I get for you?”

“Can I please have two margaritas and a lemonade, thanks!” You ordered cheerfully, before turning back to Nathan. “I’m actually here celebrating tonight.”

“Celebrating what?” Nathan asked. His eyes lingered on your lips, completely missing (or deliberately ignoring) the fact that you had ordered multiple drinks. His gaze slowly trailed the length of your dress before looking back up at. “An anniversary? A promotion? Or just the fact that you look absolutely incredible in that dress.”

You threw your head back, laughing softly at his boldness. “Just a good night out with... the people closest to me,” you said, pointing over to Dean and Allie.

Both you and Nathan looked over at them, your heart racing as you saw that they were no longer whispering to each other. Their eyes were locked on to you and Nathan from across the room. Dean’s jaw was tight, and Allie’s arms were crossed over her chest.  

“People... but not a boyfriend?” Nathan asked, ignoring the reactions from the booth, just as the bartender set the drinks down.

You didn’t give him an answer, focusing all your attention on balancing the drinks together in your hands. As you carefully walked away, you added, “It was nice meeting you, Nathan!”    

“The pleasure was all mine,” he replied.

You carefully set the three glasses down on the table, pretending like you didn’t notice how squared Dean’s shoulders were or how Allie watched you through narrowed eyes.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked once you’d settled back into the booth.

“Oh, come on! That was nothing,” you shrugged, trying to dismiss it as you pushed his class of lemonade over to him. “He was just being polite while I waited for the bartender.”

Allie didn’t even touch her margarita. She placed her hand on your thigh as she turned her body towards you. “He looked like he wanted to eat you alive, babe.” Her tone was deceptively sweet, but it was laced with a possessive edge. “And you were laughing.”

“I was just being polite, Al,” you whispered, looking between the two of them.

“I don’t like it when you’re polite,” Dean muttered.

“Yeah, I second that,” Allie added, her thumb pressing harder into your skin.

Before you could even attempt to defend yourself, the waiter reappeared. He was carrying a glass with a bright yellow liquid inside, placing it down in front of you with a soft clink.

“Compliments of the gentleman at the bar,” the waiter said, offering a professional smile as he discreetly pointed back towards the counter where Nathan was still standing. He then slid a white linen napkin across the table and left.

Written across it was a message: for you, love. i recommend the piña colada. it’s just as sweet as you look tonight. A phone number was scribbled at the bottom.

Your eyes went wide, breath catching sharply in your throat. “Oh my god.”

Dean’s hand shot across the table and snatched the napkin. He immediately started ripping at it. He looked disgusted as he balled up the shredded pieces and dropped them into his glass of water.

“Why the hell is he sending you drinks?” Allie seethed, her hand on your thigh tightening. “I thought he was just ‘being polite’?”

“Did you not tell him you were with us?” Dean leant forward over the table, his chest pressing against the edge, burning you with his gaze.

“Well... I said I was celebrating with... people-.”

“So,” Dean interrupted, “you didn’t tell him you were with-with us?”

“Well, no... Dean, it’s not the most natural thing to say to a stranger at a bar, is it?” You hissed back in a harsh whisper. “Hey, I’m here with my boyfriend AND my girlfriend and we’re celebrating our throuple.’’’

“Sounds completely natural to me,” Allie said, before turning her head to look across the table. “Right, babe?”

“Completely,” Dean agreed instantly.

“I guess we’ll just have to show him that you’re taken,” Allie added.

The two of them were a pair of opposites. While Dean’s expression had grown darker, more intense, Allie maintained her perfectly composed sweet smile, when she was thinking anything but sweetness. You didn’t know who to focus on; the two of them together were unpredictable.

Reaching out, Dean’s hand wrapped around the drink that Nathan had brought for you. He leant back against the cushion, his gaze locked on to Nathan from across the room. He took a deliberate sip, Adam’s apple dramatically bobbing as he swallowed hard. He raised the glass slightly, tipping it an inch towards Nathan in a mocking toast.

“Dean–.”

The name slipped out of your mouth as barely a breath. Underneath the heavy tablecloth, Allie’s hand was slowly sliding up your thigh, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. She angled her body toward you, using her shoulder to, mostly, blck the view of her arm from the rest of the restaurant.  

