blurb: john logan claims that he doesn’t do jealousy. he thinks he’s above such petty feelings. but what happens when his girlfriend gets hit on at a house party?
warnings: fem!reader, suggestive, established relationship, alcohol
note: smut pt. 2 here
“Cupcake?”
You turned around at the voice, meeting the face of a 6’2” football player you didn’t know personally but recognized from the Briar sports Instagram account.
He was staring at your headpiece; a frosting top with colorful sprinkles. You realized what he was trying to say.
“Oh, no. I’m chocolate,” you said.
He raised an amused brow, “Chocolate?”
You nodded, sipping your beer. “Chocolate.” You confirmed, then pointed across the room to where Kendall was busy making out with one of the hockey players. “She’s vanilla. We’re chocolate and vanilla swirl.”
The football player nodded in understanding. “Ah. I see,” he said before looking over at Kendall. “Though vanilla isn’t very vanilla.”
You laughed at his witty joke, both of you watching Kendall as she did a body shot off of the hockey player she was kissing two seconds ago. She was dressed in the same tube top and bubble skirt set you were wearing, complete with the knee-high boots and matching headpiece; hers a whipped white color, yours a cocoa brown.
From the other side of the room, Tucker and Logan were talking when the former spotted you chatting with the tall football player.
Tucker nudged Logan, “Yo, is that your girl?”
Logan followed his line of sight and it landed on you, leaning against the kitchen counter and speaking to the good-looking stranger with an easy smile on your lips.
Logan looked away and gulped down his beverage. “She’s a big girl.”
Logan wasn’t one of those insecure, pompous boyfriends. He didn’t do jealousy. He’s convinced jealousy was invented by a short dick man with an easily bruised ego. Logan was secure enough in his relationship with you to never have any reason to feel jealous.
You turned to the jock and gave his costume a once-over. Knitting your brows together, you racked your brain’s storage full of pop culture references and iconic fictional characters.
“Timothée Chalamet in Call Me by Your Name?” You tried.
He let out a huff of laughter, “Close. I’m Luca from the Disney-Pixar movie.”
“Ahh,” you nodded. “Practically the same.”
He flashed a charming smile, dragging a sip from his bottle. He extended his hand to you, “James.”
You shook his hand and told him your name.
“Pretty name,” he responded. “Though…” he leaned in closer, “…cupcake fits better, don’t you think?”
Ah. At that, you picked up that he was attempting to flirt with you. Forever loyal to your boyfriend, you opened your mouth to turn his advances down. But before you could, you felt an arm wrap around your waist from behind and find purchase on your hipbone. You knew who it was without even looking.
“Hey, got you a refill,” Logan said, taking the half empty can from your hands and replacing it with a new one.
“Thanks,” you said. As your hand moved to pop the can open, Logan’s deft fingers beat you to it and he cracked the tab for you.
The football player, James, eyed the two of you, biting his lip whilst reconfiguring his whole plan. “You’re both…?”
“Air signs,” Logan teasingly remarked with a straight face, casually drinking from his red solo cup. You elbowed him with a small smirk.
“No,” James shook his head. “I mean—”
“Together,” Logan told him, putting his now empty plastic cup down on the counter. His newly freed hand joined the other by holding onto your other hip and giving it a squeeze.
James nodded to himself. “Got it.” And away he went. Probably off to find his Alberto.
Logan’s eyes followed his retreating figure, not easing up until he was out of sight. Only then did he drop his hands off your body.
You turned around and looked up at your boyfriend with a wide smile. “What was that?”
“What was what?” He returned, pouring himself a new drink.
“That whole thing,” you responded.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” You repeated.
Logan shrugged. “A normal interaction, no?”
“He was flirting with me before that.”
“Oh so you’re aware.”
Your expression dropped. Oh, is that why—
“Logan.”
“Hm.”
“Logan.”
“Hm?”
You tilted his face down to look at him. “I wasn’t going to entertain it.”
“I know,” he replied.
“I was going to shut it down right before you showed up.”
“I know.”
“I want to make sure you know that.”
“And I know that.”
You squinted your eyes. This was suspiciously too easy. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
You stared at one another for a beat longer than necessary.
“You’re still upset,” you observed.
“I’m not upset,” he answered.
“So what are you feeling?” You asked.
“I don’t like how he called you cupcake,” Logan told you.
“Me neither. Not when I’m so clearly chocolate.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
“Y/n.”
You sighed softly, “Okay, sorry. I thought humor would make it better.”
Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, hoping to relieve some of his tension. It worked. A little.
“It was a shitty pickup line,” you said. “Wouldn’t work on me even if I was single.”
“I hope so.”
“Oh, please, Logan. Take me out the back and shoot me if you ever see me falling for that,” you commented. He let out a small laugh. That’s progress
His hands returned to your hips and he pulled you closer. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. His large hands rested just above your ass.
“What if I called you that?” Logan said lowly.
“Wanna give it a try?” You offered.
He leaned in, his lips hovering right by your ear. You could feel his warm breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. “Would you be into that, cupcake?” He whispered, ending it with a gentle nibble on your earlobe.
You shivered, feeling goosebumps crawl over your skin. “Fuck, I guess you have to take me out back with a gun, Logan.”
He pulled back with a hearty chuckle. You gave a matching smile and he held your face, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.
As he looked at you, his face turned thoughtful for a moment. You squeezed his hand reassuringly.
He leaned in again. “I didn’t like how he looked at you.”
“How’d he look at me?” You wondered.
“Like how I look at you.”
You stared up at him, biting your lip. “And how do you look at me?” You whispered.
He brought his forehead against yours, gazing deep into your eyes. “Like I want you.”
Oh screw your sexy boyfriend and his even sexier responses. And that’s exactly what you wanted to do now—if only you weren’t in the middle of Beau and Dean’s birthday bash.
You had enough of this game. You raised yourself up and pressed your lips to his. Logan was hungry; he seemed to devour your kiss, swallowing every soft sound you made. His hand strayed down to grip your ass, the other held your waist comfortably. His tongue was already begging to enter your mouth, and you obliged without hesitation.
When you pulled away several moments later, Logan chased your lips with eagerness, gently biting your bottom lip as you separated.
“Mine,” he breathed out under his breath.
You bared a dazed smile, “I only want you.” You mouthed silently.
Logan let out a soft sound of amusement, nodding more to himself than to you. Satisfied and high off your impromptu makeout session, he pressed one last kiss to your forehead before rejoining his friends, this time with a protective hand on the small of your back.
summary: Three months ago, you and Logan quietly became something. You forgot to tell anyone. That was fine, it was yours, and you liked it that way. Then you found out your friends had started a betting pool on when you'd finally get together, and suddenly keeping the secret became a lot more fun.
or: four times someone almost caught you, and one time someone did.
notes: hii i'm back!! okay so this one is a little different from my usual so no angst, no parking lot confessions, no rain. also this pic of antonio is just so boyfriend that i had to write something. thank you so much for reading and please let me know what you think!!
warnings: swearing, implied intimacy, a missing bra, hannah being a terrible secret keeper and fluff.
word count: 6k
You and Hannah were not often scheduled to work the same shift at Malone's, for the simple reason that you two were dangerously prone to a severe case of the giggles that management had clocked early and worked around. But today was different, another server had called in sick and your manager had called you in a tone that left very little room for negotiation. You said yes, of course. You always said yes.
Arriving, you spotted Hannah immediately, weaving between tables with three plates balanced on her arm. You passed her on your way to the staff locker room and gave her arm a quick squeeze. She grinned at you over her shoulder.
The lunch rush was the particular kind of brutal that didn't leave room for anything except moving, table to table, order to order, the focused blur of a busy service. By the time it slowed down your feet ached and your ponytail had developed a life of its own.
Hannah found you at the counter, mechanically polishing glasses.
"So busy we couldn't even talk today," she said, sliding in beside you and stealing a glass to polish.
"It was genuinely awful," you agreed. "My feet are going to file a formal complaint."
Hannah laughed. And then the door opened.
Logan, Garrett, Tucker, and Dean came in with the energy of people who had just finished practice and were extremely confident about their right to exist in any space they chose. Garrett made a beeline for Hannah with the focused intention of a man who had one priority. Behind him, Logan drifted toward the counter, casually, like he just happened to end up there, and leaned against it, watching you serve a customer with an expression that was doing nothing for your professional composure.
You almost dropped the bag the customer was reaching for.
"Hi, Logan." You kept your voice completely neutral. "Do you mind not staring at me? I'm working, you know."
He laughed, low and unhurried. "No, I don't think I can manage that."
"You could try."
"Not when you look this pretty."
"This pretty?" You gestured at yourself. "My hair is dirty and I didn't even have time to put on makeup."
"Still the prettiest," he said, and winked, and wandered back to the table where his friends had settled in like they owned the place.
You looked back at the counter. The glass you had been polishing was now somehow less clean than when you started.
Hannah had materialized at your elbow with the expression of someone watching something inevitable unfold.
"When," she said reverently, "are you two just going to date like normal people?" She sighed. "I hope it's soon. I kind of want to win that betting pool Tucker made."
You put the glass down. "What betting pool?"
Hannah's expression cycled through several things in rapid succession.
"No betting pool," she said. "I meant a real pool. Tucker said something about you guys and a real pool. Can't think of what it actually was. Because it was so long ago."
You looked at her.
"Hannah Marie Wells."
"That's not my middle name."
"Tell me the truth right now."
She looked left. She looked right. She found no exits. She exhaled.
"All right. Tucker organized a bet where everyone has to guess when you two will finally become a couple. I said three weeks from the day the bet was made, which is actually — tomorrow — so if you two could maybe just —"
"I cannot believe you guys would bet on something like that." You shook your head. "Actually, I can believe them. But you, Hannah. I expected better."
"Allie too," Hannah offered, as though this was helpful.
"What does the winner get?"
"Pride and glory. Also we each put in twenty dollars."
You set down the glass and made a direct line for the boys' table. Logan spotted you coming and started to smile, that smile, the one that was specifically for you.
"Logan," you said pleasantly, "can you help me with something? The door on one of the staff lockers is jammed. Do you mind taking a look? Your bill will be on the house if you fix it."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure." He pushed back from the table, nodded to the others, and followed you toward the back.
Dean watched you go with an expression of mild suspicion. Tucker didn't look up from his menu.
The staff locker room smelled like industrial cleaner and someone's forgotten lunch, which was not exactly the atmosphere you would have chosen, but it would do.
"So where's the door?" Logan said, looking around.
"There's no door."
He turned. "What?"
"There's no door. I needed to get you alone." You crossed your arms. "Your friends are running a betting pool on us."
"What do you mean there's no door?" He looked genuinely betrayed by the architecture. Then: "And they're your friends too."
"Not when they're betting on us. There's no door, Logan, I made it up. Focus."
He laughed and crossed the small room toward you, his hands finding your waist and pulling you in with the unhurried ease of someone who had been doing it for a while, not long enough that it felt ordinary, long enough that it felt inevitable.
"It's not a big deal, you know," he said. "The bet. They're just nosy."
"I know." He was very close, which made it difficult to maintain the appropriate level of outrage. You found yourself pressing small kisses to his lips almost without deciding to, punctuating your words between them. "I just — don't want — to make it — a whole thing yet."
Logan pulled back far enough to look at you properly.
"Yeah?" he said. Not pushing. Just asking.
"It's ours," you said, which came out simpler and more honest than you had intended. "For a little while longer. I just want it to be ours."
Something in his expression settled, warm and unhurried, the specific look of someone who understood completely and wasn't going anywhere.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay?"
"Yeah." He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. "Okay."
You pulled him in by the front of his shirt and kissed him properly this time, the locker room and the betting pool and Hannah's guilty face all receding into irrelevance.
Logan pulled back.
"Wait," he said. "So no bill on the house, then?"
one — tucker
The thing about Logan's shirts was that they were extremely comfortable.
This was not a controversial observation. They were soft and worn-in and smelled like him which was a feature rather than a bug on cold Sunday mornings when getting dressed felt like an unnecessary commitment.
You had not planned to be at the house on a Sunday morning. You had planned to be at your own place, in your own bed, wearing your own clothes, like a person who had their life together. What had actually happened was that Saturday night had turned into Sunday morning in the way that it sometimes did around Logan, and now it was nine-fifteen and you were in his kitchen in his grey shirt making coffee while he was still asleep upstairs.
Which was fine. Which was completely normal and fine.
The house was quiet. Tucker's door had been closed when you passed it. Dean and Garrett weren't home, Logan had said. You were alone with the coffee machine and a comfortable Sunday silence and absolutely no reason to think anyone was going to come downstairs for at least another hour.
You had just found the good mugs when you heard footsteps on the stairs.
Tucker appeared in the kitchen doorway in a hoodie and the expression of someone who had not yet fully committed to being awake. He was looking at his phone. He walked to the refrigerator. He opened it. He stared into it with the vacant focus of someone hoping food would appear through willpower alone.
Then he turned around and saw you.
The silence that followed had a very specific quality.
Tucker looked at you. He looked at the shirt. He looked at the coffee you were making, looked at the two mugs, and something moved across his face that went through approximately six stages before landing on stunned comprehension.
"Hey," you said, with the casual energy of someone who was not wearing their boyfriend's shirt in his kitchen on a Sunday morning. "Coffee?"
Tucker opened his mouth.
"I stayed over," you said pleasantly. "The couch is really comfortable actually."
Tucker looked at the shirt. He looked at the mugs. He looked at the shirt again.
"...Right," he said slowly.
"He let me borrow this because my top had a thing. A stain. From last night." You gestured vaguely. "Very embarrassing, actually. Pasta related."
Tucker was still looking at the mugs.
You picked up both mugs, tucked them against your chest in what you hoped was a casual gesture rather than an incriminating one, and smiled at him.
"I'm just going to bring this up," you said. "You should have some. There's plenty."
You walked past him and up the stairs before he could say anything else.
Logan was sitting up in bed when you came back, hair doing something architecturally ambitious, squinting at the light.
"Tucker's awake," you said, handing him his coffee and sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed.
Logan processed this. "And?"
"And I told him I slept on the couch because my shirt had a pasta stain."
Logan looked at you for a long moment.
"Did he believe you?"
"Absolutely not," you said cheerfully, and drank your coffee.
Downstairs, Tucker stood in the kitchen for another full minute. Then he took out his phone.
tucker: i just saw (Y/N) in the kitchen wearing logan's shirt
tucker: making TWO coffees
tucker: and she said she slept on the couch because of a pasta stain
dean: WHAT
garrett: what
tucker: I THINK I JUST WON THE BET
hannah: you didn't win the bet tucker. it was clearly just a pasta stain situation
tucker: HANNAH
allie: omg omg omg
tucker: do i win?? does the pasta stain story count as them getting together???
dean: i don't think pasta counts as confirmation tucker
tucker: I WILL NEVER FINANCIALLY RECOVER FROM THIS
two — hannah
The thing about Malone's on a Friday night was that it had exactly one staff bathroom and one customer bathroom, and the customer bathroom had been out of order since Wednesday, which meant that the staff bathroom had become public property by necessity, which meant the line for it snaked along the back wall and required a wait time that was genuinely unreasonable.
You had been waiting for four minutes when you remembered that you knew where the staff entrance was.
The staff hallway was quiet and dim, the sounds of the bar muffled behind the door. You had worked here long enough to know the code, and the bathroom was unlocked, and you were inside and washing your hands within ninety seconds, feeling extremely smug about the whole thing.
You were just reaching for a paper towel when the door opened.
Logan slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind him, and looked at you with the expression of someone who had just made the same efficient calculation.
"Oh," he said. "You had the same idea."
"Staff entrance," you confirmed.
"Smart."
"I know."
He crossed to the sink beside yours and turned on the tap, and for a moment you were just two people washing their hands in a small staff bathroom, which was either extremely romantic or extremely unromantic depending on how you looked at it. His shoulder was warm against yours in the small space. You handed him a paper towel.
"Tucker's texts have been unhinged this week," you said.
"The pasta shirt thing really broke him," Logan agreed, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"He texted me three times yesterday asking if I wanted to talk about my feelings."
Logan laughed. You loved the sound of it in small spaces, the way it filled them. You turned toward him and he turned toward you and you were very close, and he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear with the absent, habitual tenderness of someone who had been doing it long enough that he didn't think about it anymore, and you went up on your toes and kissed him quickly.
"Separate," you said against his mouth. "We should go back separately."
"Separate," he agreed, not moving.
You kissed him again, less quickly this time, his hands finding your waist, the paper towel entirely abandoned.
The door opened.
Hannah stood in the doorway.
The three of you looked at each other.
"The customer bathroom is out of order," Hannah said, very carefully, "so I used the staff code."
"Same," you said. You and Logan had separated with the practiced efficiency of people who had been interrupted before. "Just washing our hands."
"Both of you."
"It's a two sink bathroom," Logan said.
Hannah looked at the two of you. She looked at the very small bathroom. She looked at the single paper towel that was inexplicably on the floor.
"Right," she said. "Of course. I'll just —" she pointed at the toilet. "I'll just use this."
"We were just leaving," you said.
You and Logan filed past her. You did not look at each other in the hallway.
Behind you, you heard Hannah take out her phone.
hannah: ok so i just walked into the staff bathroom at malone's and (Y/N) and logan were BOTH in there
allie: WHAT
tucker: I TOLD YOU ABOUT THE PASTA SHIRT
hannah: they said they were just washing their hands
dean: both of them. in the staff bathroom. together.
hannah: there were two sinks
garrett: hannah
hannah: i mean it's a completely reasonable explanation!!
tucker: HANNAH YOU ARE LITERALLY DATING GARRETT YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS
hannah: i mean. yes. but also. two sinks.
allie: hannah i love you but two sinks is not an explanation
hannah: i just think we should give them the benefit of the doubt!!
tucker: hannah you literally have twenty dollars on this
hannah: ...i said three weeks
hannah: from a month ago
hannah: i may have already lost
three — allie
Allie considered herself an observant person.
This was not arrogance, it was simply a fact, documented over years of being the person in any given group who noticed things. Who left early. Who had argued with whom. Who liked whom. The small social architecture of any room was, to Allie, essentially readable at a glance.