“Allie,” you whimpered quietly, your breath catching as her fingers began to trail the length of your folds right through the thin material of your underwear.

“Be natural, babe. Keep your eyes on Dean,” Allie murmured, her voice the definition of sweetness even as the pressure of her fingers increased.    

Your heart hammered violently against your ribs as you looked at Dean, desperately trying to not look as undone as you felt. Slouching down slightly in the booth, your legs parted naturally, giving Allie more access. you bit your lower lip hard, almost drawing blood, as her finger slipped past the lace of your panties, finding you slicker than you should be in a crowed, public, restaurant.

She played with your arousal, coating her fingers with it, before finding your clit and pressing down on it. “Don’t worry, babe. Nobody but Dean is watching.”

Across the table, Dean watched the subtle movement of Allie’s arm before his eyes flicked up to you, looking just in time to see your face break. He watched your eyelids frow heavy and hooded and your lips parted in a silent plea, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. He was getting hard just watching Allie pleasure you under the table, watching the way you tried so desperately to be discreet as you squirmed under her touch.   

Dean leant forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Shhhh,” he murmured, “Somebody’s going to hear you.”

Just then, Allie pushed the lace aside. She slid a wet finger deep inside you, curving it upward to press hard against your soft walls. Your head rolled weakly against the backrest of the booth as her finger moved back over your clit, driving you closer to an edge you couldn’t possibly go over in public.

“Dean,” you choked out, your hips helplessly twitching against Allie’s hand. “Please, I can’t.”

“Fuck,” Dean responded, voice dangerously low. “Okay, we need to go. Right now.”

Allie immediately pulled her finger from your underwear and turned to glance toward the bar. Nathan was still looking over; his eyes fixated on your side of the booth. She gave him a triumphant look as she popped her wet fingers into her mouth, sucking on them clean and shooting him a wink.

Dean quickly got out of the booth, walking with a slight limp as he made his way to the front of the restaurant to pay the bill.

In the booth, Allie waited a moment for you to gather yourself and pull back down the hem of your dress before getting out and reaching back to take your hand into hers.

The night was cool as it hit your face as you exited the restaurant, but it did nothing against the heat spreading through your body.

Nobody spoke as you hurried towards the car. Dean reached it first, yanking open the back door for you and Allie to climb in. The moment you were both in, he slammed the door shut and jogged around to the driver’s side. He threw the car into drive, the tires making a faint screech as he zoomed out of the parking lot.  

The moment the car cleared the street, Allie lunged across the backseat at you. Her body collied with yours, and you both let out breathless giggles as Dean made an aggressive turn that had you falling over each other.

Then, Allie’s mouth found yours in a frantic kiss. She kissed you like she had something to prove. Your hands instantly flew to tangle in her hair, fingers gripping the soft strands to pull her close. she kissed you until your chest heaved, her mouth sliding down to bury into the crook of your neck.

In the front seat, Dean’s knuckles were white as he tightly gripped the steering wheel. He tried to keep his eyes solely on the road but couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to the rearview mirror, watching you and Allie’s hands all over each other. The sight of you two, lost in the heat of the moment, made him push down on the accelerator, pushing to the speed limit.

The car had barely come to a stop before the doors flew open, the three of you desperate to get out. Allie reached for your hand again, her grip tight as she practically dragged you out of the back seat. Dean was already a step ahead, the keys jingling in his hand as he sprinted up the porch steps to shove the door open.  

Tucker and Logan were splayed out on the living room sofa; a video game controller in Logan’s hand.

They both blinked, looking up in surprise as the three of you moved through the foyer looking slightly dishevelled, and kicking off your shoes.

“Oh, hey,” Logan called out, pausing the game. “You guys are back early. How was the restaurant?”

Allie didn’t even bother to answer as she pulled you up the stairs.

“Mhm, great,” Dean grunted, following closely behind you both.  

“Try to keep it down up there!” Tucker shouted up the banister on a laugh.

An instant later, the muffled sound of the video game that they were playing spiked in volume. The sound blaring through the floorboards as Tucker and Logan turned up the game to protect their ears.