Which was why she could not understand why no one else was seeing what she was seeing.
It was a random week night, the kind that had somehow evolved from a study session into a full group hangout without anyone formally announcing it, and now there were seven of them spread across the living room , Logan and Dean on the floor with Tucker's terrible taste in television providing background noise, Garrett and Hannah on the armchair that was technically too small for two people but they had been making work for months, and you and Allie on the big couch with your respective laptops.
Normal. Fine. A completely normal Tuesday.
Except.
Allie had been reaching for her water bottle when she saw it.
Logan had said something to Tucker, something quiet, barely audible over the television, and Tucker had responded, and then Logan had looked across the room at you. Just looked. For maybe two seconds.
And you had looked back.
It wasn't a loaded look, exactly. It wasn't the dramatic eye contact of a romantic comedy. It was quieter than that, it was the almost imperceptible look of two people who were sharing a private thought from across a room. Easy. Habitual. Like a conversation conducted entirely without words by people who had been having it for a long time.
Allie's water bottle missed the table entirely.
"You okay?" you asked, looking at her.
"Fine," Allie said. "Totally fine."
She looked at Logan. He had gone back to whatever Tucker was saying. Completely normal. Nothing to see.
Allie looked back at you. You were typing something on your laptop. Also completely normal.
I saw that, Allie thought. I absolutely saw that.
She leaned over to you. "Hey," she said, very casually. "What was that?"
You looked up from your laptop. "What was what?"
"That —" she gestured vaguely between you and Logan. "That look."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You and Logan just —" she did the gesture again, which in retrospect was not a very descriptive gesture.
"Allie," you said pleasantly, "I genuinely don't know what you're referring to."
You went back to your laptop. Allie stared at the side of your head.
I saw it, she thought. I definitely saw it.
She turned to the room. She needed a witness.
"Dean," she said.
Dean looked up from the floor. "What."
"Did you just see —" she started. But Dean had already looked back at the television. Tucker was saying something about the episode. Logan was responding. You were typing. Nothing was happening. The moment was completely gone, absorbed back into the ordinary texture of a Tuesday night, leaving absolutely no evidence.
Allie sat back on the couch.
I know what I saw, she thought.
Twenty minutes passed.
And then Logan got up to refill his water bottle in the kitchen, and on his way back he passed the couch, and his hand dropped briefly to your shoulder, barely a touch, a graze really, the kind that lasted less than a second and you didn't even look up from your laptop, just tilted your head toward it slightly, like a plant toward light, like the most natural thing in the world.
Allie's laptop slid off her knees.
"I SAW THAT," she said.
Everyone looked at her.
"Saw what?" Tucker said.
"Logan's hand — and her shoulder — they just —" she pointed. Logan was back on the floor. You were looking at Allie with an expression of polite confusion. "He touched her shoulder and she —"
"Are you okay?" Dean said.
"I'm fine, I just —" Allie looked around the room. Six faces looked back at her with varying degrees of concern. "Did anyone else see that?"
"See what?" Logan said.
"You touched her shoulder," Allie said, pointing at him.
"I was just walking past," Logan said.
"She leaned into it!"
"I have a stiff neck," you said.
"YOU HAVE A STIFF —" Allie stopped. Took a breath. "I know what I saw," she said, with dignity.
"Allie," Dean said carefully. "Have you had enough water today?"
"I've had plenty of water, Dean, I'm not —"
"Sometimes dehydration causes —"
"I am not dehydrated!" Allie said. "I know what I saw and what I saw was —" she looked at you. You were looking back at her with an expression of patient concern. She looked at Logan. He was also looking at her with patient concern. Both of you at the same time, with the same expression. "— you know what, never mind," she said. "Never mind. I'm fine."
She picked up her laptop.
Across the room, completely undetected, Logan looked at you.
You looked back.
The corner of your mouth moved. His did too.
Allie, who had her eyes fixed resolutely on her screen, did not see this.
She was choosing not to look anymore. For her own mental health.
allie: OKAY SO
allie: I JUST SAW SOMETHING
tucker: WHAT
allie: logan touched (Y/N)'s shoulder while walking past and she LEANED INTO IT
allie: and before that there was A LOOK
dean: allie we were all in the same room
allie: YOU WEREN'T PAYING ATTENTION DEAN
hannah: what kind of look
allie: the kind that MEANS SOMETHING
garrett: i mean they're friends
allie: garrett
garrett: what
allie: i love you but you have the observational skills of a golden retriever
garrett: ...fair
tucker: ALLIE YOU MIGHT HAVE JUST WON THE BET
allie: i can't win on a shoulder touch and a look tucker i need more evidence
tucker: THE PASTA SHIRT WAS EVIDENCE
allie: the pasta shirt was circumstantial
dean: none of us are going to win this bet are we
three and a half — garrett
It was a Wednesday afternoon, the house quiet in the way it got between practice and evening, and you had let yourself in with the key Logan had given you two weeks ago, casually, like it was nothing, tucked it into your palm and gone back to whatever he had been saying, and you had put it on your keychain without making a thing of it either.
You were in the kitchen making tea when Garrett came downstairs.
He was in sweats, hair still damp from the shower, moving with the unhurried ease of someone with nowhere to be. He went to the refrigerator, opened it, considered it, closed it. Then he leaned against the counter across from you and looked at the mug situation with the mild, unreadable expression that was, you had come to understand, just his face.
"Logan's still at the rink," he said. "Film session ran over."
"I know," you said. "He texted."
Garrett nodded. He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl. He looked at it. He looked at you.
"You should tell him about the Boston thing," he said.
You looked up. "What?"
"The conference. The one your professor forwarded you." He bit into the apple with the casual certainty of someone stating something obvious. "You've been sitting on it for two weeks. You should just tell him."
You stared at him.
The Boston conference was something you had mentioned exactly once, in passing, weeks ago, in the middle of a conversation about something else entirely. You had said three sentences about it and then moved on. You had not mentioned it since. You had not mentioned it to Logan because you hadn't figured out how yet because Boston was four days in February and it was a good opportunity and you didn't know what it meant for the thing that was still, technically, just yours.
"How did you —" you started.
Garrett shrugged. "You got quiet when someone mentioned February plans at dinner last week." He took another bite of the apple. "Logan noticed too. He just didn't want to push."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"He'll be fine with it," Garrett said, simply, like that was the part you needed to hear. "He's not going anywhere." He pushed off the counter and headed toward the living room. "Tell him about Boston."
He disappeared around the corner.
You stood in the kitchen holding your mug, looking at the space he had just occupied.
You had not told anyone about Boston. You had not told Hannah, who told you everything. You had not told Allie, who noticed everything. You had mentioned it once, in passing, and Garrett who had the observational skills of a golden retriever, according to Allie, according to everyone had filed it away and waited until you were alone to say the thing you needed to hear.
You looked down at your mug.
Then you took out your phone and texted Logan.
can we talk tonight? nothing bad. just something i've been sitting on.
His response came back in under a minute.
yeah. i'll bring food. what do you want?
You smiled at your phone in the empty kitchen.
surprise me.
four — dean
You weren't really supposed to be there.
You had come over earlier in the afternoon with the genuine intention of spending a couple of hours with Logan and then going home like a responsible person. What had actually happened was that Logan had been very convincing about the staying part convincing in the specific way that involved kissing you before you could finish your sentence and pulling you back against the mattress until leaving felt like a genuinely unreasonable idea.
So now it was late, and you were sprawled across his bed while he kissed your neck, his hands finding the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.
"I missed them," he said, with complete sincerity, cupping your chest in both hands, unclasping your bra with an easiness that frankly made you jealous.
You giggled and pushed his shoulders. "You idiot."
He kissed you again slow and soft, his tongue lazy against yours, the unhurried quality of someone with absolutely nowhere to be. You were certainly not going home now. You reached up and pulled his shirt over his head, and your fingers found a purple mark spreading across his stomach.
"What's this?" you said, tracing it gently.
"Practice got tough."
"Oh, my poor baby." You shifted, pressing a line of soft kisses across his stomach. You felt him shiver underneath you. "My poor, poor baby —"
The knock on the door made you both freeze.
"Logan?" Dean's voice, from the other side. Another knock. The sound of the handle being tried. "You in there, man?"
You and Logan looked at each other with the wide-eyed, frantic energy of two people who had absolutely no good explanation for the current state of the room.
Logan started moving toward the door.
"No," you whisper-screamed.
"Hide," he said, at the same volume.
"Where?"
You looked around the room in rapid, increasingly desperate assessment. The bathroom — no, what if Dean needed it. The wardrobe what if Logan opened it. The only viable option was under the bed, the duvet long enough to reach the floor and conceal the gap completely.
You rolled off the mattress and slid underneath it in one graceless motion. You heard Logan muffle a laugh by converting it unconvincingly into a cough. In your frantic scramble you had grabbed your shirt, clutched against your chest, but your bra was somewhere out there discarded, incriminating, absolutely in the middle of the room.
Fuck, you thought.
Logan opened the door.
Dean walked in. There was a brief silence of the kind that meant someone had immediately spotted something they were not expecting to see. From your position on the floor you had a very clear view of Dean's socks stopping in the middle of the room.
Then not moving.
You watched Dean's socks stand very still for approximately eight seconds.
"I need to borrow your charger," Dean said.
His voice was extremely, carefully normal. The voice of a man making a decision in real time.
Logan turned and retrieved the charger from the bedside table. "Here."
A pause. Dean's socks did not move.
"Leave, Dean," Logan said.
Another pause.
Dean's socks backed slowly toward the door.
He stood in the hallway for a moment, you could hear him through the door, just standing there, processing, and then his footsteps retreated down the hall. You waited until you heard his door close before sliding out from under the bed, pulling your shirt back on and looking at Logan, who was leaning against the wall with his hand over his mouth doing an extremely poor job of not laughing.
"Your bra," he managed.
"I know."
"It was just — right there —"
"I know, Logan."
He was fully laughing now, silent and shaking, and you threw a pillow at him, which did nothing to help.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
dean: dude…
logan: say nothing
You watched him type it, one eyebrow raised. His phone buzzed back almost immediately.
dean: i have twenty dollars on the line
logan: dean
dean: i'm just saying
logan: goodnight dean
dean: does tucker know
logan: GOODNIGHT DEAN
Logan put his phone down. You looked at him. He looked at you.
"He's not going to say anything," Logan said, with the confidence of a man who was not entirely sure of this.
His phone buzzed again.
dean: for what it's worth i called it from the beginning
Logan turned his phone face down.
You looked at him for a moment longer.
Then you retrieved your bra from the corner of the room where it had been sitting like evidence at a crime scene, and you got back into bed, and Logan pulled you against him with the easy, unhurried certainty of someone who had won the argument about staying a long time ago.
Down the hall, Dean lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, charger plugged in, feeling extremely vindicated about everything.
He did not tell Tucker.
He did not tell Garrett.
He did not tell Allie, who sent him three texts the following morning about the shoulder touch that he left on read.
He did not tell Hannah, which was the hardest one, because Hannah asked him directly at breakfast if he had noticed anything and Dean had looked her in the eye and said no.
He was, he decided, a good friend.
He was also, he decided, definitely going to win that bet.
five — garrett
The hit happened in the second period.
It wasn't malicious, just the particular physics of two large bodies in a confined space moving fast, the kind of collision that happened in every game, that everyone who had ever watched hockey understood to be part of it. Logan went into the boards hard and stayed down for a moment longer than usual, and the arena went quiet in a collective way that meant everyone was holding the same breath.
You were on your feet before you had decided to stand up.
He was moving. He was getting up, slowly, with assistance from a teammate, skating to the bench under his own power. The arena exhaled. You sat back down.
Your heart was doing something extremely inconvenient.
"You okay?" Hannah said, from your other side.
"Fine," you said. "Totally fine."
She looked at you for a moment. You looked at the ice.
Logan was on the bench. The trainer was with him. He was talking, responding, doing all the things that meant he was okay, and you sat in the stands and watched with the stillness of someone who was doing a very good impression of a person who was just watching a hockey game and not mentally composing hospital directions.
He came back in the third period.
You exhaled properly for the first time in forty minutes.
After the game the group filtered down to the corridor outside the locker room the way they always did. You went because you always went, because it was a group thing, because it meant nothing in particular.
The players came out in ones and twos. Garrett first, immediately absorbed by Hannah. Tucker departing with a couple of the other guys. Dean getting into a conversation with someone near the exit.
Logan came out last.
He had a bruise forming along his jaw and he was walking with the slightly careful gait of someone who had taken a hit, and when he saw you he smiled, that specific smile, the one that was yours, and something in your chest did the thing it always did, except louder tonight, turned up by forty minutes of sitting in the stands holding your breath.
You crossed the corridor and hugged him, which was normal, everyone hugged after games, that was a completely normal thing to do.
Except then you pulled back and looked at him, at the bruise, at the careful way he was holding himself, and you said his name, quietly, in the way that was only for him, and he looked back at you in the way that was only for you, and the thing you had been keeping quietly for months was right there at the surface, obvious and warm and entirely done being kept.
You kissed him.
Not a quick kiss. Not an ambiguous one. A real one, his hand coming up to your jaw, yours finding the front of his jacket, the kind that had three months of ordinary Tuesday nights and Sunday mornings and staff bathroom detours in it.
The corridor went quiet.
You pulled back.
The group was looking at you.
Tucker's mouth was open.
Garrett had an expression cycling through several things very quickly , and then it landed on something that looked, more than anything, like quiet relief. Like someone who had been waiting for a particular thing to resolve and was glad it finally had.
Hannah was smiling in the particular way of someone who had known something for a while and was very glad to finally be allowed to show it.
Dean looked, more than anything, deeply smug.
"Wait," Tucker said. "Are you two — have you been —"
"Three months," Logan said, still looking at you, the corner of his mouth doing the thing.
"THREE MONTHS?"
"We forgot to mention it," you said.
"YOU FORGOT TO —"
"Tucker," Logan said.
"I HAD TWENTY DOLLARS ON THIS." Tucker pointed at you both. "I HAD — the pasta shirt! I KNEW about the pasta shirt! Does the pasta shirt count? When was the pasta shirt? If the pasta shirt counts then I —"
"Who won?" Allie said. "Technically who —"
Everyone looked at each other. A rapid, chaotic calculation passed through the group.
"Garrett," Hannah said slowly. "Garrett said —"
"After a game," Garrett said, with the equanimity of someone who had never been particularly worried about it. "I said after a game."
"You said after a game," Dean confirmed.
Tucker made a sound that had no letters in it.
"So Garrett wins?" Allie said.
"Garrett wins," Hannah confirmed, and immediately turned to Garrett with an expression of pure delight. "You won, baby."
Garrett looked at Logan. Logan looked back at him.
"You've been together for three months," Garrett said.
"About that," Logan confirmed.
"And you didn't tell anyone."
"We wanted to keep it for a while," you said, which was the simplest and most accurate version of it. "It was ours. We just wanted it to be ours for a bit."
Garrett looked at you for a moment. Something in his expression was entirely unsurprised. He nodded once, like a thing confirmed, and then looked at Logan with the small, easy smile of someone who had never doubted the outcome.
"Okay," he said. "Good."
Tucker pointed at both of you. "I want my twenty dollars back."
"You didn't win," Dean said.
"I KNEW ABOUT THE PASTA SHIRT."
"Tucker —"
"THE PASTA SHIRT WAS EVIDENCE AND NO ONE LISTENED TO ME —"
Logan looked at you. You looked back at him.
"Worth it?" he said quietly.
You looked at Tucker, who was now gesturing with both hands. You looked at Allie, who was consoling him with the resigned energy of someone who had expected this outcome. You looked at Hannah, who was collecting twenty dollars from Dean with the serene satisfaction of a person who had always known. You looked at Garrett, who was watching all of it with the calm, unhurried expression of a man who had called it months ago in a quiet kitchen on a Wednesday afternoon and had simply waited.
"Completely worth it," you said.
Logan kissed your temple.
Tucker made the sound with no letters in it again.
tucker: I WANT IT ON THE RECORD THAT I KNEW
tucker: THE PASTA SHIRT WAS REAL EVIDENCE
tucker: I CALLED IT FROM DAY ONE
dean: garrett won tucker
tucker: GARRETT WASNT EVEN PAYING ATTENTION
garrett: i was paying attention
tucker: YOU HAVE THE OBSERVATIONAL SKILLS OF A GOLDEN RETRIEVER
garrett: allie said that first
allie: it's true both times
allie: okay fine. garrett wins. i respect it.
tucker: I DO NOT RESPECT IT
tucker: TWENTY DOLLARS. GONE.
garrett: worth every penny honestly
allie: okay fine it was very cute
allie: i still saw the look though
allie: i want that acknowledged
dean: acknowledged allie
allie: thank you
tucker: I WILL NEVER FINANCIALLY RECOVER FROM THIS
you had no idea how much you needed both hottest guys in briar u at the same time, until your situationship dean asked you, if you ever had threesome. and then offered his help in exploring something new.
🤍 part two
🤍 part three
WARNING : mention of weed, characters are a little high, blowjob, doggy, logan likes praising his partner during sex and dean likes talking dirty, mention of marking. dean and reader kinda have something but they kinda don’t, it’s complicated. logan is a manwhore.
A / N : just let me be, guys, i craved to write something like this. y/n mentioned to have a long hair but i didn’t attach a colour, needed that for the blowjob scene, please forgive me. also lmk if you liked it !! enjoy ;)
never in your life you thought that you would end up on the porch of the hockey house. with dean and john. smoking weed. but here you are, pouring your soul out, while both guys listened.
“wait,” dean interrupted her, “so you guys did like… only missionary? nothing new, nothing exploring ?”
you sighed and shook your head, “he was like one of those guys who believed that sex is not necessary. i mean— it is not necessary for some people, we all have different levels of libido, that’s fine. i just haven’t met someone who could match my level, yet.”
logan nodded knowingly, “on what level is your libido? i mean how much crazy are we talking?”
you stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, “well… i’m pretty kinky.”
“oh”, dean smiled mischievously and leaned closer, “so what is it ? dirty talks ? praising ? choking ? roleplays ?”
“uh… everything, i guess.”
“shit, fuck that guy, use me.”
you froze for a second and then bursted out of laughter.
“god, you’re so fucking crazy, di laurentis.”
“can’t judge him, though,” logan said lazily, “it’s not every day when you meet someone who could match your wants.”
“do you think about what i think…?”
“dean, she’s not gonna agree.”
“come on, we didn’t even ask yet.”
“um… asked about what..?”
dean smiled charmingly before fully turning to face you, “did you ever tried to do threesome?”
your jaw dropped. logan looked away, as if already regretting what dean said, but dean didn’t look away, didn’t move. just waited.
“oh shit, you’re serious.”
“i’m always serious when it comes to threesomes.”
“idiot.”
“yeah, i’ve been told before.”
you sighed heavily, deciding whenever it’s good idea or not. i mean, college years are for trying something new and exploring things, right ?
“i didn’t. i mean threesome. never tried that shit.”
“it’s not that scary, though. me and dean had it like… many times.”
“wait, you two fucked the same girl countless times?”
“oh god, no!” dean immediately stepped forward, “we had like two girls at the same time. and for a while we thought about having one girl together. it’s just exploring new stuff, call it whatever you want. we promise to make you feel as comfortable as possible, we set whatever boundaries you need, just say yes.”
you were silent for a good 13 seconds and then raised your head, looking at both of them, “when i say stop — we’re stopping, no pressing further. and we ask before doing something crazy.”
“deal.” dean nodded enthusiastically and threw you over his shoulder, “now bedroom”
you laughed and hit his back, “i’m gonna kill you!”
“you wish, sweetheart.”
dean’s bedroom was large, bed was king size, big enough for three of them. logan smiled and turned off main lights, leaving only soft dim light from bedside lamp. dean behind you already took off his shirt and wrapped his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his nose against your neck. you melted immediately. logan’s smile softened and he walked closer to you. hands are resting on your hips as he leaned closer and pressed his lips against yours. logan tasted like apples and something spicy, you weren’t sure, but you never wanted to stop kissing him. your hands moving under his t-shirt, fingers slowly dancing over his skin, and when he sucked in air sharply? you smirked into kiss and pulled him closer.
dean’s hands working on the button of your jeans, pulling them down slowly, his fingers leaving hot trails on their way. your knees gets weak when he parted your thighs with his fingers.
“you good?”
“y-yeah…” you nodded shakily and bit down logan’s neck, making him hiss.
one by one, logan’s thumb and forefinger worked the clasp open, each hook letting go like a held breath. he didn’t rush.
“relax, gorgeous… i’ve got you.”
meanwhile dean’s tongue flicked on your inner thigh, making you cling onto logan’s shoulder like on a lifeline. dean knew exactly what he was doing, he’d done that countless times before, but this time feels special. dean's fingers hooked into the damp fabric at your hip, not pulling it down, just tugging it gently to one side — enough to bare your pussy, enough to let his breath fall hot against sensitive skin before he started eating you out.
you moaned loudly, hands clenching against logan’s chest. the air left your lungs, you felt so surreal right now. logan’s strong hands held you still, pressing soft kisses over your shoulder.
“shhh, gorgeous, you’re doing so good.”
dean ate you out like he was starving, son of a bitch, he was a way too good at it, “that’s it… ride my face, sweetheart.”
your hands wandered lower logan’s stomach, one hand pulling inside of his jeans. he groaned at the sudden touch and quickly took his jeans with boxers off.
“come here,” he whispered, making her stand on all the four. dean kept eating her from behind, but on the front ? logan gently moved the tip of his cock over her lips, before slowly pushing inside. you immediately sucked him in deep and gagged.
“shh, easy there. you’re doing so good, i’m so proud.”
you’re close, but you want him first. your rhythm shifts — tighter, quicker, your jaw relaxing as you take him deeper. his fingers tangle in your hair. your cheeks hollow. and then you feel it: the way he stops breathing entirely. logan’s hips jerked once, twice, and then his hand fisted your hair tightly, riding his orgasm.
“fuck… such a good little girl.”
dean picked up his pace, now one finger joined his tongue. then another one. he finger-fucked you thoroughly, paying attention to the every shiver, every shaky breath. when your walls started clenching around him ? he suddenly pulled away, making you whine.
“sorry, princess, be patient.”
he quickly rolled condom onto his cock and pushed inside you, making you both groan. logan kissed all over your face, comforting you.
“fuck, baby… you’re so tight.”
dean wasn’t the type who fucked fast, but he was the type who fucked hard. you know that he will probably leave bruises on your hips from how hard he’s gripping them. he slowly picked up his pace, when he found the exact spot that made you gasp.
you whined and wobbled uncontrollably, feeling too good right now, right on the edge, “dean… i’m gonna—”
“that’s it baby… squeeze me…”
dean thrusted exactly three times more, before you screamed, arching your back. you milked down every drop out of him and leaned against logan, feeling completely wasted. dean kissed you back before pulling out slowly and getting rid of used condom.
logan helped you to lay down on the bed and tucked you under the blanket. dean looked at them with quiet awe and lied down behind you. logan kissed your forehead softly before picking up his clothes and walking out of dean’s room.
“how is my baby feeling?” dean asked, his voice low and calm.
“good… finds out i love being praised.”
“i’ll make a note.”
“you should.”
he chuckled softly and kissed the top of your head.
summary: When another man gets too close to you on the dance floor, Dean's jealousy ignites, leading him to stake his claim in a dark corner of the bar.
CW: Smut, MDNI, public fingering, possessive behavior, marking (hickeys), bar setting, established friendship to lovers.
The bass thrums through your body as you move through the crowded bar, Dean's hand hovering near your lower back as he guides you toward your group of friends gathered near the dance floor. You've been dancing around the tension between you for months now, flirting that borders on something more and lingering touches that make your pulse race.
"Drinks first?" Dean leans close to be heard over the music, his breath warm against your ear.
You nod, watching as he squeezes through the crowd toward the bar. When he returns with two beers, his fingers brush against yours as he hands you the bottle, sending sparks through your entire body.
"Thanks," you smile, taking a sip as his eyes linger on your lips.
"Anytime," he replies, his voice dropping slightly. "You look incredible tonight, by the way."
You feel yourself blush under his intense gaze. "You don't look so bad yourself, Di Laurentis."
The night continues with easy banter and casual touches that become progressively less casual as alcohol lowers inhibitions. When your favorite song comes on, you grab his hand. "Dance with me."
Dean follows you onto the crowded dance floor, his hands finding your hips as you move to the rhythm. The space between you disappears with each song, your bodies pressed together as you grind against him. His breath hitches when you deliberately roll your hips, his fingers tightening on your waist.
"You're killing me," he murmurs against your ear, his voice strained.
"Good," you reply with a smirk, turning in his arms to face him.
That's when you notice him, a guy from your statistics class who's been trying to get your attention all semester. He approaches with a confident smile, ignoring the death glare Dean shoots him.
"Didn't expect to see you here," the guy says, his hand finding your waist. "Save me a dance?"
Before you can respond, Dean's arm wraps around you possessively, pulling you back against his chest. "She's busy," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The guy raises his hands in surrender, disappearing into the crowd. Dean's grip loosens slightly but doesn't release you.
"Was that necessary?" you ask, though secretly thrilled by his jealousy.
"Very," he growls, spinning you around to face him. "He was looking at you like you're his."
"And who exactly do I belong to?" you challenge, your hands resting on his chest.
Dean doesn't answer with words. Instead, he captures your lips in a demanding kiss that steals your breath. His tongue explores your mouth as his hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against his obvious arousal.
When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both breathing heavily. "Come with me," he commands, taking your hand and leading you toward the back of the bar.
He finds a dark corner near the emergency exit, pinning you against the wall with his body. His lips crash down on yours again, more desperate this time as his hands roam your body.
"Dean," you gasp as his mouth trails down your neck. "We're in public."
"Let them watch," he growls against your skin, his teeth scraping your pulse point. "Let them see who you belong to."
His hand slides beneath your skirt, fingers tracing the edge of your panties before pushing them aside. When his fingers find your slick folds, you moan softly, your head falling back against the wall.
"So wet for me already," he praises, circling your clit with practiced precision. "Been thinking about this all night, haven't you?"
You can only nod as he slides two fingers inside you, his thumb continuing to work your clit. The music from the dance floor provides cover for your soft moans as he pumps his fingers in and out, his mouth claiming yours in a possessive kiss.
"Come for me," he demands against your lips. "Want to feel you come around my fingers right here where anyone could see."
When he curls his fingers just right, hitting that perfect spot inside you, you can't hold back any longer. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your body trembling as Dean works you through it, swallowing your cries with a kiss.
As you come down from your high, he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips with a satisfied smirk. "Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes dark with desire.
Before you can respond, his mouth is back on your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. You know he's marking you, staking his claim in the most primal way, but you're too blissed out to care.
"We should get back to our friends," you say reluctantly, though you make no move to leave his arms.
"Five more minutes," Dean bargains, his lips finding yours again. "Need to taste you once more."
The kiss is slower this time, deeper, filled with unspoken promises. When he finally pulls away, he adjusts your skirt and takes your hand.
"Ready?" he asks, though his eyes say he's not ready to share you with the world again.
You nod, following him back toward the main bar area. As you approach the restrooms, you catch your reflection in the mirror and freeze. There, just above your collarbone, is a dark purple hickey.
You touch it gently, a mix of embarrassment and thrill rushing through you. Dean notices your reaction, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.
"Problem?" he asks, though he knows exactly what you're looking at.
You meet his eyes in the mirror, a slow smile spreading across your face. "Not at all," you reply, turning in his arms to kiss him once more. "Not a problem at all."
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ fluff! jealous!dean, party, beer pong, di laurentis being completely normal about another man talking to you, pet names (bun, princess, sweetheart, pretty + no y/n), making bets, lots of male pageantry, dean is down bad + 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊: 𝚍𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 🏝️
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ bonus linked at the bottom || [smut]-> so much teasing, using panties, unprotected p in v, denial, mid-sex banter, roughish + post-sex sweetness
The hockey house is packed. You stand with your friends near the center of it all, mixed drink sweating against your palm.
Across the room, Dean watches you over the rim of his beer.
He’s standing beside Beau near the kitchen doorway, making a pathetic attempt at pretending he isn’t staring.
The problem is that Dean has never been particularly good at hiding it. The two of you are supposed to be casual. No expectations. No pressure. No relationship.
Unfortunately for him, Dean likes you considerably more than those boundaries allow.
You catch him looking and he looks away. Your smile grows against the rim of your cup.
The whole living room erupts around the pong table when the final cup sinks. Water sloshes and Garrett throws both hands into the air, Logan tackling him into a hug.
Garrett smiles, catching his girl by the waist next, kissing her deep enough to have the cheering room break into whistles and catcalls.
“Get a room,” Beau calls. Garrett points at him, smiling like Beau just suggested something that was already decided—and it was.
“What the fuck, bro? We won. The fuck are you goin’?” Logan shouts, but Garrett and his girlfriend are already halfway up the steps. “You gotta stay—”
“Can’t,” Garrett answers simply.
“The hell you mean can’t?” Logan scoffs, but Graham’s as good as gone, leaving Logan staring after him in disbelief. “Unbelievable—Dean!” Logan points across the living room, calling him instead. “You’re up.”
Dean glances up from the lip of his beer—uninterested in anything happening around him but you.
“What?”
“Pong,” Logan yells.
Dean opens his mouth to turn him down, but then he looks across the room, right at you, and you don’t notice. And Dean Di Laurentis can have none of that.
You’re too busy laughing at something one of your friends says, drink balanced in your hand. Dean exhales slowly through his nose. “Yeah,” he says before taking another sip of his beer. “I’m down.”
“Let’s fucking go,” Logan smiles.
Dean stands up, stepping toward the table. You’re still deep in conversation when he reaches for one of the pong balls floating in a cup, flicking off the water before he rolls it between his big fingers.
You still haven’t looked over.
He glances away, catching himself staring before he remembers he’s supposed to be pretending he doesn’t do that. He swallows hard, jaw tightening; his entire demeanor shifting in a moment when he looks back.
“Ah, fuck no,” he breathes out a bitter sigh, bouncing the pong ball against the table.
“What?” Logan asks, following his gaze when Dean doesn’t answer. The look on Dean’s face says enough as Hunter Davenport makes his way directly toward you.
The one person on his team Dean has absolutely no fucking patience for. Hate is an understatement. And if Hunter had two working eyes and two brain cells left to rub together, he would’ve noticed Dean’s attention hadn’t left you once all night.
Within seconds the entire group is finding reasons to step away and give you two some space.
“Traitors,” he mumbles.
Dean pinches the pong ball between his fingers, spinning it against the edge of the table as he tries to look unbothered.
Hunter says something and your smile widens. He leans down closer, and Dean straightens immediately. “Need another team over here,” Dean calls out.
It has the intended effect for exactly half a second. Hunter glances toward the table. So do you.
Then he says something else and your attention goes right back to him. “Fucking prick,” Dean mutters under his breath.
“What are you on about?” Logan asks, elbowing him with a laugh, but Dean ignores him.
You laugh again and Dean’s face goes sour instantly.
“He’s not fuckin’ funny,” he huffs, and Logan looks back at him wide-eyed.
“Are you okay?” He laughs.
“Perfect, why?”
“I mean, I have so many questions,” he teases him, “but we can start with why the fuck are you losin’ your shit?”
“Am not,” Dean laughs like it’s beneath him, lifting his drink to drain the rest.
Logan claps a hand on his back, chuckling breathily. “Totally normal reaction, bud. My bad.”
“Shut up,” Dean grumbles as a few underclasses from the hockey team step up to the table. He waves them away, desperate to get you across from him somehow—shit. Dean reaches out fast, grabbing your friend's arm as she walks past.
“You trying to play? Get a friend,” he gestures in your direction just as Hunter’s hand rests on your lower back.
“I think she wants to play with Hunter,” your friend says, tapping Dean on the chest with a look that says she’s figured him out completely.
Davenport nods over to the pong table with a smile, already two steps ahead.
“Good thing you’re not bothered by this, huh?” Logan mumbles against the rim of his drink, watching as the two of you walk closer.
“You tryin’ to play, pretty?” Dean asks with his gaze set on you.
“That okay, boys?” Hunter asks with a smile, cutting in with a response.
“For her, of course. For you, fuck off,” Dean smiles, pointing at Beau instead, waving him over lazily. “You don’t gotta play with him, sweetheart.” The words leave his lips like the punchline to a joke.
“Don’t worry about him,” Hunter bites, his hand settling at your waist, guiding you the rest of the way. “He’s just worried I’m gonna dust his ass.”
Dean just lets out a short laugh as he reaches for a pong ball. He dips it into the cup of water beside him without even looking up.
“Keep talkin’,” he says.
A little smile curls on your lips as you grab the cups in front of you, making a little triangle, avoiding Dean’s gaze for now.
You can’t even remember the last party where some girl wasn’t practically hanging off his arm or finding an excuse to talk to him. Usually he’s the one smiling politely while somebody works way too hard for his attention.
When your eyes lift, Dean's already there, waiting for you. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. His blue eyes fall down your body for the moment as Hunter's hand wraps around your waist, talking strategy, but honestly the contact is more than enough to get in Dean’s head.
Dean sinks a shot, and you answer with one of your own. “Let’s go, princess,” Hunter laughs, bumping his shoulder into yours.
“You good?” Logan asks, his eyes sliding over to Dean.
“M’fine,” Dean answers too fast.
“Well, man who’s fine, everyone’s waitin’ for you to shoot—”
“Fuck off,” Dean mutters, wetting the ball before he shoots, sending the little ball ricocheting into the crowd.
“M’gonna need you to lock the fuck in,” Logan scolds, turning his chest to Dean, the two of them locked up in a staring contest for a few seconds.
Dean sucks his teeth and forces himself to focus again. It lasts all of five seconds. The second his eyes find you across the table, Hunter’s arm is draped lazily across your shoulders while he points at one of the remaining cups with his free hand, getting your opinion on which shot he should take.
You study the cups for a second before lifting a hand and pointing toward the one on the far side of the table, making your choice with a small shrug.
Hunter nods like you’ve just handed him the answer key.
Water sloshes as Hunter sinks it just seconds later. Before the crowd can even react, his arm is around your waist, hauling you clean off your feet in celebration.
Dean rolls his eyes so hard Logan catches it from beside him.
Logan plants both hands on the edge of the table and lets out a slow breath. At this point he’s not sure whether he’s playing against you and Hunter or dragging Dean across the finish line.
Hunter leans down again, saying something you can’t quite hear over the music, you turn into him a little more because of it, your hand landing against his arm as he grins down at you.
Across the table, Dean watches the whole thing and Logan follows his line of sight. “Handle your shit later,” he warns, and Dean doesn’t answer.
You laugh again and ZIP—the ball leaves Dean’s hand a second later.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” Hunter laughs, jerking back when the ball catches him in the shoulder.
Logan slowly turns toward Dean, equal parts baffled and disgusted. He waits a beat, clearly expecting Dean to explain whatever the hell that was.
“He threw that at me,” Hunter says, rubbing his shoulder.
“I missed,” Dean answers, arms crossing over his broad chest while Logan continues staring at him, waiting for an explanation. “Hand slipped.”
“You threw a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball at his fuckin’ chest.” Logan stares at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Shoulder,” Dean corrects him. “I was goin’ for his forehead.”
“Disappointed in you,” he scolds.
“Just—Just throw the ball, alright?” Dean blurts, gesturing toward the four scattered cups at the other end of the table and the nearly hopeless situation.
Logan lofts the ball and it swirls around the rim of the cup. You think fast, dipping down and blowing hard. The ball pops back out before it can drop.
“Goddamn,” Hunter praises, looking down at you before snatching the ball off the table. He dunks it into the water cup and lifts it toward your mouth.
You laugh but lean forward anyway, blowing the excess water from the ball.
“Atta girl.”
Hunter snaps the last few drops off with a flick of his wrist, tongue poked out in concentration as he lines up the shot—and splash!
The crowd explodes and Hunter’s arms wrap around your waist, turning into you as the cups are cleared off the table.
People crowd around the table again, drinks sloshing as somebody sinks a cup and a fresh round of yelling breaks out around the game.