Dean didn’t bother to close the door as he moved to help Allie pull off your dress. For how tight it was, it dropped from your body easily.

Just as easily, Allie unclipped your bra and pulled it off. Dean was immediately on you then, hands caressing your tits as Allie undressed.

Once undressed, she crawled onto the bed and spread her legs. You and Dean watched as she touched herself, hands running down her body and dipping between her legs. She got herself real worked up. From where you both were watching, you could see her pussy glistening with her arousal.

“Please~,” she whined, hips rocking as she circled her clit faster. “I need– someone–.”

“You go,” Dean whispered, gently pushing you towards the bed.

You should have felt embarrassed by how fast you clambered towards the bed, crawling over her leg until you were at her waist. with one leg swung over her hip, you lined your pussy up with hers before pressing down into her.

You didn’t immediately find her clit, but your hole clenched as your slick folds slid over hers. She reached down to part herself with two fingers, exposing her clit.

Shifting your hips, you moved until you found the perfect angle that had your clits brushing against each other.

“Shit,” Allie breathed, her head lolling back.

Hooking one of her legs over your shoulder, you held on to that as you pressed your soaking pussy onto hers with more pressure. Your moans mixed at every grind of your hips, your clits sliding against one another’s creating a delicious friction.

“Thaaaaat’s it, baby,” you moaned as she bucked her hips up into you.

Beside the bed, Dean was sitting on the chair, cock thick and twitching in his hand as he jerked off to the sight of you rolling your hips down into Allie. The pleasure built with each movement of your hips, your soaked, aching, clits pressed tightly against each other.  

The room is filled with the wet sound of your pussies rubbing together, of your hips snapping against hers. Dean’s grunts were dwarfed by the sound of you & Allie’s gasps.  

“You’re so beautiful, babe.” Allie was looking up at you, eyes lustful but so sincere. It made more heat pool in your belly.   

“I love you, Al,” you stuttered into her ankle. You rolled your hips tighter now, circling her clit with yours.

“I’m going to cum,” she told you, “I’m going to make a mess all over your pussy.”

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” you rasped.

The pressure on Allie’s clit started to overwhelm her but her hips kept pushing up to meet yours. With one strong grind of your hips, the feeling pushed her over the edge. She screamed your name as she squirted into your pussy, warm, clear, liquid pooling between your bodies.

You felt her twitch and clench beneath you, the feeling sending you into overdrive. As she came down from her high, your hips sped up, desperately chasing your own release. But Allie grabbed at your hips, holding you still against her.

“Babe, lie back,” Allie said, voice still breathless, “I want to watch Dean fuck you.”

You nodded and looked over at Dean, who was already getting up and making his way to the bed. Allie shifted back slightly, propping herself up against the pillows. You settled between her spread legs; the back of your shoulders pressed against her stomach.

She hooked her legs over your thighs, spreading you wider for Dean who lined himself up.

“I won’t last long,” he warned as you felt him nudging at your entrance.

He sunk into you as slow as he could manage, your pussy so slick it made a squelching sound.

Allie couldn’t take her eyes off of the way your pussy swallowed him up, even she squeezed and rolled your nipples between her fingers.

“Please, I need to cum,” you begged. The fact that you hadn’t cum yet definitely felt like punishment from what happened at the restaurant.

“Okay, baby girl.” Allie reached down, her fingers immediately applying pressure to your clit.

At the same time, Dean thrust into you at a quicker pace. He wasn’t gentle either, each thrust pushed him deeper into you.

“Fuck, I’m already going to cum,” he grunted, brow furrowed.

He thrusted into you three more times before he filled you up with his release. His warm cum mixing with the remnants of Allie’s release.

Allie’s hands moved back to your nipples as Dean’s finger flicked over your clit. It wasn’t long before your back was aching up, body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Dean collapsed onto you, pinning you between his and Allie’s warmth. You could feel the mixture of releases dripping down you, settling onto the duvet. The three of you settled into a comfortable silence as you laid there in your own messes.

“Dude,” Tucker shouted, interrupting the peace, “close your fucking door!”