Hunter stays planted beside you anyway. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and hands it to you. “Here. Your number?” He hums, and you look up at him. “Before we get caught up in another win.”
Your nose scrunches, giving him a little smile, nodding and punching in the numbers against your better judgment.
Dean’s staring from across the room as the stupid smirk spreads across Hunter’s face.
And suddenly his phone feels very heavy in his pocket.
“Dean,” Logan warns the second Dean pulls his phone from his pocket. “Leave that woman alone.”
“I’m texting—”
“No shit.” Logan snorts. “You’re also jealous. And you’re making an ass out of yourself.”
“I’m not making an ass out of myself,” Dean mumbles, thumbing through your text conversation from last night.
“You tried to hit him in the head with a pong ball.”
“Yeah, and I missed.”
“That’s somehow worse,” Logan whispers, rubbing his back. “You should have seen the way she was looking at you, alright? They’ll lose. Then, you can talk to her. Just put… the phone… away—”
“I’m working over here,” Dean snaps, jerking the phone away as Logan tries to manually disarm his device before he pulls the trigger and says something he’ll regret. “You don’t get her like I do, okay?”
“Fine,” Logan throws his hands up in surrender. “No more throwin’ shit at people.”
“No promises,” Dean mumbles, thumbs tapping against the screen as a little smile tilts on his lips.
Across the room, your phone buzzes against the table beside your drink. You don’t notice, too busy teasing Hunter about a shot he should’ve made.
Whoosh. The text tone sounds and Logan hangs his head, laughing at Dean. “Tell me what you say, at least?”
Dean shrugs, giving Logan a side-eye. “Nah, you don’t believe in me. You don’t get to see greatness.”
“You fucked it up, didn’t you?” Logan asks, cracking open another beer.
“Shut up,” Dean scoffs, sitting up a little straighter when he sees you unlock your phone.
The first text makes you smile. By the second one, you’re laughing. The third one has your eyes lifting to his, the dimple in his cheek popping as he secures even the smallest win.
You stare at the message, thinking of what to say next. Hunter leans in again, whispering strategy. You smile and nod, half-turned toward him as you type back.
“Your turn, princess,” Hunter drawls, passing you the pong ball. You slide your phone in your pocket for the moment and Dean blows out an impatient sigh.
Logan pouts sympathetically, squeezing Dean’s shoulder for support.
“Told you so—”
“Fuck you,” he scoffs, shoving him away with a laugh. “It’s fine—I’m… I didn’t fuck it up. She smiled. Did she not?”
“She did,” Logan chuckles.
“She laughed, am I correct?” Dean states his case.
“Yes, I believe she did.”
“She wants me. Period.” His phone buzzes, and he fumbles it, glancing away from you just long enough for you to have sent something back.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚗?
“Oh shit,” Dean breathes. Logan leans over his shoulder before he can protest, reading through the thread.
“Damn,” he says, surprised by Dean’s game after all that pageantry earlier, curious where he was gonna take this next.
You look up from your phone as that text comes through, and he’s still watching—still holding your gaze from across the room. And for the first time all night, he looks completely serious.
Across the room, Hunter Davenport has your number. He just won a game with you and spent the last hour glued to your side, but suddenly Dean doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by it. Every time your phone lights up, you’re smiling down at the screen, and Dean’s grin gets a little harder to hide.
You sink the final cup to win the round and catch his eye from across the room. The corner of your mouth lifts and that’s apparently all the encouragement Dean needs because he’s already crossing the room.
“Fuck, she wants me,” Dean laughs, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Pleasantly surprised by you tonight, Di Laurentis,” Logan tells him.
Dean looks over at him with a grin, rolling the arm he’d nearly separated trying to take Davenport’s out with a pong ball earlier.
You roll your eyes and bite down on your lip to hide your smile, but it doesn’t work.
A pair of freshmen are already hovering around the pong table by the time Dean gets there, the same ones he waved off before you and Hunter stepped up.
“We can wait,” Logan calls after him.
“No we can’t.”
Dean keeps walking.
He claps one of them on the back, then the other, smiling the entire time as he grabs fistfuls of their shirts and physically steers them out of the way.
“Appreciate it, boys.”
The freshmen laugh as they stumble aside.
“Captain of the year, everybody,” Logan announces, throwing an arm toward Dean. “Some real morale-building leadership.”
Dean doesn’t even bother acknowledging him.
Hunter grabs the balls out of the cups, lazily bouncing them to the guys. “Better luck this time, boys,” Hunter says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.
Dean watches his arm settle there for a second, jaw tightening, before taking the ball from Logan.
“Shoot.”
Logan aims and sinks the first cup, and without missing a beat the second one disappears too. Both balls get tossed back, and Dean tries his best to keep the celebrations in check for a moment, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he watches you lift your cup and take a drink.
After that, every cup came with commentary. Every shot came with a smirk. By the third shot Dean landed in a row, it was looking like a clean sweep.
“That’s tough,” Dean mutters, looking at the state of affairs. You and Hunter didn’t even get a chance to shoot yet.
“We are on a heater, buddy,” Logan smiles. “Six cups back to back. Are you kidding?”
“Sounds like a lot when you say it out loud,” Dean chuckles, winking at you from across the table.
“Just shoot the fucking ball,” Hunter says.
“You know, if I was a betting man, I should have bet… I don’t know. Something,” Dean mumbles, and you fight to keep a straight face.
Logan throws the ball and it hits the rim of the cup, hopping into the other.
By then people were crowding around the table three rows deep, drinks lifted overhead as everyone tried to get a look. Dean rolls the final ball between his fingers and looked across the table at you.
“Not sinking this shit until I get an answer from you, bun,” he chuckles as he lines up the shot. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t break my fuckin’ heart, huh?”
“The fuck are you talking about?” Hunter snaps from across the table, and Dean blows out a raspberry like Hunter is the last person to know.
Dean lets out a breath through his nose. “That sounds a whole lot of none of your fuckin’ business, Davenport.”
Dean’s eyes slide over to you and he gives you the most pathetic pout you’ve ever seen. “Don’t make me beg, baby. Not here. I’m not above it.”
“Deal,” you chuckle, and with that word he throws the ball, sending it clean into the final cup. And, just like Hunter, Dean doesn’t even wait for the cups to get pulled or the crowd to lose their minds before he’s already stepping out from behind the table, walking toward you.
You barely have time to laugh before his hands find your hips, lifting you off your feet.
His arm tightens beneath your legs as he heads for the stairs without even pretending to care what anybody else thinks.
“You are such an ass,” you laugh, trying unsuccessfully to hide your smile.
“What the fuck?” Hunter calls over the party as he takes the first step.
“What?”
“You can’t just leave.”
“—We absolutely can.”
“Congrats, Di Laurentis. You’ve been waiting all night for this.”
“No shit,” Dean answers honestly. “That’s all you got, Davenport? Cryin’ about her leaving and a half-ass congrats? Waste more time, please—”
“Fuck you.”
“Huh?”
“FUCK YOU!”
“What was that now?” Dean asks, amusement stretching across his lips as he holds a hand to his ear, taking another step up. “You’re gonna need to be a little louder than that, Hunter. Say it with your chest.”
“I’ll be down here, sweetheart.”
The corner of your mouth curls as you bite back a smile.
“You are so fucked, bun,” Dean laughs.
“Me?” You giggle.
“Absolutely you. I—”
“I’ll call you. How does that sound?” Hunter shouts, almost out of earshot, and that stops Dean mid-sentence.
“And I’ll block you,” he calls back. “Everybody wins—”
“Enough,” you breathe, grabbing his face in your hands and turning his attention back to you as he takes the last few steps.
Dean’s grip tightens beneath your thighs. His gaze drops to yours.
“Now,” he says, voice lowering as he leans closer, “where were we?”
cw: suggestive, nothing explicit. reader being a tease and enjin being a sap and falling for their trap. >;3
Enjin stealing a fleeting glimpse of you putting on lipstick through the crack of your door. Brows risen and curiosity spilling into his veins, he casually knocks his way into the frame of your door and leans against the metal with inked arms crossed over his chest.
"Got a hot date tonight, doll?"
You smile, pop your lips and glance up at him through your mirror, putting the lid of the lipstick back on. Turning on your heels you tilt your head, gently waving the lidded lipstick leisurely.
"No, going out with Semiu and Tommee tonight, trying on different shades to see which one I like most with this dress...I think I like this one the best, what do you think? too dark? too bold?" and that immediately gets his attention, he knows he shouldn't indulge in to your sneaky allure — especially since you both simply agreed on just being friends with some benefits, but, he couldn't help it. Not when you leaned back against your vanity the way you did with one hand holding your delectable weight, wearing a dress that screamed pure sin and freshly, warm colored lips wailing for his direct attention.
So, he slowly, carefully closes the door behind him, quietly, taking meticulous strides into your bedroom, intent amber eyes burning strictly on your devilishly tempting figure. Curves accentuated out ever so perfectly, lasciviously — dangerously. A lilt of a daunting smirk gradually etching it's way onto his firm features, stops directly in front of you and delicately takes your chin in his hands and lifts your stunning face to meet his. Hungry eyes roaming ever so diligently over the perilous lump of skin. Slowly wipes the tiny smudge of the gorgeous color from the right corner of your threatening lips with a sensual sweep of the pad of his thumb, eyes drifted with the movement of his digit swiftly back up into your glimmering, inquisitive pools.
God, if only the kids weren't literally wandering around through the halls.
The tedious, questionable positions this man would have you in, in sheer seconds. Heinous. Nefarious — Wicked.
He bites his lower lip, eliciting a low, deep chuckle as he keeps eye contact with you. Slyly slips his free hand down to the curved slope of your hip, pulling you in closer into his towering height.
"Do you want my honest opinion sweetness or...are you baiting me?" you only giggle softly, the hand that held the closed lipstick slowly trails up the plain of his clothed chest, titillating nails gently circling along the cloth that hid away the gorgeous red and black ink of art along his flesh.
"Mm, maybe both" your voice was barely volumed over a hushed murmur, your finger entangling into his shirt, tugging him closer into your space. His grin only widens.
"Dangerous waters you're treadin' in, doll"
"I'm a big girl, I can handle anything"
He groans deeply, eyes shifting back down to your lips, quickly back up into your daring, fierce eyes. Angles his head in to the juncture of your jaw, hovering his hefty weight over yours to gently corner you back into your the edge of your vanity, both hands grounding on each side of you to cage you in with his looming wight. Hot lips meld into the open, warm skin of your jaw gliding over to the corner of your inviting lips and just hovers.
"It's a perfect color...really brings out the fire and beauty in those damn relentless eyes of yours...really gets a man going"
Your heart immediately plummets into your stomach, butterflies ensuing through your stifled body, but your eyes remained firm, pulling — iniquitous.
"Oh? want to sample a taste then?" your fingers find the purchase of his shirt collar, tugging him further down to your height, a small wicked smirk flaunting up at him. He groans again, deeper and more animistic. Like something had snapped inside of him. Practically lunges himself onto you, latching his greedy, reverent lips on yours.
c/w ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ needy!dean, cutting corsets, unprotected p in v, backstage sex, tearing tights, praise, pet names (baby, beautiful + no y/n) + di laurentis is absolutely 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 for it
The corset clings to your body like it was painted on, teasing your curves with every shift. The shiny material of your skirt, the little wings, the fishnets stretched across your thighs—you knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself and that’s exactly what you wanted.
The second his eyes land on you, you know it’s game over. Dean hasn’t stopped staring at you since you stepped on the stage, his attention zeroed in on you whenever someone so much as breathes your air.
You’re halfway through the first act when your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, immediately having to bite back a smile.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚗𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?
A second bubble appears before you can answer. You look up through the curtains, seeing him sitting in the crowd with the other hockey boys. His phone rests in one hand while he scans the stage looking for you, his thumb tapping against the screen when you make him wait a few seconds.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.
He glances up, catching just a glimpse of you backstage, craning his neck for a better view. He drags a hand across his mouth and shakes his head to himself when he catches you looking, lifting his chin toward the stage, a grin tugging at one corner.
“Text me,” he mouths, his eyebrow arching. “C’mon.”
You bite your lip and roll your eyes, looking down at your phone.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 💕
The second it delivers, his gaze drops to the screen, the light glowing against his face. His mouth curves, that cute little dimple popping in his cheek.
He runs a hand through his hair before typing something, thinking better of it, then typing again when he just can’t let it go.
The lights flicker and dim, and the next act begins. You look up through the curtains again and catch him leaning forward in his seat, forearms braced against his knees.
The rest of the hockey boys are laughing about something beside him, but Dean doesn’t even glance over. His eyes stay fixed on the stage for another second before he finally looks down at his phone.
The after party rages around you and every time someone leans too close—every time a drunk college boy makes a comment to him about how good you look, he winds up a little tighter until his hand catches your wrist.
“Let’s go. Now.”
Dean wastes no time pushing you into the backstage room, shutting the door with a slam, pressing your back against it. His fingers tilt your chin up, his grip a little rough as his eyes burn into yours.
“You kidding me with this?” He murmurs.
“You don’t like it—”
“I love it,” he stops you before you can even start. His hand skims down your body, over the fabric stretched across your waist and ass, gathering the material in his big hands. “Me and every other guy here.”
“You seem jealous.”
“I am jealous,” he corrects you before his mouth crashes against yours, starved and desperate. You kiss him back just as hard, fingers twisting and tugging at his hair; gasping when he grinds his hard cock against you.
Dean squeezes your ass, dragging his rough hands up your hips before smacking the satin stretched across your skin, letting that satisfying crack fill the room.
The corner of his mouth twitches as he presses his fingers against your clit, cursing under his breath. Sure, you’re in panties, but those little shorts and fishnets are still in his way. That little gasp and a moan don’t tumble from your lips like they usually do. Easy fix.
You break for air, chuckling breathily against his lips. “What’s wrong?” You whisper.
“Can’t get to you,” he pushes out a sharp breath, tugging your shorts off your hips, yanking down your panties between rough kisses, looping his fingers around the fishnets between your thighs just enough to yank a hole.
“Dean!” You gasp and he chuckles.
“Beautiful.” A rough breath leaves him and he rolls his neck once, jaw flexing as his eyes drop to the torn fishnets stretched across your thighs. “Yeah,” he says under his breath. “That was even better than I thought it was gonna be.”
His hands slide to your hips as he kisses you, your heart leaping when he flips you, your hands slapping quickly against the wall.
His lips brush along the side of your neck, chuckling deeply against your skin, pressing wet kisses as his fingers work open the bow of the corset.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans when he feels your ass press back into him, his fingers working at the ribbon faster and faster when it refuses to cooperate. “M’getting—Holy shit,” he mutters. “How do I get you out of this?” His words come out clipped with frustration.
You hear him rummaging through the clutter beside you long enough to snag a pair of scissors. He grabs your hip, huffing out a laugh when you giggle, arching your back to get a better view before—snip!
“Dean!”
“Spare me,” he rasps.
The sound of the blades snapping together makes you gasp as he cuts the ribbon crisscrossed up your back.
He tugs the top ribbon away with a satisfying slip, baring hot skin to the cool air when the corset pulls away. The scissors fall to the dressing room floor with a clatter—the zipper of his pants already down by the time he turns you, lifting you up into his arms, your bare back pressed to the cool brick wall.
Dean pushes his dick into you in one slow, steady stroke. A strangled sound catches in your throat and your hand flies back, grabbing a fistful of his hair while your other hand clamps over your mouth.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Pussy’s so damn good.”
Your head falls back against the wall as he stretches you wide, his big hand tightening on your ass. He rocks back, making you whimper, his lips pressing against yours to swallow your sounds as he pushes back in again.
“Lucky I’m not teasin’ you. Needed you too bad,” Dean sighs, smiling against your lips as you breathe out, hearing just how wet he has you, the sounds of your pleasure filling your room. “These fuckin’ tights, huh? Buying you another pair so I can do this shit again.”
His tongue drags across his bottom lip as his eyes stay locked on yours. Your eyes soften as he slows down, letting gravity do the work, your body sinking down on his cock with his arms locked around you.
“You have any idea how good this feels?” He whispers, burying himself in your neck, thrusting up into you. Your fingers twist into his shirt as he grips you by your hips, drilling into you again and again until your back arches into him, and your pussy gushes, cumming around his while he does everything he can do to keep his pace, but it feels too fucking good.
He grits his teeth, not stopping until he feels your body melt in his arms, his heavy head falling to your shoulder as he breathes out a sigh of satisfaction and relief.
“I was so well behaved, you know that? I could have been so, so much worse,” he says softly, his voice breaking with pleasure as he leans in and presses a slow kiss to your mouth, tender and deep as his rough thumb traces your cheek. “Put on my sweatshirt. Let’s get out of here, huh?” He asks, quiet now, a smile pulling against your lips.
“The after party’s not over,” you tease through a breathless giggle as his nose nuzzles against yours.
He sighs, his big body pressing you up against the wall again, his head falling back with a smirk on his lips when your nails slide through his hair.
pairing: bi!sunghoon x sub!reader x bi!jake || wc: 2.6k || cw: smut! best friends!sunghoon and jake, voyeurism, masturbation, threesome, kissing, making out, oral (f and m rec.), handjobs, fingering, breast/nipple play, p in v, unprotected sex (don't.), cum play, mxm, dirty talk, strong language, use of petnames, mentions of alcohol || warnings: +18 content, mdni! || a/n: this was all thanks to this request and i'm unwell haha.
the three of you have always been close — too close, some people say. jake, sunghoon, and you. best friends since the beginning of college, the kind who share late-night snacks, inside jokes that make no sense to outsiders, and secrets that could ruin reputations if they ever got out. but this particular secret is new, and it’s deliciously dangerous.
you’re in jake’s apartment tonight, the one with the big couch and the soft lighting he always leaves on because he knows you like it. you’re dating jake — sort of. it started as hooking up after one too many drunk nights, but it’s evolved into something warmer, more consistent. it feels exclusive, even if you haven’t put a label on it yet. sunghoon knows everything. he always does. he’s seen the hickeys on your neck, heard the muffled sounds through the walls when he crashes on the couch, and never once made it weird.
until tonight.