💭: allie is so hot wtf

However, in his defence, he had to come to here. The hockey house was almost impossible to study in. At any given hour of the day, someone was either fucking, yelling over a video game, or hosting a ‘small’ get-together that, more often that not, ended up with 50+ people taking over the living room.

So, here he was.

The campus library basement was unbearably quiet compared to what he was used to. Adjusting the heavy strap of his backpack, he wandered between the rows of desks, his eyes searching for any untaken spots. At this time of the day, most of the desks were already occupied by the organised students that had rushed to the library.

He was just about resigned to giving up and heading back to the chaos of the house when he finally spotted an opening... right across from you.

The quiet basement of the campus library was your sanctuary during midterms. It was the only place where the franticness of Briar U slowed down enough for you to actually get ahead on your readings.

Your desk was a testament to your love of organisation and control; three brightly coloured highlighters were aligned next to your notebook, your stack of case studies were meticulously tabbed with colour-coded sticky notes, and an iced matcha latte was dripping safely onto a napkin. You were in the zone, one hand absently twirling a black pen while the other carefully highlighted a paragraph in your textbook.

Logan’s eyes tracked the hypnotic spin of your pen for a second before he shook himself out of it. ‘Focus, Logan. Empty chair. Go.’ He walked over to your desk, intending to gently pull the chair out and carefully slide in as quietly as a 6’0” hockey player possibly could.  

Miscalculating how narrow the aisle was, as he turned to pull out the chair, his backpack slid down his arm and swung at the table like a wrecking ball.

Time seemed to slow down for a horrific second. The index cards you had on the edge of the table fluttered to the floor like confetti, the highlighters on your desk also dramatically scattered across the floor. Your drink rocked dangerously, only saved by your hand instinctively reaching for the cup before it could tip over.

Logan turned to look down at you. You weren’t looking up yet; you were just silently staring at the destruction of your stationary.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry,” Logan blurted out, his deep voice carrying far too loudly in the quiet of the library basement.

Your blinked, finally looking up to see Logan dropping down to his knees in the narrow aisle. His dark brown eyes were wide with panic as he began collecting your stuff.

“Somehow, you managed to knock over only the things that were perfectly organised,” you half-whispered.

“I noticed that,” Logan murmured quickly, a self-deprecating grimace touching his lips as he scrambled to gather a handful of your index cards. He paused, his eyes scanning the title of the index card in his hand. “‘Clinical Interventions for Performance Anxiety in Elite Athletes’ Huh. Heavy stuff.”

Logan tilted his head back, looking up at you from his position on the floor. The panic in his eyes melted when he saw you for the first time. He flashed you a smile that would probably work on you if you weren’t so guarded. “For the record, I don’t get performance anxiety.”

You leant your elbows on the desk, looking down at him with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. “Riiiiight. Anyways! You should probably pick that up.”

You gestured vaguely to a rogue highlighter that had rolled a good few metres away under an adjacent table.

Logan’s practiced smile faltered for a second, his posture freezing as he was caught off guard by your bluntness. He cleared his throat. “Right.”

He quickly retrieved the escaped highlighter, standing up to place it gently back on your desk.

“And the yellow one,” you added, not moving an inch to help. Afterall, it was him that ruined your desk.

“That is the yellow one,” he said, a light laugh escaping him as he referred to the neon one he had just handed back.

“No, that’s yellow,” you explained patiently, pointing your finger at the second one hiding under the chair. “What you just gave me was pastel yellow.”

“They’re all yellow,” he huffed, shaking his head in sheer amusement as he bent down once more to fish it out.

“Actually, they’re different shades and they all have different purposes,” you explained.

“I’m afraid to ask,” he murmured, handing it over.

You pointed to them as you lined each one back up, nudging them until they formed another perfect row. “Pastel yellow for definitions. Yellow for exam concepts. Warm yellow, or orange, for research findings.”

Logan looked at you as if you were speaking a foreign language, completely captivated by how intense you were about a set of highlighters. “If I say that you’re right, will you let me sit here?”

When you stayed quiet, simply tracking his expressions, his eyes turned pleading. “I swear, I don’t usually destroy strangers’ study setups.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin in your hand. “Usually? That sounds incredibly suspicious.”

“I’m worth the trouble, I promise,” he smiled, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

You looked at the empty chair across from you. Then at the heavy pile of books you’d been planning to spend the next four hours with. Finally, your gaze drifted back to the charming idiot who had disrupted your perfectly structured afternoon.

“You can sit there,” you allowed softly.

His face brightened instantly. “Really?”

“On one condition.”

“I’m listening.”

“You don’t touch anything.”

He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I solemnly swear to maintain a safe distance from all stationery.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, holding his gaze until he slid into the chair. This time, he moved with exaggerated care, easing his broad frame onto the seat.

“Phew.” He settled in, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief. “No casualties.”

You nodded approvingly, opening your textbook again. “You’re learning.”

Logan extended his hand across the small space dividing your desks. “I’m Logan, by the way.”

You hesitated for just a second, your brain checking his body language before you finally reached out. You released his grip and told him your name. “It's nice to officially meet the person who attacked my stationery.”

“Hey, this friendship will never work if you can't move past things that happened five minutes ago,” he joked, leaning forward on his elbows.

An unexpected laugh escaped you, just loud enough that a couple of students at the next table glanced over before returning to their work.

For the next hour, neither of you got nearly as much studying done as you’d planned. The pens stayed perfectly aligned, but you could feel his attention drifting over to you every few minutes.

Logan finally interrupted you an hour in, breaking your concentration. “So, are you gonna psychoanalyse me?” He asked, a playful tilt to his head.

“I try not to analyse people without consent,” you lied smoothly, keeping your eyes on your page.

“What if I volunteer?”

You stopped writing, lifting your head to study him for a quiet beat. You took in his relaxed posture, the confident tilt of his jaw, and the subtle, lingering signs of exhaustion around his eyes. “I don’t think you’d like my conclusions.”

“I think I'd love them,” he shot back effortlessly. His hand twitched forward on the table, his fingers tracing a line closer to your notebook, intentionally testing your boundaries.

Instinctively, you slid the entire row of highlighters an inch further away from his fingers.

Logan gasped dramatically, placing a hand flat over his chest. “I wasn't gonna touch them.”

“Liar.”

Logan conceded with a low chuckle, his brown eyes flashing with pure mischief. “Okay, I do kind of want to mess them up again.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You wouldn't. You solemnly swore!”

“I mean, I probably wouldn’t,” he murmured, but the grin on his face said otherwise.

Though the pens stayed aligned for the rest of the afternoon, every few minutes, you caught Logan glancing at them with a smirk. And every single time he did, you quietly moved them another inch farther away from his side of the desk.

Finally, Logan checked his watch and let out a soft sigh, reluctantly packing his notebook into his bag. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, much more carefully this time, and looked down at you.

“Are you here tomorrow?” he asked.

“I am,” you replied suspiciously, “I'm here most afternoons.”

“Good to know,” he smiled, it was warm.

You didn’t respond, but you picked up your black pen, your eyes tracking his retreating figure as he walked down the aisle toward the stairs.

Your thumb mindlessly tapped the cap out of habit. You had spent three years studying exactly why people behaved the way they did. You had always believed there was an immense comfort in understanding someone, in diagnosing their patterns and decoding their defences, before ever letting them get close to you.

Unfortunately for you, John Logan didn't seem interested in following any of your patterns.

It was also around that time you became obsessed with ballet. Something about the raw emotion in every performance moved you, offering an escape to a world where feelings were beautiful no matter how messy.

You walked into Briar University with that statistic about meeting the love of your life at university in your mind. For the first few weeks, you kept waiting for that meet cute, kept thinking you’d be swept off of your feet.  

But college men proved to be so much worse than high school boys, as if men regressed instead of growing up. You had learnt to keep your heart under triple lock and key at Briar. You’d learnt the hard way that, to the college crowd, you were just a trophy to try and win. Eventually, books became your only sanctuary to feel the love you craved. They were a place where you could disappear, the only place where passion was treated as something sacred, where a look across the crowded ballroom meant everything, and love letters were the norm.