“i’ve been thinking,” sunghoon says casually from his spot on the armchair, long legs stretched out. he’s nursing a beer, eyes flicking between you and jake on the couch. you’re curled into jake’s side, his arm draped around your shoulders, fingers playing lazily with the strap of your tank top.
jake raises an eyebrow, teeth flashing as he smiles. “dangerous words coming from you, hoon.”
sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you a second too long, then shifts to jake. there’s something darker in his eyes tonight, a curiosity that’s been building for weeks. “i want to watch.”
the words drop like a stone into still water. you freeze, heat flooding your face. jake’s hand stills on your shoulder.
sunghoon nods, not backing down. his cheeks are faintly pink but his jaw is set. “yeah. you two. i know you’re fucking. i’ve known for a while. and i… i’m curious. about how it looks. how you are with her.”
you swallow hard, glancing at jake. he’s watching sunghoon carefully, but there’s no anger there — just intrigue, and maybe a spark of something hotter. jake has always been open, playful in bed. this wouldn’t be the first boundary you two have pushed.
“you sure?” you ask sunghoon softly. “it might… change things, or make them weird.”
“i’m sure,” he says, voice steady. “if you’re both okay with it.”
jake looks at you, searching your face. you bite your lip, then nod. the idea sends a thrill through you — sunghoon’s intense stare on you while jake touches you. you’ve always found sunghoon attractive, tall and sharp-featured with that quiet intensity. knowing he wants to see you like this… it’s intoxicating, to say the least.
“okay,” jake says, grinning that charming grin. “but you stay in the chair unless we say otherwise.”
sunghoon settles back, legs spreading a little wider, beer forgotten on the side table.
jake turns to you first, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a slow kiss. it’s familiar, warm, the kind that always makes your stomach flutter. his tongue slides against yours lazily, deepening it as his hand trails down your neck, thumb brushing your collarbone. you sigh into his mouth, already melting.
sunghoon’s breathing is audible across the room.
jake peels your tank top off slowly, exposing your bra. he kisses down your neck, sucking lightly at the spot he knows drives you crazy. you arch into him, fingers threading through his soft hair. when he reaches behind you to unhook your bra, letting it fall away, you hear sunghoon shift in his seat.
“fuck,” sunghoon breathes. his voice is rough already. “she’s gorgeous.”
jake smiles against your skin. “isn’t she?” he palms one of your breasts, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens. you moan softly, eyes fluttering open to look at sunghoon.
he’s watching intently, lips parted, one hand gripping the arm of the chair. his eyes are dark, fixed on every movement.
jake lays you back on the couch, stripping your shorts and panties down your legs. you’re completely bare now, and sunghoon’s gaze drags over you like he's physically touching you — your breasts, the curve of your waist, the wetness already glistening between your thighs.
“touch her,” sunghoon says quietly. it’s not a demand, but there’s hunger in it.
jake chuckles softly and spreads your legs, settling between them. he kisses down your stomach, then lower, tongue flicking out to taste you. you gasp, back arching as he licks broad stripes over your clit, sucking gently. your hand flies to his hair, hips rolling against his mouth.
sunghoon leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. his eyes are glued to where jake’s tongue is working you open. “does she taste good?” he asks, voice strained.
“so fucking good,” jake murmurs against you, the vibrations making you whimper. he pushes two fingers inside you slowly, curling them just right while his mouth stays on your clit.
you’re moaning louder now, eyes locked with sunghoon’s. the way he’s watching you — like he’s starving — pushes you closer to the edge faster than usual.
but then jake pulls back, stripping his own shirt off. sunghoon’s gaze shifts immediately to jake’s toned chest, the way his abs flex as he moves. jake catches it and smirks, but doesn’t comment. he sheds his pants and boxers, cock hard and leaking as he strokes himself once.
sunghoon’s breath catches audibly. his eyes widen a fraction, pupils blown as he stares at jake’s length, then at the way jake lines himself up with your entrance.
“ready, baby?” jake asks you, but his eyes flick to sunghoon too.
you nod desperately. jake pushes in slowly, stretching you open with that perfect burn. you moan loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out. he starts thrusting, deep and steady, the wet sounds of your bodies filling the room.
sunghoon is breathing harder. his hand presses against the front of his jeans, palming himself openly now. but it’s not just you he’s staring at. his eyes keep darting to jake — the flex of his back muscles, the way his hips snap forward, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the low groans he makes every time you clench around him.
something shifts in sunghoon’s expression. realization. heat. confusion and want all at once.
“jake…” he whispers, almost to himself. his hand slips inside his jeans, wrapping around his own cock as he watches his best friend fuck you. the sight of jake’s cock disappearing into you over and over, glistening with your arousal, combined with your breathy moans — it’s too much.
he’s hard as steel, throbbing in his own grip, and the arousal hitting him while watching jake is undeniable. he always knew he liked you. the little attractions, the lingering hugs, the way he’d get jealous when jake touched you. but this — the way his stomach tightens seeing jake’s flushed chest, the veins on his forearms, the way his jaw clenches in pleasure — it’s new. overwhelming. bi awakening crashing over him like a wave.
“hoon,” you gasp, reaching a hand toward him. “come closer.”
sunghoon hesitates only a second before standing, jeans open, cock heavy in his hand as he moves to the edge of the couch. up close, he can see everything — the way jake’s cock stretches you, the slick sounds, your face twisted in ecstasy.
jake slows his thrusts, looking up at sunghoon with dark eyes. “you like watching me fuck her?”
sunghoon swallows hard, nodding. his voice is wrecked. “yeah. fuck, i do. both of you… i didn’t expect—”
“it’s okay,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. your thumb brushes his lower lip. “touch yourself while he fucks me. or… touch us.”
that breaks the last of his restraint.
sunghoon leans down and kisses you first — hesitant, then hungry, tongue sliding against yours as jake starts thrusting again. you moan into sunghoon’s mouth, one hand on his chest, the other reaching down to wrap around his cock. he’s big, hot, leaking precum as you stroke him in time with jake’s movements.
“shit,” sunghoon groans against your lips. “your hand feels so good.”
jake watches the two of you, hips snapping harder. “he’s pretty when he’s desperate, isn’t he, baby?”
you nod, dazed, squeezing sunghoon’s cock a little tighter. sunghoon’s free hand finds your breast, pinching your nipple while he kisses you deeper. then, almost shyly at first, his other hand reaches out to touch jake’s shoulder, sliding down his back, feeling the muscles move as jake fucks you.
jake shivers under the touch but doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans into it.
then, the dynamic shifts. jake pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your hands and knees so you’re facing sunghoon. “suck him while i fuck you from behind.”
you don’t hesitate. you take sunghoon into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head as he groans loudly, hand gently guiding your head. jake thrusts back into you, deeper in this position, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. every thrust pushes you further onto sunghoon’s cock, and the sounds are obscene — wet gagging, skin slapping, broken moans from all three of you.
sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on jake now too, watching his best friend pound into you, hands gripping your hips. “jake… you look so fucking hot like this,” he admits breathlessly, the words spilling out in the heat of it. “both of you. i can’t— i didn’t know i wanted this too.”
jake reaches over your back, grabbing sunghoon’s free hand and pulling it to your hip, then lower, guiding sunghoon’s fingers to where his cock is sliding in and out of you. sunghoon groans at the feeling — the stretch, the wetness, the way you flutter around jake.
“touch me too,” jake says roughly.
sunghoon does, hesitant at first, then bolder — palming jake’s balls, then wrapping fingers around the base of jake’s cock as it moves. jake moans loudly, hips stuttering.
the three of you move together like that for what feels like hours — a messy, perfect rhythm that blurs time and leaves the room thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
you’re on your hands and knees on the couch, mouth full of sunghoon’s cock as you suck him sloppily, spit dripping down your chin while your tongue swirls around the head and takes him deeper with every forward rock of your body.
jake is behind you, fucking you in steady, deep thrusts that punch the breath out of your lungs every time he bottoms out. the wet, obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass mixes with your muffled moans and sunghoon’s low, broken groans.
sunghoon’s hand is gentle in your hair, not forcing but guiding, his thumb stroking your cheek almost reverently even as his cock twitches on your tongue. his other hand keeps wandering — brushing over your back, then reaching further to touch jake wherever he can reach. fingers tracing the flexing muscles of jake’s shoulder, sliding down the sweat-slick line of his spine, then lower, palming jake’s ass as he thrusts into you. every new touch makes sunghoon’s breath hitch harder, like he’s still shocked by how much he wants this.
“fuck… look at you,” sunghoon murmurs, voice wrecked and awed. “taking both of us so well.”
jake groans in agreement, one hand gripping your hip tightly while the other reaches around to rub your clit in tight circles. “she’s perfect. so fucking wet for us. you feel how tight she gets when you touch me, hoon? she loves it.”
sunghoon nods shakily, eyes locked on where jake’s cock disappears inside you over and over, glistening with your arousal. the sight combined with the heat of your mouth around him is driving him insane. his hips start twitching forward more desperately, fucking your throat a little deeper as his usual cool composure completely unravels.
eventually jake slows his thrusts, pulling out with a wet sound that makes you whine around sunghoon’s cock. he flips you gently onto your back, spreading your legs wide. “your turn, hoon. fuck her while she strokes me.”
sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he moves between your thighs, eyes dark and hungry as he lines himself up. he pushes in slowly at first, savoring every inch, jaw dropping at the tight, wet heat enveloping him. “oh my god… baby,” he breathes, the pet name slipping out naturally. he bottoms out with a shudder, staying still for a moment just to feel you clench around him.
you reach for jake, wrapping your hand around his slick cock and stroking him steadily. jake leans down to kiss you messily, tongue sliding against yours while sunghoon starts moving — gentle, rolling thrusts at first, like he’s memorizing the feeling. but it doesn’t stay gentle for long. his control snaps, hips speeding up until he’s thrusting deep and hard, the couch creaking beneath you. every snap of his hips forces broken moans from your throat.
sunghoon pants, moaning both your name and jake’s in the same breath like he can’t separate the pleasure anymore. “feels so good… both of you.”
jake kisses you harder, then pulls back just enough to lean over and capture sunghoon’s mouth in a kiss — tentative at first, testing, lips brushing softly. sunghoon freezes for half a second, then surges forward into it, turning the kiss deep and filthy, tongues tangling as he keeps fucking you harder. the sight alone makes you clench around him.
it’s overwhelming. it's fucking perfect. the air is thick with moans and gasps and the wet sounds of bodies moving together. sunghoon’s hand finds one of your breasts, pinching your nipple while jake’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing fast. you’re caught between them, pleasure building impossibly high until it crashes over you.
you come first with a sharp cry, back arching clean off the couch as your walls flutter and squeeze around sunghoon’s cock. the intensity triggers his own orgasm almost immediately — he buries himself deep, hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a loud, broken moan of your name mixed with jake’s. his whole body trembles through it, face buried against your neck.
jake follows seconds later, stroking himself furiously over your bodies. thick ropes of cum paint your stomach, your breasts, and sunghoon’s chest where he’s still leaning over you. jake groans deeply, milking every last drop as he watches the mess he’s made on both of you.
after that, the three of you collapse in a tangled, sweaty pile on the couch. limbs are everywhere — sunghoon’s head resting heavily on your stomach, breathing hard against your skin, while jake sprawls half on top of both of you, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist and the other draped over sunghoon’s back. the room feels warm and hazy, hearts still racing as the high slowly ebbs.
sunghoon’s breathing is still shaky as he processes everything, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. after a long silence, he lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
“that was… my bi awakening, i think,” he admits quietly, voice hoarse. “i knew i liked her. i’ve liked her for a while. the way she laughs, the way she fits between us… but watching you, jake — fuck. the way you moved, the sounds you made, how you looked fucking her… i didn’t expect to want that too. want you too.”
jake presses a gentle kiss to sunghoon’s temple, then leans over to kiss your forehead, his dimples soft and warm. “good. because we’re not done tonight. not even close. we’ve got all night to figure this out… together.”
you smile sleepily, contentment settling deep in your chest as your fingers card gently through sunghoon’s damp hair. the three of you — best friends who have always been a little too close, a little too intertwined — finally feel like something more. lovers. a unit. whatever this is now, it fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be this way.
and there are many more nights ahead where curious eyes turn into wandering hands, shared pleasure, and something that feels a lot like love.
Synopsis- You tell your fuck buddy Toji you wanna try something new and crazy (sexually) but he comes up with absolute bullshit that you would've never guessed.
Warnings- HardDom!Toji, Camgirl!reader, Psychological exhibition(Pseudo-exhibition), sex on stream, clit play, edging, humiliation, orgasm denial, rough sex, slight praise kink, verbal degradation, sensory deprivation, blindfold, handcuffs, fingering, overstimulation, au (no curses), exhibitionism, pet names, claiming.
AC-RocnirWarrior
Word Count- 1.4k
A cold breeze blows harshly against your naked skin. You hear the rushed sound of the city and chirping of birds, so distinctly. Are you outside? Where the fuck has Toji brought you. What the fuck is he planning? Your mind is racing.
Nothing but empty darkness surrounds you. At least that's how it looks. You’re blindfolded, with your arms bound by cold handcuffs, clenching your wrists. Sitting on the cold seat of a chair pressed against you. Tilting with every gust of wind.
You can tell you are balancing on something. Your senses feel like they're incredibly heightened. You’re taking in every sensation down to a chemical level. Hyper aware of everything around you.
Every feeling, every smell is potent. You’re completely at Toji’s mercy. You told him you wanted to try something spontaneous, this wasn’t what you had in mind at all.
But you will admit… This feeling of risk is enthralling. Your heart is beating so fast. It too is trying to process this inebriating moment.
“T-Toji…Where the fuck a-are we??”
“Shhh..Stop shaking. You don't wanna fall, do you?”
This is nothing but fun for him. Taunting you that is. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
You’re so scared you might fall, you don't want to move an inch. But maybe you’re daring enough to test him. You lift up your foot slowly. Your heart feels like it will pop out of your chest. You accidentally kick him.
Big fucking mistake.
“Oh- Was that-” Interrupting you, he grabs and jerks your leg aggressively. Shaking you and the chair. “Be careful. I could drop you right now and not give a fuck after.” He says sternly.
You can’t see him. But you can tell he’s not joking anymore. “Please just answer me at least...” You ask but you know he won’t. He likes seeing you bend at his will. The way you obey his every word. That's why you’re his favorite toy. You just can’t get enough of him.
Suddenly you hear the high pitch chime of a stream starting. “Look how amazing she looks guys.” There is no way he's doing what you think he is. You scoff in disbelief.
“Haa- Toji.. what the fuck are you doing...?”
You can feel him breathing against your ear. Taking in the sound his lips parting as he smiles and whispers,
“I’m only doing what you asked for, doll. We’re gonna put on an amazing show.”
That rich, slick, seductive tone of his. That, along with the position you’re in sends a shiver through you. You feel an internal heat as your heart drops. But this feeling isn't fear… No, it's something far from it. A dark, perverse sense of pleasure. So, why not give them a show?
His thick fingers trail up your thigh. Pressing down and gripping your skin as he spreads your legs. Blowing against your skin to mess with your sensory perception. Toying with you.
He grazes his fingers up the slit of your pussy. Making sure the camera catches every second of this. You’re dripping just from the rush of being with him.
“She’s already so excited, guys. What a slut you are.”
He’s smirking with every word. Not that you can see it though. You just know it.
He traces slow controlled circles around your clit. Creating a pestering wave of warmth building in your sweet spot. “Nnghh…” A moan escapes your lips as he plays with your begging clit. Further igniting whatever flame you’ve sparked in this man.
His fingers slip into you with a heavy stroke. Thrusting in and out of you and curving his fingers upwards so they hit your sweet spot perfectly.
He wants to hear those pretty moans of yours. That begging is what he craves oh so much.
“Tsk… You better quiet down before someone hears you and comes looking.”
Laughing as he finger fucks you without pity. The feeling of his fingers going in out of you feels so good, you almost forgot where you were. As if you even know. All you have is an assumption.
“Ugnhh…Fuuck..”
You instinctively try to cover your mouth forgetting that your hands are secured.
“Haha.. How pathetic. Awww poor baby.”
He laughs as you squirm under his control. You're trying to contain your moans with no real hope of succeeding.
How can someone be so alluring yet so callous and calculating? But you can’t help it... You love the way he bends you at his will. You’ve never felt more alive than at this moment.
“Toji- Ngnhh...”
You feel a heavy pressure swelling inside of you, spreading all over your body. He stops as soon as you’re about to cum. Like he knows just from the way your pussy clenches.
“You don’t get to cum until I say so”
This man is a tyrant. He’s indirectly controlling your every move and you love it.
His fingers start picking up pace. Being sucked in and out of your sopping pussy. You can hear the constant notification chime of more views and gifts from the stream. Reminding you that you have thousands of eyes captivated and fixed on you.
“All these people watching. All here for you… My perfect girl.”
The thought of his words and being watched like this. The way your body is being pushed to the brink of ecstasy every second. This rush of adrenaline and pleasure. This feeling is intoxicating. Suffocating in the best way.
Out of pure desperation you start grinding your hips along his fingers. “T-Toji…Pleeeaase…” Begging him for something he will only give you on his terms.
“Mhmm that's what I like to hear. One more time for our lovely viewer, then maybe I'll let you cum.”
“M’leeeaase… I’m beggiing you…”
Without warning his fingers slip out of you. The recognition of the bleak sound of traffic and notifications snaps you back to reality. Panting as your body adjusts to this lack of stimulation.
“I love how hard you’re trying for me.”
Did you genuinely think he’d let you finish so easily?
You hear him walk away so you take the moment to catch your breath. Suddenly you feel his hands scooping you. Carrying you with ease.
“This is what you wanted right?”
He rubs his leaking and throbbing tip on your clit. Making you jerk. Your body feels increasingly more sensitive than before. “Mmmf..” Suddenly, he rams his thick, rigid cock into you. A shallow gasp breaks out of you. “Fuck…” he groans as he plumits into your tight pussy.
You can feel his cock pulsing with every deep stroke. Hitting every sweet part of your walls and making you clench tighter around him. You start grabbing at the air reflexively as he fucks mindless. The same way you’d clench the bed sheets when he’s inside you.
“Now tell the people who you belong to.”
“Mgnhh…T-oji..”
“Good girl…”
He slams you down on his cock. Brushing your bobbing cervix. His thumb softly massages your pillowy clit methodically. “Haa…so good..” You moan. It's like every sound you make is an airborne aphrodisiac for him. You can tell he’s losing control.
His cock feels like it's getting stiffer inside of you. Pulsing with every glide. Sending strikes of bliss through you. Your body is trembling as your moans fill the space. Your hips jerk with every motion.
“Go ahead and cum for me baby.”
The lovely magic words.
His raspy breath is quickening along with his strokes. The moans coming out of him are like a drug. The sound of his hips smacking against yours is getting so much louder as he pounds. It feels like it's echoing. You can feel every twitch coming from his thick cock.
Your head whips back as your muscles strain and tense up. You feel yourself hyperventilating. Every single sound you’ve heard up until this point feels muffled.
A wave of pure euphoria washes over you. Finally cumming all over his cock as he pours into you. Your mind feels so cloudy and your body feels more than weak.
His thrusts are getting disorganized while his grip on you tightens. You can feel his hot cum leaking out as he fucks you sloppily.
“Let me see that pretty face of yours…”
He finally removes your blindfold. Your eyes flutter, painfully trying to adapt to the harsh light. As your vision focuses you realize… There's no city traffic, no birds, no real wind. You’re not outside at all. You’re in his damn basement. With his computer and a big ass fan acting as “the outside”.
Your eyes widen.
“What. the. fuc--”
He rams into you with a smirk as big as his ego. Flicking his head back.
nerdjo, his pregnant girlfriend and his baby (and sometimes suguru) ♡ art creds here
When you nervously showed him the positive pregnancy test in your shared room at the penthouse,૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა froze for a solid ten seconds, then immediately pulled up a dozen tabs on prenatal vitamins, baby name generators, and a shared Google Doc titled “Baby Project v1.0.”
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა insisted on turning one of his spare rooms into a nursery right away, sketching floor plans on graph paper and ordering a star-projector ceiling light so the baby could “have her own little galaxy every night.” (he wanted a baby girl so bad, kept insisting that the baby HAD to be a girl)
He started a meticulous pregnancy tracker app on his phone, color-coded by trimester, complete with weekly bump photos he took with his fancy camera while you were both still in hoodies and sweatpants between lectures.
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა would drive you to every prenatal appointment in his sleek car, blasting whatever playlist you had chosen turned down low, and holding your hand the entire time while asking the doctor way too many hyper-specific questions.
He researched the healthiest snacks obsessively and kept the fridge stocked with cut fruit, Greek yogurt, and those fancy imported juices, proudly announcing each new “approved” food like he’d unlocked a rare achievement.
Late-night study sessions turned into him reading baby development books out loud to you while you rested your head on his lap, his free hand gently on your growing belly.
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა cried quietly in the car after the 20-week ultrasound when he saw her little profile on the screen, then immediately printed it out and laminated it for his wallet.
He started calling her “Pixel” as a nickname because she was “the best new character in our life’s game,” and it stuck even after you picked her real name.
During the pregnancy, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა would drag Suguru into their usual late-night study sessions just to show off the latest ultrasound printout he kept in a protective sleeve, zooming in on “her perfect little pixel profile” while Suguru sipped coffee and called him a sap.
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა assembled the crib with the precision of someone defusing a bomb, triple-checking the instructions and adding extra safety features he found on niche parenting forums.
when you went into labor, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა was a whirlwind of calm panic—grabbing the hospital bag he’d packed weeks in advance while driving you there safely.
In the delivery room, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა held your hand the whole time, feeding you ice chips and whispering nerdy encouragements like “You’re clearing the hardest boss fight, baby.” Then he saw his daughter and broke into full-on happy tears, glasses fogging up.
The first time he held his daughter, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა was a complete mess of awe and love, rocking her so gently while murmuring stats about newborn reflexes he’d memorized.
Back at the penthouse, he set up a whole command center with a baby monitor that had night vision and an app that sent stats to his phone so he could “data mine her sleep cycles.”
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა Back at the penthouse, he set up a whole command center with a baby monitor that had night vision and an app that sent stats to his phone so he could “data mine her sleep cycles.”
He bought a baby carrier that looked like a little tactical vest and wore her around the penthouse while reviewing lecture notes, calling it “multi-tasking DLC.”
First bath time was a whole event: ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა had the water temperature checked three times, rubber duckies lined up, and recorded a video for memories.
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა insisted on taking her to campus in a fancy stroller, proudly introducing her to professors and friends between classes like she was a little star.
Diaper changes became a strangely efficient process; he had it down to a science with wipes warmers and a changing pad that played soft melodies.
He baby-proofed the entire penthouse with outlet covers, corner guards, and even pressure sensors on low cabinets “just in case she unlocks parkour mode early.”
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა would hum video game themes as lullabies, and surprisingly, Pixel always settled down faster to the Zelda soundtrack.
When she had her first real laugh, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა FaceTimed Suguru mid-laugh and held the phone so close the audio glitched, yelling, “Did you hear that?! She’s got my humor! She's hilarious!"
He bought matching nerdy onesies for the baby and insisted on a “family photo op” with Suguru during one of their hangouts, forcing his best friend to hold her while he took 47 pictures from different angles.
During study breaks on campus, he’d wheel the stroller over to wherever Suguru was and dramatically unveil her like she was a limited-edition figurine, saying things like “Behold, the final boss of my heart” while Suguru pretended to be annoyed but always ended up playing peek-a-boo with her.
When she started crawling, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა sent Suguru a 15-second video of her scooting across the floor with the caption “She’s already faster than you bro” followed by ten laughing emojis.
Suguru once joked that the baby looked more like you than him, and ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა spent the next week sending side-by-side comparison photos with annotations pointing out her “obviously Gojo-coded” features.
For her first birthday party, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა made sure Suguru was there early so he could watch his best friend hold the birthday girl in her tiny party dress, getting a little misty-eyed again while muttering, “she's so cute...”
Toji fucks you through your high, but he doesn’t let you run from it like you usually did.
➺ smut, porn with no plot, edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia(?), rough, pet names (bunny, good/my bunny), whining, consensual!
~ 600 words
There you were laying on the mattress, clawing your nails in Toji‘s skin, straddling him tight.
The room was filled with a scent of sex and the whines you could no longer suppress.
His dick was completely buried in your slick little pussy, thrusting in and out so hard the bed couldn’t stand it.
“Ngh~ Toji~ I- I‘m so close…”
Toji growled low, knowing he wasn’t about to just stop. He wasn’t even close to finishing.
Your cries got louder just by the ticklish feeling inside you, and your nails scratched painfully, almost predatory on Toji‘s skin.
“Oh Bunny…” he chuckled, watching you tremble under his heavy body. His dick thrusted in and out, never loosing the rhythm that made you mad inside and toes curling on the outside.
You were so impossibly close, moaning gibberish. “Toji~ ahh.ᐟ”
And there it was. This electric shock wave that struck you when he made you cum so damn hard.
But he wouldn’t let you off so easily.
He grabbed your hips tight, not letting you calm down for even a moment.
He kept thrusting, hitting your now oversensitive spot until you were a trembling wreck.
“Toji- please~ uh.ᐟ I- I can’t-”
With a swift motion, he pulled out of you and turned you around so you were pointing at him with your wet pussy. Your face was hidden in the pillow, your hands trying to claw something to hold on to — this time the sheets.
With both hands, comfortably around your hips, he pushed back into your warm and tight pussy.
If you had bunny ears, they would have folded all the way to your back from this unbelievable full feeling. But it was just this cute little nickname he gave you.
Toji groaned low in your ear. “You can do it, Bunny.” A sharp clap hit your butt as he hit your spot at the same time once more.
Your eyes teared up from this overstimulation. Not the clap was the trigger, no, it was this fucking hot feeling in your pussy that wouldn’t stop tickling and sparking. It was truly maddening.
Back arched and breath taken, you whimpered and cried out the most softest moans Toji has ever heard from you. It made him even harder than he was already.
He could feel that he wouldn’t hold on for long, but that wasn’t making it easier for you.
One hand slipped from your hip between your thighs, slowly finding the swollen pearl in between your slick folds.
Your teeth sunk sharp into the pillow, muffles moans filling the room.
“Uh- running won’t help my bunny. Don’t even need to try. Ugh-”
Toji himself couldn’t suppress his own moans any longer and sped up his thrusts.
And, oh goodness, was he rough.
Almost too rough for your throbbing, pulsing pussy.
It wasn’t far until you would come the second time, even harder than the first time, and it couldn’t be more obvious.
“Good Bunny. Let it all out. Ugh- Don’t hold back.”
So you didn’t.
One last time your nails painfully scratched over the sheets and you moaned almost hoarse into the pillow while your body trembled now violently.
At the same time Toji groaned predatory into your neck, his abs kissing your arched back.
You couldn’t but just drop into the mattress.
Heavy breathing filled all the silence as Toji dropped right next to you, pulling you onto his chest.
“I told you, bunny. You can’t run from me.”
a/n: a little Toji smut before continuing the Megumi fic ;) enjoy!
The pleasure should have been the thing that made your head fuzzy, but instead, it was the smoke coming from Dean’s blunt.
He had insisted that it would be hot to watch you ride his cock while he had his blunt lit up. All you had done after that was roll your eyes at his words and lower yourself on his hard shaft, letting him your fluttering walls and the wetness that made everything feel like butter.
Dean groaned, his thumb and index tightening their grip on the base of the blunt so he wouldn’t let it fall by accident. His hips shifted up, jerking inside you as he found a better position. “Fuck, you look so pretty on my cock.” He said, licking his lips, blue eyes looking at the spot where your bodies met; how stretched your pussy looked with his cock deep inside it, how glistening your skin looked, and the feeling of you pulsating around him.
Dean hummed, taking a drag onto the blunt.
The smoke was exhaled to your face and you inhaled deeply, taking the smell as much as you could. “You’re going to pass that, right?” You asked, amused before you rolled your hips back and forth to tease him as much as you could. Dean’s mouth opened wide and he moaned, eyes still looking down at your pussy. “I don’t know, should I? I mean, you look busy.” He replied, cocky smile on his face when his orbs lifted up to your face, he took another drag and leaned his face toward you to exhale.
Your hands moved to his shoulders, cunt squeezing his shaft as you started to lift up and go back down. Dean’s free hand moved to your hips, helping you up slightly before pulling back onto his cock. He was gentle, letting you dominate the pace and making sure you weren’t tiring yourself too much. His hips jerked toward yours from time to time, making the bed creak under his weight.
You didn’t reply to his words, throwing your head to the ceiling as Dean kept the blunt between his lips for a moment again.
Nails buried into your boyfriend’s skin, it created half-moon crescents on his shoulders as you bounced harder on his cock, your juices leaking from your sloppy hole and down to the base of his shaft and to his balls. The room was already smelling like sweat, sex and weed now; all of this mixing and making your head fuzzy, mouth open to moan Dean’s name.
You slowed up the pace, which made the blonde man groan. “You’re teasing me, now? You’re so mean, baby.” He said, making you chuckle and roll your eyes again. “Grow up, Di Laurentis, stop whining.” Another cocky smile appeared on his face after the words left your mouth and both his hands moved to your hips now but he made sure to angle the blunt away from your skin to not burn you. “M’not whining, first of all, and since you want to tease me, it’s my turn.”
You didn’t have time to ask what he was talking about as he grabbed your hips tightly to stop you from moving and thrusted his own hips upward to hit his cock inside you. You gasped, the force of his pace made you fall forward onto his chest, both your hands flat onto his pectorals now. “Fuck, Dean! God, yes—!” You cried out as his tip rubbed your g-spot vigorously, his balls slapping the plush of your ass and your thighs jiggling. Loud squelching noises echoed in the room, mixing with moans and bed creaking.
Your ass arched up, Dean’s hands grabbing you even tighter to pull you down onto his cock at the same time he jerked up; his pace messy but strong enough to make you see stars. “Yeah, you like it? You like when I fuck you like that?” He asked but you were too far gone to reply to him with words, and only whines escaped you.
Dean must have understood before he suddenly slowed up his face just like you had done when riding him. “That’s my baby. I’m making my girl’s pussy feel all good, yeah? She’s squeezing me so tight right now, I can feel it.”
Your walls clenched even more around Dean’s hard shaft after those words, and you pushed onto his pectorals to pull your upper body away from his chest. One of his hands left your hips when you did that, and he took another drag onto the lit blunt, exhaling the smoke to your face as you started to bounce on his cock again, hands pressed onto his chest. Your ass slapped down onto his thighs, his balls sticking to your skin each time you lowered yourself again.
One of your hands lifted up to steal the blunt away from Dean’s lips and he chuckled, watching you take a drag of it before the smoke left the confines of your mouth slowly, evaporating into the air. Your boyfriend groaned, hitting his head against the headboard just to see the way your pussy looked as if stretched around his cock and how your juices leaked from your hole, sticking to his skin.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty taking my cock like that—” He said, both hands free now and lifting to grope your bouncing tits. His indexes and thumbs rolled your perky nipples around, tugging on them until you were moaning his name. “Dean, fuck, it feels so good.” You said, before messily taking another drag of the blunt and letting it rest between your lips just so you could rest your hands onto his chest and help yourself bounce faster on his cock.
“Feels good, yeah? I bet it feels so good to bounce on my cock like that, sweetheart. Taking it all deep, aren’t you?” You heard him say but you couldn’t reply so you only nodded at him, eyes closing for a second when you felt his mushroom tip hit against your g-spot once more.
Your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, feeling Dean’s hands grope and squeeze the fat of your tits, playing with your nipples and tugging on them. His hips thrusted up, helping you by slamming inside you. Your ass arched back, changing the angle.
One of Dean’s hands moved to take the blunt back from your lips and you let him, eyes opening to look down at him. He took a drag, smoke flowing around like ribbons as he exhaled to your face again. You felt dizzy, thoughts all fuzzy as you kept bouncing up and down on his cock; the room filled with louder squelching noises from your sloppy pussy and bed creaking so loudly you thought it would break.
“Look at that pussy, leaking on my cock so fuckin’ much. She must love me a lot.” Dean groaned, index and thumb pinching your nipple hard enough to make you whine and squirm on his shaft. You felt him pulsating inside you, pressing against your velvety walls and twitching to show how close he was to his orgasm. Suddenly, his hand moved away from your chest just to lower between your thighs.
“Fuck, I need to come so bad, Dean… Please.” You cried, his tip rubbing directly against your sweet spot when you leaned your upper body forward, bouncing straight to a new angle. His digit pressed against your slick and sensitive clit, rolling it slowly.
“You want to come on my cock? Make a mess and shit?” He asked, smile cocky and forehead glistening with sweat. You nodded and he shifted his upper body to be more up against the headboard; by this action, his mushroom tip hit your cervix and made you clench.
“Fuck, sweetheart, that’s it. Show me how much you love my cock.” You heard Dean say, your eyes closed when he exhaled smoke to your face again. His thumb circled your clit, smearing your wetness around which made everything even more slicker than it was before. You felt your thighs trembling, warmth coursing through your lower belly and you knew your orgasm was close; Dean knew too, from the expression on your face.
His hips jerked up, you gasped loudly when your orgasm showed the tip of its nose; your body squirmed and tried to push away from Dean as his cock kept thrusting up inside you. “Take it baby, I know you can. Such a good girl.” He say, finally putting the blunt away into the ashtray so he could give you all his attention as you came on his cock.
His thumb pressed harder circles on your clit, your walls pulsating around his shaft. “You’re going to squirt, aren’t you?” He said, grabbing your hips with one hand.
“Yes! Yes, God, please!” You cried out, hands trying to push his chest away due to the pleasure you were feeling, your legs shaking on each side of his hips. You couldn’t help yourself as Dean’s tip rubbed and hit your g-spot, and you let it go; come flowing from your pussy and wetting everything when you squirted. “Fuck, come on baby, let it go.” Dean hissed, hips jerking up inside your sloppy pussy, your come making a mess of his bedsheets but he didn’t care at all.
“Dean, fuck fuck fuck!” You gasped, eyes wide as it kept flowing out of you, your clit and walls sensitive and pulsating even more but before you knew it, it was over. Dean was a mess, wet with your come but he only smirked before looking up at you. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? Feels good, yeah?” He said, his hips still thrusting up inside you before you felt his cock twitch against your sloppy walls.
He only needed a few more thrusts before he pulled his cock out of you in a loud pop, his length creamy white and wet from your juices. Dean wrapped his hand around his shaft and jerked himself—a loud groan escaped his mouth and his eyebrows furrowed when he shot his warm, creamy load onto your pussy.
“Fuck…” You cursed, eyes lowering to the state of you: skin glistening with your juices and mixing with Dean’s semen.
“Shit, feels so fucking good.” You heard him say as he kept jerking off, more semen shooting from his slit and running from his tip to his length. You could feel your heart beating inside your pussy from the force of your orgasm, a sigh leaving your mouth as you stopped moving and Dean looked at you, smiling. “You were so pretty.” He just said, hands moving to grab the fat of your hips, not moving you yet.
“Yeah, you told me once or twice before, idiot.” You replied, licking your lips, eyes shifting to the blunt inside the ashtray. Your orbs moved back to Dean’s face but he was looking down at your messy cunt; at how much you had come on him. “Should have come inside you.” He groaned, one hand wrapping around his semi-soft cock just to pump it once or twice. “Why didn’t you?” You simply asked him and he shrugged.
“Wasn’t wearing a condom, wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.” He replied and you leaned toward his face just to press a kiss to his lips and pulled away.
“Responsable guy, that’s hot. I wouldn’t have minded at all, you know I take the pill.” You voiced at him, amused, before licking your lips again. Dean looked up at you, and you felt the tip of his cock rub against your folds, exactly where he had shot his load. You sighed, spreading your legs open against and leaned back on his thighs so he could see what he was doing.