You kept your circle small, consisting of just a few girls from the ballet classes you took for fun. College life for you mostly consisted of the library, the ballet studio, and the off-campus coffee shop where you worked.

The latter of which was where you were now. it was late and your feet were throbbing from the three-hour rehearsal. You were resting on the counter, your nose buried deep in a worn-out paperback. You were so invested in your book, that you’d already read multiple times mind you, that you didn’t hear the sound of the front door chime, or notice the approach of a customer.

“One large dark roast, black,” a voice rumbled. “...Please.” it added.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Garrett Graham was a regular at this hour. He’d introduced himself the first few times he came and, when your response wasn’t throwing yourself at him like he was probably used to, he’d stopped. That didn’t stop him from coming in nearly every shift you were on though.

Truthfully, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Your problem wasn’t really with him; it was more with the other arrogant jerks on campus that you assumed him to be.

Wordlessly, you made him the coffee and set it on the counter, not bothering to tell him the total. He’d been here enough to know it. “Cream and sugar are on the condiment bar, Graham,” you deadpanned, turning back to your book.

“Thanks,” Garrett said, though he didn’t walk away. He leant over the counter, trying to peer over your shoulder to the book you were reading. “What are you reading?”

“Nothing that interests you.”

You sighed, body tensing as you waited for the unsolicited advance.

Garrett let out a dry laugh, as if he found you funny but not enough to really laugh. “You really have a glowing opinion of me, don’t you?”

You finally snapped your book shut and turned to glare at him. It was the perfect, frosty look you'd perfected to keep guys from asking you to parties. Garrett didn't flinch, but he didn't look you up and down with that predatory gleam you were so used to either.

“I don’t know you, so I have no opinion of you,” you lied tightly. “Now, do you want your coffee or are you just trying to get a rise out of me?”

“Yes, I want my coffee and no, I am not trying to get a rise out of you.” If his words didn’t convince you he was being genuine, the look on his face did. “I’m genuinely interested; you’ve made about six different faces in the time I’ve watched you read. I’m curious about the book.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “You... want to talk about Jane Eyre?”

“Sure,” Garrett shrugged, “tell me why you’re scowling at it.”

So, you did. Against your better judgement, you explained the complexities of 19th-century romance. And for the first time since your freshman year, a guy wasn't staring blindly at your lips as you spoke or feigning interest just to get your number. Garrett actually listened. He leant his elbow on the counter, challenging you on a plot point, and when you defended it fiercely, he threw his head back and laughed.

“I’m going to find a way to use that in my philosophy class,” he laughed.

“Go ahead, but if you get an A, I expect like 70% of the credit,” you countered, crossing your arms but unable to stop a small smile from tugging at your lips. “And if you fail, then that’s what you deserve for trying to plagiarise a barista.”

“Hey, I take source citation very seriously,” he joked.

You didn’t respond but you did smile at him, a genuine one.

“We should hang out some time,” Garrett said suddenly, hand nervously scratching the back of his head. “If you’d like to, of course.”

Your smile immediately dropped, the defensive walls standing to attention.

“Why?” You snapped, louder than you meant to.

“Because the whole two times you’ve actually spoken to me, I enjoyed our conversation.”

“I’ve only actually spoken to you once,” you muttered.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Garrett’s eyes were gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. You also couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not.

“You clearly don’t remember,” he continued, looking at your confused face. “But I think you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met, and I'd be an idiot to let an opportunity to get to know you better pass me by.”

“And that’s the only reason?” You asked carefully.

“Are you finishing for another compliment?” He teased.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. You were about to answer when another customer stepped up to the counter. Garrett stepped aside, giving you the space to work whilst waiting for your answer.

You focused on the new customer, glad for the brief distraction to calm the sudden erratic drumming of your heart. As you punched in the order and handed over the change, you could feel Garrett’s eyes on you from the side of the counter. He wasn't crowding you, and he wasn't trying to slickly slide his phone across the counter to get your number. He was just waiting.