Neither of you spoke up as Dean rubbed his semen around onto your folds and clit with his tip; as he smeared your own come too. He sighed quietly when gathering creamy white come on his tip and pushing it back inside your sloppy and messy hole, stuffing you with it. “Fuck, sweetheart—” He groaned at you, pulling out just to see your hole close up and clench for him. “You’re so fucking good.” He said, free hand grabbing your hips and pulling you closer.
“Yeah? You think I am?” You replied back, all teasing because he had told you so much before that obviously, you were aware of that already. Dean nodded, though, and angled his cock just for his tip to rub against your clit.
The feeling made you hiss in pleasure, thighs trembling as he circled your sensitive bud of nerves with his mushroom head harder. You could only roll your hips toward him, trying to feel more and get another orgasm.
Dean’s cock rubbed your clit and around, trying to push between your sticky folds before he started to slap his tip onto your clit which made you gasp a few times. “Want to come again, pretty? Just like that?” He asked, licking his lips, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. You nodded at him. “Fuck yeah… If you make me come like that, I won't even try to steal your blunt.” He laughed loudly, a bit too loudly for your liking because of how late it was, and he nodded. “Deal, pretty.”
After that, he rubbed and slapped your clit more, smearing even more semen around. Quiet squelching noises were heard from your pussy, mixing with your moans and Dean’s sighs.
Your thighs trembled as you came again, your upper body folding in half toward your boyfriend’s chest and he kept going until you relaxed against him. Then, Dean’s hands moved to wrap around your back to pull you closer to his body and when you fell and melted onto his side, he pulled the covers onto both of you. You squirmed, pussy pulsating from the orgasms you had, breathing quietly but deeply now.
“You were so fucking good to me, baby.” You heard in your ear and you hummed, hiding your face into Dean’s sweaty neck. One his hand rubbed your back slowly, fingers drawing patterns on your skin. “But I’ll remember that deal.” He added, which made you laugh and pull your head away just so you could look at him; at his tired blue eyes, at the hair sticking to his forehead, to his muscles twitching as he held you.
“I made a deal? I don’t remember anything about that, sorry.” You replied and he threw his head backward, laughing once more. His hands moved to your hips, and he rolled you around so you were under him. You gasped, laughing too as Dean leaned to kiss you.
“Might need to refresh your memory, baby.” He said before pushing your thighs open and you kissed his lips again.
“Yeah, you might need to.”
taglist ﹏ @ravensreadingrecs @nuitts @filthgf @avasarchve @girldisrupted @userhotd @wiishies @cheriedove @corvusmorte @purplerainx1 ( to be added )
dean’s chain swinging back and forth in your face… 18+ mdni. contains smut.
another grunt tore from deans throat, his head dipping down and eyes following down to where your bodies were connected. your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, keeping him planted deep inside you. sweat was beading in his forehead, damp locks of blonde hair sticking to his forehead. the air was thick, your bodies sticky and slick with sweat. you had lost track of how long you two had been at this and to be fair, it’s because you were under a spell.
dean’s gold necklace swung back and forth with each of his movements, completely mesmerizing you as he fucked into you. his heavy breathing matched yours, his breath mingling with yours. the pendant glistened in the LED lights dean had glued to the wall, which only mesmerized you more. of course you could feel him inside you. the way he reached all the way into your tummy, stretching you out… but you were also completely hypnotized by a stupid little chain.
“going silent on me already?” dean teased softly, eye scanning over your face, watching the way you eyes follow the necklace. your lips curled into a cheesy little grin, biting your lip as you had been caught red handed. your hands left dean’s scratched up back, his movements slowed as he watched you carefully. your finger hooked around the chain hanging from his neck, tugging it down towards you. dean leaned down, chasing the necklace as you guided it, and him, closer to you. he knew what you were doing, now and it made him smile, his dimples making your heart melt.
now, dean’s lips were hovering above yours, his nose brushing against yours softly. your heart was racing, thumping like a drum in your chest. you loved being this close, and intimate, with dean. finally, his lips pressed to yours, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him pinned flush against you. he was still moving his hips, just much more slow and deliberate now.
he pulled away, just enough to really look at you, and there your eyes again. lain right on his chain again. he figured since you were already distracted by the little movements of it, he’d really make it with your time. dean picked up the pace, his lips slamming into yours, the bedroom flooding with the sound of his skin slapping against yours. your back arched, eyes rolling back as he desperately gripped at his flexing biceps. you felt like your body was ascending and gripping him was your only way to stay right here on the bed with him.
“don’t look away now, baby. keep your eyes on that chain, okay?” dean’s voice was soft, sweet, fucking innocent. he leaned down again, his nose rubbing yours. “open your eyes, baby. keep watching that chain.” he cooed, his voice so soft, it was melting and turning your insides to goo. turned your brain to goo too. your eyes slowly shifted back to his chain that was swinging back and forth directly above you. dean couldn’t help but smile as he noticed you finally looking at the pendant again. “good girl.”
within seconds, you were pretty much gone. completely hypnotized by the chain in your face, looking so pretty… on an even prettier man. the bedroom reeked of dean’s expensive cologne and sex, but neither of you cared. dean’s hips rocked into your yours, each thrust making your tits bounce. “fuck, you feel so good, baby. like an angel on earth. my angel.”
your eyes were trained on the metal still rocking in time with dean’s hips, a moan falling from your lips at how good he felt. his large hand splayed out on your outer thigh as he hitched your thigh up on his hip, giving him access to a slightly different angle. an angle that let him go deeper. “got a little drool.” dean teased, wiping the corner of your mouth though there was nothing there. okay, maybe you did have a little drool there. you leaned up, opening your mouth and gently biting down on the pendant swaying, your eyes locked on dean’s.
“shit, just like that, sweetheart.” dean groaned, the sound music to your ears. he wasn’t going to last much longer and he could tell you were close too by the way your pussy was gripping his cock. with just a few more thrusts, dean’s cock hitting your cervix, both of you came. hard. your body shuddered and jerked beneath him, toes curling and back arching. dean had let out this primal roar, his cock twitching as he filled you, painting your walls white. he gently brushed some hair from sweat slicked face, his fingertip lingering on your skin as he looked down at you.
after several moments of both of you just trying to catch your breath and come down from your fierce highs, you finally spoke. “i want that chain dangling in my face 25/8. not 24/7, that’s not enough. sun up to sun down. life or death.” too dramatic? dean let out an amused chuckle. he was definitely, absolutely, not opposed to that plan. whatsoever.
۶ৎ paper rings, picture frames & dirty dreams. | j. logan
welcome to the dollhouse, dear reader!
short summary: where john logan wants to propose. unfortunately, the engagement ring is expensive, your future apartment is expensive, life is expensive, and he's slowly losing his mind.
pairing: boyfriend!john logan x fem!reader
word count: 6.2k
warnings: angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort, secret engagement planning, financial insecurity, discussions of money, reader thinking logan is cheating, emotional repression, crying, proposal anxiety, mild swearing, mentions of grief/loss of a parent, lots of kissing, dean di laurentis being aggressively unhelpful, garrett and tucker being the voices of reason for once, paper ring proposal, excessive use of "babe", tooth-rotting fluff at the end, reader is referred to as a she & as a woman, let me know if i missed any!
all characters in this story are adults.
english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors.
a/n: full disclosure, i was bawling my eyes out writing this. i love logan so much. also, dean deserved at least three separate concussions for his behavior in this fic. also, i was very inspired by this.
what's kai listening to: paper rings by taylor swift.
18+; mdni. likes, comments and reblogs are always and forever appreciated <3
The place was perfect.
You stood in the middle of the empty apartment, taking in the floor to ceiling windows, the marble of the breakfast bar, the pretty little notch in the kitchen island you couldn't wait to turn into a coffee bar. You could almost see it, almost smell the coffee brewing as the early morning sunlight filtered into room, caressing Logan's face with its golden fingers as he made breakfast. You could almost feel the way his mouth would curl against yours in a soft smile as you kissed him good morning, could almost hear his voice—
"Babe?" Logan's footsteps were soft against the hardwood floors as he rounded the corner with the realtor who was showing you the apartment. His dark hair was falling onto his forehead, blue eyes immediately finding you standing in the middle of the empty room. "What do you think?"
You meet his gaze, melting into him as he wraps an arm around your waist—casual, sweet. You loved that about him, loved that he wasn't a grand gestures, in-your-face romantic. He was steady, calm, the harbor in a storm. "I love it, Logan. It's beautiful."
He smiles at you, squeezing your waist before turning back to the realtor, Anna, taking off to follow her as she continued with the tour of the house. The property was honestly lovely—the kind of apartment you could see yourself living in after the two of you graduated college in a few months.
Senior year had been blissful, to say the least. After you and John finally—finally—began dating toward the end of your freshman year, life at Briar had transformed into something you never would've pictured for yourself. Weekends spent with the boys at the Hawks House, hanging out with Hannah and Allie on game days, parties that somehow always ended with you and Logan sneaking off to the firepit to sip beer and look at the stars. It was honestly hard to believe that you had been dating for only a couple of years—it felt like a lifetime.
And now, with finals, and graduation, and Logan being a shoo-in for the Bruins alongside Garret, you were excited to start the rest of your lives together. Most conversations these days between you and Logan were about apartments, where you guys would live after graduation. You were excited to move out of New Hastings and into Boston, where you'd been offered a job that was honestly, your dream since the day you walked into Briar U.
As Anna wrapped up the tour, you slipped your hand into Logan's, his palm rough, calloused against yours. Anna smiled as she handed you one of the brochures for the apartment. "So, the apartment would be around $3,900 a month. Utilities are not included, of course. I'll need the first and last month's rent if you decide to take the unit. The amount for the security deposit, as well as my fee is at the back of the brochure. If you have a few minutes, I'd recommend taking a walk around the block, familiarizing yourself with the neighborhood. I think you'd really like it."
You felt Logan's arm tense. Not too much—slight enough that you were sure you'd imagined it at first. But then, as you slipped the brochure into your purse, walking down the stairs, you noticed the slight crease in his brow, looking down at his phone. "Is everything okay?"
His gaze snapped up to yours instantly, his face softening the way it always did when he looked at you. "Of course it is, babe. Wanna take a walk around the block, see what's around?"
The two of you stepped out into the evening sun, hand in hand. The apartment was located in Beacon Hill, in a charming old brownstone. The cobblestone streets were lined with little luxury boutiques, antique stores, and gorgeous art galleries.
You passed several such stores in blissful silence, glancing idly at the displays in the windows, until—
"Oh, my God."
Logan was nearly yanked off-balance as you stopped short in front of the window of a jewelry store, mouth agape, staring at a pair of gorgeous diamond earrings. You turned to Logan. "These are exactly like the ones my mom had when I was a kid!"
Logan's face softened immediately. "Yeah?"
You turned back to the window display, pressing closer to the glass, close enough that your breath began to fog up the pane. The earrings were beautiful—simple diamond studs surrounded by a delicate halo of smaller stones. They were elegant, timeless.
"When I was little, my mom had a pair exactly like these. She wore them everywhere. To work, to date nights with my dad, even grocery shopping." A laugh escaped you, your gaze still fixed on the display, unable to tear your eyes away. "I used to sneak into her room and try them on when she wasn't looking."
Logan smiled faintly. You missed the way it didn't quite reach his eyes. "They're nice."
"Nice?" you repeated in mock offense. "John Logan, these are stunning."
"Right." Logan cleared his throat. "Stunning."
You finally dragged your attention away from the display to look at him properly. You couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was off. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but he hadn't been himself lately.
It had been happening more and more often—little moments where he seemed to disappear into his own head, where his smile seemed forced, where his eyes got this distant, faraway look in them, like he wasn't quite in the moment with you.
The crease between his brows was back.
Before you could even open your mouth to ask him about it, his phone buzzed, startling him. His hand immediately to his pocket, pulling out the lit up screen. Logan angled it away from you before you could even catch a glimpse of the caller ID, but you could see the look on his face—something between panic and relief.
Logan cleared his throat. "Sorry babe, I gotta take this."
"Everything okay?" you asked, trying to ignore the sickening sinking feeling blooming in the pit of your stomach.
"Yeah." The words spilled out of his mouth a little too quickly. Almost as if he could see the wheels in your head turning, Logan curled the corner of his lips into a smile—that familiar smile that usually settled every worry in your chest.
This time, it didn't.
Logan didn't seem to notice. "I'll be right back," he said, stepping away before you could say anything else, already lifting the phone to his ear.
You watched him retreat down the sidewalk, broad shoulders tensing underneath his jacket. You watched as his free hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing the spot at the top of spine like he always did when he was stressed.
Your stomach knotted itself further. Maybe it was hockey, maybe graduation, maybe apartment hunting. God knew the two of you had enough going on lately to make anyone lose their mind.
But somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else.
You forced yourself to let it go, instead you turned back toward the jewelry store window. The earrings sparkled underneath the warm display lights—and before you could talk yourself out of it, you were reaching for the door handle.
A small bell jingled overhead as you stepped inside. The store was lovely. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting soft light over glass display cases. You felt like a kid in a candy store.
A saleswoman was by your side almost immediately. She looked to be in her fifties, dressed impeccably in black. "Welcome, dear. Can I help you with anything?"
You smiled, pointing toward the window. "Could I see those diamond earrings, please?"
"Excellent choice," the woman said, her face brightening.
A few moments later, she was placing them carefully on a velvet tray. Up close, they were even more beautiful. Gently, delicately, you lifted one. The diamond caught the light, scattering a million tiny rainbows across the glass.
Your mother's face flashed through your memory—helping you zip up your prom dress, teaching you how to curl your hair, laughing so hard tears rolled down her cheeks at Thanksgiving dinner. A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest, but it had nothing to do with the earrings and everything to do with the woman who raised you.
"Would you like to try them on?" the saleswoman asked.
You swallowed the lump of emotions in your throat as you nodded, lifting the stud to your ear. The woman stepped forward, helping you fasten them.
Slowly, you turned your head to the side, glancing in the mirror. Your face immediately cracked into a smile. "Oh."
"I take it that's a yes?" the saleswoman laughed.
You turned your head to the other side, watching them sparkle. They really were almost identical—close enough that your mom would've loved them. Without thinking too hard about it, you asked, "How much are they?"
The saleswoman named the price.
They were expensive—definitely expensive. But not impossible.
You'd been saving aggressively ever since accepting your job offer in Boston. Between that and the graduation gifts from family, you could afford them quite easily.
You looked at yourself one more time, thinking about your mother, about all the milestones waiting just around the corner—graduation, moving to a new city, a new life. "Can I give them gift wrapped?"
The saleswoman smiled knowingly. "Of course."
Twenty minutes later, you stepped back onto the sidewalk carrying a small, cream-colored shopping bag tied with a pink satin ribbon.
The evening sun was beginning to dip lower between the brownstone buildings. Down the block, you could see Logan, still on the phone. His back was turned you, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans, the other pressed tightly to his forehead.
Your smile faded. The call had clearly lasted longer than expected.
As if sensing your gaze, Logan looked up, his entire expression changing the moment he saw you. The tension vanished, the crease on his forehead smoothening out. His smile returned, easy, warm, and familiar.
But this time, you were almost certain it wasn't real.
His gaze dropped to the shopping bag in your hand. Something flashed across this face so quickly you nearly missed it. It wasn't annoyance, wasn't surprise—it was something heavier.
Before you could figure out what it was, it was gone, and Logan was walking toward you. "Ready to keep walking?"
You slipped your hand into his, the shopping back swinging lightly from your wrist. "Yep."
Logan squeezed your hand—one, two, three times.
Together, you continued down the cobblestone street, neither of you noticing that the things you weren't saying were beginning to pile up between you.
At first, you told yourself you were imagining things.
Logan had a lot on his plate—he really did. Graduation was only a few months away now, and the Bruins had practically been circling him for over a year now. Between practice, games, classes, apartment hunting, and preparing for an entirely new chapter of your lives, it would've been strange if he wasn't stressed.
That was what you told yourself, anyway.
It was becoming a lot harder to believe, now that three weeks had passed and nothing had changed. In fact, if anything, you were afraid they'd gotten worse.
The first thing you noticed were the late nights. Logan had always been the kind of person who could fall asleep practically anywhere—on the couch, during movies, in the passenger seat of your of your car on the trips home for Thanksgiving.
But now? You woke up at two in the morning to find his bed empty.
The first time it happened, you found him sitting at the table in the Hawks House' kitchen, his tired face bathed in the blue light of his open laptop.
When he noticed you, he slammed it shut so quickly that you jumped. "Jesus, Logan."
"What're you doing awake at this hour?" he asked, his eyes widening.
"I could ask you the same thing."
You could've sworn he looked almost guilty as he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just couldn't sleep."
At the time, you'd accepted the explanation... until it happened again. The second time, he was sitting on the balcony, the third time, in the living room. The fourth time he was on the living room couch, claiming he was reviewing paperwork for the Bruins.
Every answer felt reasonable, but every answer somehow made you feel worse—because none of them explained why he looked so nervous, so guilty every time you caught him, or why he hid whatever was on his laptop, or why his phone suddenly never left his side.
You noticed the last part one Thursday afternoon, when the two of you were sprawled across the couch, your head in his lap, his fingers twisted in the ends of your hair as he watched a hockey game.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and Logan lunged for it so quickly you were nearly thrown off his lap. The movement was so abrupt that both of you froze.
A tense silence settled over the room. You had that feeling again—that strange, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach like the day he got that phone call outside the jewelry store. It was stronger now, more potent, almost tangible.
Logan stared at you, forcing a laugh. "Sorry, babe."
Nothing—no explanation. You tried not to think about it, but once the thought entered your head, it became impossible to ignore, because there other things, too. Tiny, insignificant things that probably meant nothing... except they didn't feel like nothing.
You started noticing how often he stepped away to answer incoming calls, how frequently he angled his phone away from you. How many texts arrived late at night. How distracted he became whenever you asked him if everything was okay.
One evening, you were brushing your teeth in his bathroom when his phone lit up on the counter.
You weren't trying to snoop—genuinely. Your eyes simply caught the notification as his phone screen lip up with an incoming text. Your chest tightened—no name, just an unsaved phone number.
The screen darkened before you could read the message. Your fingers itched to reach out and hit the power button, to see what the text was, but no. You trusted Logan—you trusted him with your life.
A moment later, Logan entered the bathroom, almost as if he heard the distinct ding of the incoming text from where he lay on his bed. His gaze immediately found the phone, then you.
The tension in his shoulders materialized instantly. "What?"
You flinched at how sharp the word came out. "Nothing."
His face softened immediately. He stepped inside, reaching around you to pick up the phone, planting a soft, gentle kiss on your temple. "I'm sorry, babe."
You gave him a tight-lipped smile, but the damage was already done. That night you lay in bed next to him, staring at the ceiling. Try as you might, you couldn't fall asleep.
It was ridiculous. Logan loved you, you knew that. You'd never doubted it for a second, not once in almost three years.
John Logan wasn't a cheater. He wasn't.
So why did it suddenly feel like he was hiding something? The question followed you everywhere—to class, to work, to lunch with Hannah and Allie.
Which, unfortunately, spending time with Hannah and Allie only made things worse, because apparently, you were terrible at hiding your emotions.
"You okay?" Hannah asked, setting her coffee down.
You looked up from the drink you'd absentmindedly been stirring. "What?"
"You haven't heard a single thing we've said for the last ten minutes," Allie frowned. "Is everything okay with you and Logan?"
You immediately forced a smile, even as the concern in her voice made your stomach twist. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's okay."
The silence stretched as neither of them looked convinced. Then, Hannah's eyes narrowed. "Oh, my God."
"Hannah, no—"
"You think Logan's cheating on you."
The words came too fast out of your mouth. 'I do not."
Allie and Hannah exchanged a look that you could read all too well. It was a look you knew meant they didn't believe you.
"Oh, my God," Allie echoed.
You groaned. "I don't think he's cheating."
"Okay," Hannah said slowly. "Then why do you look like you're about to throw up every time somebody says his name?"
You opened your mouth, then closed it. Nothing came out—because saying it out loud would somehow make it real. It would make the the late nights, the secretive phone calls, the hidden laptop screens, the weird tension, the distance, the uncertainty—all of it would become far too real.
Suddenly, your coffee tasted like battery acid. Allie's face softened. "Oh, honey."
"I know how this sounds," you whispered, wrapping both hands around your cup. "I know Logan would never—"
The words caught in your throat. Would he?
The awful little voice in your head whispered something ugly—you'd trusted people before, you'd been wrong before. And lately, every time you looked at Logan, it felt like he was standing just a little bit farther away than he used to. Not physically, but emotionally, like there was an entire conversation happening inside his head that you weren't allowed to hear.
The thought made your chest ache, because the worst part wasn't the possibility that he was cheating.
The worst part was that for the first time since you'd fallen in love with John Logan, you weren't completely sure what was going on inside his heart.
John Logan had never thought buying an engagement ring would make him feel like he was losing his mind.
And yet, somehow, here he was—three P.M. on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded by his teammates, staring at a spreadsheet. A fucking spreadsheet. He stared at the screen, already able to feel a headache building as he fiddled with an old receipt from Malone's.
"You know," Dean said from where he was sprawled across the couch, "most people use computers for porn."
Logan didn't even look up. "Shut up."
"No, seriously. Every time I see you lately, you're glaring at that thing like it personally offended your family."
Across the room, Tucker glanced over from his phone. "What's on it?"
"Nothing."
"That's a lie," Garrett said immediately.
Logan finally looked up only to see that all three of them were staring at him, judging him. And honestly, fair. He'd been acting like an asshole for weeks. He knew that, but the worst part, he couldn't seem to stop.
Every time he thought he had things under control, something happened that sent him spiraling all over again—like the earrings.
Jesus Christ, the earrings.
He'd watched you walk into that jewelry store and nearly had a heart attack—not because you'd bought something, but because you'd looked so happy, so excited. He couldn't forget the way your entire face had lit up, and
all he'd been able to think was that the earrings probably cost more than the ring he could currently afford. The thought had followed him home, into bed, into practice the next day, into every waking moment since then.
Logan rubbed a hand across his face. "I need a drink."
"It's three o'clock," Tucker pointed out.
"I need several drinks."
Dean sat up. "Okay, that's it."
Logan frowned, his fingers folding and unfolding the scrap of paper he was still holding on to. "What?"
Dean pointed at him. "You've been weird for a month. Like, you look like you're about to be executed."
"Pretty fucking accurate," Garrett snorted.
Logan glared at both of them in vain—neither of them seemed even remotely intimidated.
Eventually, Garrett sighed. "Dude."
The single word carried enough weight that Logan meet his watchful eyes, studying him carefully. "You gonna tell us what's going on?"
The silence stretched out between them. Logan looked away first, and that, unfortunately, that answered the question.
Three seconds later, Dean practically launched himself off the couch. "Holy shit."
Tucker sat up straighter, meeting Dean's widened eyes. "Holy shit."
Garrett groaned. "Oh, for fuck's sake., what?"
Dean pointed toward Logan. "He's proposing."
Logan froze as the room fell silent, Garret's jaw dropping, Tucker's eyes widening. Then—
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT."
"Keep your voice down, Di Laurentis!" Logan snapped, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face.
Dean looked personally offended. "No."
"Tucker?"
"Nah, dude."
Logan looked over at Garret, who was already laughing. "Come on man, you too?" he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. This was a mistake—a massive mistake.
"I don't even have a ring yet." The words slipped out before he could stop them. Immediately, all three guys went quiet.
Garret frowned. "What do you mean?"
Logan let out a slow breath. If he was already talking, he might as well finish. "The ring I want is too expensive, and every cheaper option feels wrong." Neither of them seemed particularly impressed, but Logan pushed forward anyway. "She deserves something nice."
"She deserves you," Tucker said.
Logan ignored him. "She loves jewelry." The memory of the earrings flashed through his head again—the way your eyes had lit up, the excitement in your voice, the sheer joy.
Dean groaned. "Oh my God." He was looking at Logan like he was an idiot—all three of them were. That annoyed him, because he was already very well aware of the fact that he was being an irrational idiot. "You think she cares about how much the ring costs?"
Logan opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. Before he could force his brain to string the words together, Garret beat him to it, staring pointedly at the piece of paper Logan was still messing around with. "She'd say yes if you propose with a Ring Pop."
"That's not the point," Logan sighed.
"That's exactly the point."
The front door opened before Logan could argue, the sound instantly drawing everyone's attention. A second later, a lilting, beautiful laugh floated into the house—a sound Logan would recognize anywhere. Your laugh.
His stomach tightened, eyes immediately looking for you as Hannah and Allie entered the house. You followed close behind, and immediately, every ounce of progress he'd made disappeared. Because there—shopping bags. Everywhere.
Bright little logos, gold embossing of luxury brands, of little boutiques, of department stores. Logan could feel his pulse spike. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean tensing, muttering under his breath, "Oh, for the love of God."
Logan shot him a warning look. Dean rolled his eyes so hard Logan was almost genuinely impressed.
He saw your sift through the room, landing on Logan, and for a moment, a flash of emotions flickered across your face—relief, followed by uncertainty, then settling into something colder, emptier, something that made his stomach drop.
"Hey." Your voice was soft, polite and distant.
Logan hated it with every ounce of his being. "Hey, babe."
You smiled, the look never reaching your eyes. A moment of tense silence enveloped the living room. Logan could feel every single pair of eyes zeroed in on the two of you, and apparently, you could too, because you shifted uncomfortably. "I think I'm gonna put my stuff away."
Before Logan could respond, you disappeared up the stairs. The silence that followed was deafening, everyone's eyes trained on Logan until Dean let out an exasperated sigh, smacking the back of his head.
"Ow!" Logan groaned. "What the fuck?"
"Go."
Logan was up on his feet immediately, slipping the folded paper object into his back pocket before Hannah and Allie could get a good look at it.
And for once, nobody argued. Nobody joked about him being whipped, nobody teased him for being wrapped around your finger—because even they could feel the tension, the distance, the way something had shifted between the two of you.
Logan found you in your bedroom, the shopping bags sitting on the floor next to the bed. You stood on the far end, unpacking them carefully, methodically, like you were trying really hard not to think about something.
The look on your face made his chest hurt. "Babe?"
You glanced up, eyes sliding over his face before going right back to what you were doing. "Hi."
The polite distance in your voice was killing him. Logan stepped closer, words tangling in his throat. He needed to explain, needed to tell you. Except, as it always did in any important moment, his words failed him.
You stared at him expectantly for a moment, then sighed. "I got you something."
"What?" Logan blinked, confusion clear on his face as he accepted the small box you were holding out to him. His emotions knotted tight in his throat as he opened it, because something made you think of him.
Inside, on a delicate velvet cushion, sat a Bruins keychain—a simple, unremarkable trinket that brought him to the forefront of your mind while shopping. Undeniable proof that you were thinking of him, even when you were out with Hannah and Allie, even when you were clearly vexed with him.
His throat tightened. "Babe—"
"I thought you'd like it," you said softly. The smile that accompanied the words was small, sad.
Logan hated it, but more than that, he hated the realization that he'd brought that expression on your face. Because the weeks of stress, of secrecy, of acting like a complete asshole had clearly taken a toll on your relationship, and now—now you were looking at him like you weren't sure what to do with him anymore.
Logan cleared his throat. "I think I owe you an explanation."
You met his eyes, and for the first time all day, he saw something other than distance—hope. It was tiny, fragile, almost undetectable, but it was there.
"Okay," you whispered. The word had barely left your mouth when his phone rang. Logan froze. No. No, no, no.
He glanced down at the caller ID, his heart sinking, and sure enough, it was the jeweler—the custom jeweler he'd been working with for weeks, the one he'd been desperately waiting to hear from.
Before his very eyes, your expression changed. The hope vanished, replaced by the same cold indifference as before. Logan's pulse quickened. "Babe—"
"It's fine."
"I just need a minute."
You waved your hand dismissively, stepping back to create physical space between the two of you. "It's fine, Logan."
His phone continued to ring as he realized this was all his doing. All this distance between the two of you was his creation. The realization hit him like a punch in the ribs, gutting him almost as thoroughly as you brushing past him with the words, "I'll see you downstairs."
And just like that, the conversation was over.
His phone rang again, demanding his attention once more. Logan stared at the screen, then out the bedroom room at the empty hallway you'd disappeared into, and for the first time in weeks, a terrifying thought entered his mind: maybe the ring wasn't the thing he should've been worried about losing.
The call lasted several minutes—several long, agonizing minutes.
Logan barely heard half of what the jeweler was saying, his mind barely registering the words. Custom setting. Center stone.
Any other day, it would've been exactly the conversation he'd been waiting for, but instead, all he could think about was the look on your face when you walked out of the room.
By the time he hung up and headed downstairs, he felt sick.
The house was louder downstairs, Dean arguing with Garrett about something while Hannah laughed. A hockey game was playing on the television like background noise.
Life was continuing exactly as normal, which somehow made everything worse—because nothing felt normal.
Logan found you sitting alone in the lawn chairs by the firepit in the backyard. The sun was beginning to set, painting the yard pink and gold.
You were curled up on the chair, knees tucked against your chest. For a minute, he stood there, just outside your line of sight, wondering how he'd managed to screw up so fucking royally.
The floorboard of the back stoop creaked beneath his weight as he took a step toward you. You lifted your head, your face closing off the second you saw him—and that was the moment Logan truly knew that whatever was happening between the two of you wasn't something he could smooth over with a kiss and an apology. "Can we talk?"
You stared at him for several seconds, then nodded slowly. "Sure."
He lowered himself into the chair next to you, a heavy, uncomfortable silence settling between the two of you—the kind that hadn't ever existed before.
Finally, you spoke. "Are you cheating on me?"
The question hit him so hard he physically recoiled. "What?"
Your laugh was humorless, boken. "I asked if you're cheating on me."
"Babe—"
"Because I don't know what else I'm supposed to think anymore." The words were spilling out faster now, like they'd been trapped inside you for weeks. "You won't talk to me. You leave the room to answer phone calls. You hide your laptop every time I walk in."
Logan's stomach dropped. He opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going.
"You barely look at me lately." Your voice cracked—just slightly, just enough that the sound tore straight through him. "And every time I ask what's wrong, you tell me you're fine."
And suddenly, Logan could see it, could see the weeks of secrecy, of distance, of unexplained behavior through your eyes. God.
Of course you'd think that.
Your eyes were shining now. "You know the worst part?" you whispered, looking away. "I would've rather had you tell me the truth."
The sentence shattered something inside him, because you genuinely believed it. You genuinely thought there was another woman. That after everything—after three years, after every promise, every late night conversation making plans for your future together, you thought he was capable of hurting you like that.
And it wasn't because you didn't trust him, but because he'd given you every reason to question him, to harbor these thoughts.
The realization hit him like a freight train.
"Baby, no," he whispered, his voice cracking. "No."
You blinked. "What?"
"No." The words stumbled out of his mouth broken, desperate. "I'm not cheating on you. God, no."
You stared at him, hurt and uncertainty written all over your tear stained face. He'd done that. He'd put that doubt there. The realization made Logan drop his head into his hands.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then everything he'd been carrying for months finally spilled out, summed up in eight simple words. "I was trying to buy you a ring."
Complete silence. Logan turned his head toward you to see your brows furrowed. "What're you talking about?"
Logan laughed, a miserable, exhausted sound. "The phone calls, the laptop, all of it. I wanted it to be perfect. The proposal, the dream, everything."
He could see your mouth parting slightly in surprise, but he couldn't stop the words from tumbling out anymore, couldn't stop the tears blurring his vision as he continued in messy, unfiltered sentences. "You love beautiful things,"
"Logan—"
"No, listen. You do." A helpless smile tugged at his mouth. "You stop at every jewelry store window."
You laughed softly despite yourself. "I do not."
"You absolutely do."
A tiny ember of warmth flickered between the two of you, then disappeared. Logan swallowed hard. "The earrings."
Your smile vanished. "The earrings?"
"That day in Boston. Babe, you were so happy."
You stared at him, completely lost, and suddenly Logan felt absolutely ridiculous, but he continued anyway, pushing through the discomfort of laying his heart bare, because where else would he be safe if not with you? "I couldn't stop thinking about how much you loved them."
"Because they reminded me of my mom."
"I know," Logan's voice dropped. "I know, babe. That's what made it worse. Because all I could think about was that if those earring made you so happy, your engagement ring should make you even happier."
He laughed shakily. "And every ring I could afford felt wrong. I kept looking at our apartment options, at budgets, at our future."
His eyes met yours, voice choking as a single tear finally escaped the confines of his long lashes. "I want to give you everything, my love. I want you to have the life you deserve."
"John."
"And it's—it's killing me that I can't do it. It was killing me that I couldn't afford the ring I wanted for you."
You hand flew to your mouth, the tears in your eyes mirroring his.
"And then I started thinking maybe I should wait." Logan shook his head. "But I don't want to wait."
A tear slid down your cheek. "John."
He barely noticed. "I want to marry you."
The words landed heavily between you—simple, honest, terrified.
Logan looked away, unable to hold your gaze anymore. "I know its stupid. I know how insane I sound." Silence, for a moment. Then, quietly: "But you deserve so much better than what I can give you right now."
The sound of your chair scraping as you stood up made Logan finally lift his eyes up off the floor. You crossed the space between the two of you without hesitation. Your hands found his face—warm and familiar and feeling like coming home.
"So let me get this straight." Your thumbs brushed beneath his eyes. "You thought I cared more about a ring than I care about you?"
Logan winced. "When you put it that way—"
"John Logan." The fondness in your voice made his heart stutter. "I like jewelry. I like sparkly necklaces and expensive dress. I like shiny things—but none of those things are you."
His breath caught in his throat as you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. "I don't care about a large sparkly diamond."
"You don't mean that."
"I do."
'You d—"
"I'd marry you with paper rings, John Logan," you whispered, as his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you to him like you'd disappear if he let go. "I'd marry you with a twist tie. I'd marry you with nothing at all. You're the one I want, and nothing's ever gonna change that."
Logan's vision blurred again, because suddenly, all those nights, all those spreadsheets, all the fears—they all felt so small compared to this, compared to what he had with you. Compared to the certainty in your eyes—the certainty he'd been too stupid to trust.
Something in Logan's chest stuttered, because suddenly, he remembered the folded receipt, still sitting in his pocket. He'd been folding and refolding it between his fingers while Garrett and Dean gave him hell earlier, creasing the paper absentmindedly, and before he could think, his hand was moving.
You frowned as he dug into his back pocket. "What're you doing?"
Logan looked down, letting out a watery laugh.
"Jesus." Carefully, he pulled out the crumpled strip of paper. The receipt had been folded and twisted so many times that it barely resembled what it once was.
Except somehow, he'd managed to fold it into a ring.
A crooked, terrible ring—the saddest excuse for jewelry in human history.
You stared. "Oh my God."
Heat flooded Logan's face. "I was nervous."
A laugh escaped you. "What does that have to do with—"
"I don't know." He was laughing now, too, half-hysterical, half-relieved. "I just kept folding the damn thing."
The ring sat trapped between his fingers, somehow more important than any diamond he'd spent months obsessing over. There was no diamond, no grand romantic gesture. Just you—just the love of his life.
Logan knelt, and despite all the words spilling out of him only moments before, the only word that parted his lips was, "Please."
"Are you serious?"
Logan's voice shook. "I don't have the ring yet. I don't have the proposal I wanted to give you. I don't have it all figured out right now. But I know I want forever, and I don't want it with anyone but you."
A tear tracked it's way down your cheek. "John."
"I know it's not much, but—"
"It's perfect."
"It's literally made out of a receipt."
You laughed through your tears. "So?" The sound nearly stopped his heart. "So was our first grocery list."
Logan laughed—a real laugh this time, the first one in weeks. "Please, babe? Will you marry me?"
"Yes. Yes, you big idiot, of course I'll marry you."
You stared the paper ring from his hand as though it were made of diamonds, holding out your hand for him to slide the ring onto your finger.
It fit terribly. You loved it.
And just like that, every spreadsheet, every budget, every sleepless night, every fear he'd carried for months disappeared.
Because standing in front of him was the woman he'd been trying so desperately to impress, the woman who loved sparkly things, who deserved the world.
The woman wearing a paper ring like it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she'd ever owned.
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