As the customer walked away with their drink, the quiet of the shop settled between you both again. You looked down at your hands, your mind racing. Your brain was screaming at you to keep those walls up, to tell him you were too busy with ballet and classes. But your romantic heart, the part of you that still secretly believed in ballroom glances and grand gestures, was pushing back. Garrett hadn't looked at you like you were a trophy. He had looked at you like he actually wanted to get to know you.

Before your defensive walls could slam shut completely, the words escaped your lips.

“Dim sum,” you blurted out suddenly.

Garrett blinked. “Excuse me?”

“If we hang out, you have to bring me dim sum.”

The smile on Garrett’s face made your chest tighten in the most terrifyingly beautiful way, the way you’d been dreaming about.

“Deal,” he murmured.

And that’s because it partially was.

For weeks, Beau danced around what he considered a bigger introduction than the one to his family: introducing you to Dean. He made excuses that always sounded just believable enough to pass. You saw through them, but didn’t push. You hadn’t understood his hesitation until you finally saw them together.

The second Dean entered the picture, everything clicked.

You spent the next few weeks observing them, catching the small details that anyone who didn’t know Beau as well as you did would miss. You noticed the way his dimples grew deeper whenever Dean was around. You saw the lingering looks Beau gave him when he thought nobody was looking. The looks were filled with a deep tenderness that bordered on something more complex than friendship, but not quite romantic.

For the weeks since you met Dean, you could see that, beneath Beau’s chilled exterior, there was a layer of hidden panic. A fear that you’d noticed the blurred lines of their bond and would force him into an ultimatum. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his best friend, but, with every passing day that he spent with you, he knew he couldn’t bare to lose you either. So, he lived in fear of the day where you’d finally confront him.

That was today.

“Why didn’t you want me to meet Dean, Beau?”

The question hung in the air, catching Beau off guard as he was pulling his shirt over his head. He froze, his shirt halfway over his head. When he finally pulled it off, letting the shirt fall to the floor, his dark hair messily fell over his forehead as he looked at you. His brow furrowed. For a second, his usually sweet demeanour faltered, replaced by a defensive one.

But he caught himself quicky, soothing his expression. He had no right to look at you like that, your question was soft, not accusatory in the slightest. Even if it were, you’d have every right to that.  

“I...um.” Beau swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. He knew this was coming. He had weeks to prepare what he’d say to you and how he’d explain it in a way that you’d understand.

But every time he tried to prep, he felt selfish. How could he tell you not to feel jealous? How could he beg you not to give him the ultimatum he believed would come when he told you? How could he explain a bond that he hadn’t even fully defined to himself?

Beau’s gaze broke away from yours. He looked away, staring at the ceiling, his jaw flexing.

“Okay,” you said patiently. “Let’s start with an easier question. Do you love me?”

Across the bed, his eyes locked on to yours immediately, expression serious. “Yes,” he said. “Please, don’t ever question that. I love you so so much.”

“I don’t question it; I’m just proving a point.” You crawled across the mattress until you were kneeling right in front of him. You reached out, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. “And because I know you love me, and that I love you, I need you to hear me out.”

He swallowed before looking at you.

“I’m not blind, Beau. I see that there’s a bond between you and Dean.”

Beau flinched slightly against your palms, his breath hitching. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his heart clenching with guilt. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt,” you responded firmly. “But I’m not a homewrecker either.”

Beau’s eyebrows furrowed again. “Wh-.”

“Let me finish,” you said, continuing once he closed his mouth. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I don’t want to stand in the way of whatever’s going on. But... I would like to be part of it.”

Beau froze under your hands, his chest pausing mid-rise. “So... you mean?”

“I mean, if you’re okay with it, why chose between us, when we could all explore together?”

He stared at you, his pupils dilating as his brain tried to process what you were offering. It almost made you laugh at how quickly his expression darkened in desire.

The realisation that his deepest secret, the thing that had been causing him pain for weeks, was not only safe with you, but craved by you, unlocked something within him.

“You’re serious? You’re not playing with me?”

You leant in close to his face. “I am completely serios,” you whispered against his lips.

Before the last word could fully leave your mouth, Beau moved.

His hands wrapped around your waist before he threw his weight forward. You gasped as your back hit the mattress, the air leaving your lungs as he pinned you down.

Not giving you a moment to recover, his mouth was immediately on yours. It wasn’t his usual sweet kisses, it was demanding. His mouth moved against you all rough and desperate. The weeks of tension finally spilling out in this moment.

There was a hunger to him that you hadn’t experienced before. He nudged your legs open so he could lay in between them and you immediately wrapped your legs around him.

It’s like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, where to touch you first. His hands were all over you, touching your neck, cupping your jaw, sliding up your shirt, cupping your breasts.

His mouth was swallowing your moans as he ground himself against you. He didn’t stop rubbing himself against you until the wetness between your legs had seeped through your panties and on to the front of his boxers.

He pressed kisses over you as he undressed you both, his hands continuing their roam over your body.

“Take what you need, Beau.” You said as you drew your knees to your chest, exposing yourself to him completely.  

Gone was the Beau who was soft and gentle, he was a man on a mission. Positioning himself between your legs, he lined himself up and slowly slid inside of you with a long, low moan. He didn’t immediately begin thrusting. Instead, he rocked his hips back and forth, hair flopping as his head dropped.

“I love you,” he said.

“I know, I know you do. Now, hurry up and fuck me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

A string of curses left your lips as he snapped his hips into you, building up to a quick pace. Every thrust was intentional, he wanted you to feel him, to know how deep his love ran for you. pressing your legs close to your chest, he snapped his hips into you harder, hips clapping against the backs of your thighs.   

Your head fell back in bliss as he reached between your bodies to rub at your clit. He groaned at the sight of you, head thrown back and eyes half-lidded.

It was the look on your face that had him cumming with your name on his lips. He did his best to keep moving, to keep giving you the friction that you needed to get off. It took a few more moments of caresses and whispers of sweet nothings before you were clenching on him, cumming with a silent scream.

By the time the night became the early morning, you were still awake. Even as Beau slept deeply, his arm slung over your waist, you couldn’t close your eyes, body too buzzed.

The weeks that followed that were easy. Beau no longer had walls up when you and Dean were in the same room, and that allowed you to get to know Dean better too. Dean had integrated into you and Beau’s life just as easily as you had integrated into Beau’s. You hadn’t felt like there was a piece missing until he somehow found a way to fit in. You didn’t know what to call him, a friend sounded wrong, your third-wheel sounded even worse. He was none of that.

The three of you sat in Beau’s dorm one Wednesday evening, scarfing down the meal Beau had made for you both. Dean was mid-sentence, ranting about something that had happened in training when Beau caught your eye. He gave you a slight nod. The green light.

“Dean,” you started, tilting your head as a wicked smile played on your lips. You leant forward, resting your elbows on the table in front of you as you looked him dead in the eye. “Have you ever thought about fucking me?”

Dean choked on his food, his eyes darting frantically between you and his best friend.

“Is this a trap?” He asked, throwing his hands up defensively. “I quite like my face and I don’t want Beau to break it.”

“Just answer the question, man,” Beau called from the other side of the table. He leant back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, amusement flashing in his eyes as he watched his best friend squirm.

Dean looked back at you, letting out a sharp laugh. “Well, duh. She’s hot and I’m a guy with eyes and a pulse. Of course I’ve thought about it.”

“Good,” you said, your smile widening as you took a sip of your drink. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to fuck both of us at the same time? Me and Beau, to be clear.”

Dean turned his head toward his best friend, looking for backup, but found none. Beau was leaning back in his chair, a relaxed and incredibly smug expression on his face.

“She’s serious, D,” Beau said. He reached across the table, fingers brushing lightly against yours. “We’ve talked about it.”

Dean swallowed hard, his throat dry. The invisible boundary that Dean had spent months carefully respecting, the unspoken feelings he had locked away to keep from ruining Beau’s relationship, was being torn down right in front of him.

“It could get messy, sleeping with people who are in a relationship?” Dean hoped you’d dismiss his warning. You did.

“I like messy,” you replied with a shrug.

“So, what do you say?” Beau asked, staring at Dean. “Do you wanna have a threesome?”

Dean’s gaze darkened, his eyes flicking from you to Beau as he stood up from his chair. “Fuck yes. Let’s go.”