[mrshipsmcgee]

I’m Cait! I’m a 30 year old married lady and mom that likes to write fanfiction for fun. My requests are closed. But please ask me anything!

Masterlist

Newest Work -

Coming Up Roses (Off Campus - John Logan)

Cursed (Stranger Things series) *COMPLETE*

A Lord & A Lady (new part!) (Bridgerton AU!TASM Peter Parker)

The Scoundrel & The Princess (Steve Harrington)

A Case of You - TASM!Peter Parker

[mrshipsmcgee]

Coming Up Roses - Part Two

PART ONE PART THREE

John Logan x Fem!Reader

NO USE OF Y/N

4.7k words

Summary: The Minnesota Frost's Hockey Team poses a new threat on campus.

Warnings: Crude Language, Protective John Logan, Mentions of SA/R, Descriptions of Panic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Overprotective Hawks Team, Descriptions of Fighting, Creepy Guys

A/N: I literally couldn't stop writing.. I apologize for having to break this story into yet another part. I'm finding a lot of joy in writing again, so I hope you enjoy this next part as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 - Cait (P.S I think I'll link the songs I used as writing inspiration for certain scenes)

---

5:07 AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FUCK THE HAWKS

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

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

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

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

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

___

Hurried knocking startles you awake. 

Your head turns towards the clock in your bedroom.

5:45 AM 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks petrified. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____

9:12 AM 

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

10:03 AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

12:25 PM

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

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

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

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

Hannah and Allie exchange the same look before both cackling.

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

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

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

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

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

Dean’s vision shifts, feeling your gaze. 

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

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

It all made sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

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

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

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

Garrett tenses up and pushes Hannah behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This has to be a nightmare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean shouts, “Fuck you!”

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

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

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

The bell rings as the door shuts behind the men.

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

John’s chest heaves. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow before your sorrowful gaze slowly meets his. 

“I need to go home,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You just keep surprising me,” Hannah smiles.

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

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

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

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

—

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

<3 - Cait

TAG LIST:

@kmc1989 , @slut-taylorsversionnn , @we1rdth0ughts , @katrinaellie , @undercoverbatwoman , @plk-18 , @angvl3tears , @bookishweirdosstuff

[slashergirlnancy]

Steve Harrington // Lucas Sinclair STRANGER THINGS

[mrshipsmcgee]

Are you really writing a part 2?

Yes! It’s currently sitting at 4.2k, but it’s not done…. My b

[mrshipsmcgee]

I have had absolutely zero time to reply to everyone (which I swear I will asap! My baby is sleepimg horribly, so i’m feeling like a zombie)

For those of you wondering, Coming Up Roses is going to have a part 2! It’s already around 2.1k words, and I’m no where close to being done.

Love you guys <3

[mrshipsmcgee]

Happy birthday!

Thank you so much honey <3

[mrshipsmcgee]

okay so is it mr ships mc gee or what?

LOL!

My handle is Mrs. Hips McGee! Sorry for the confusion :)

I had a tumblr YEARS ago, and the handle was hipsmcgee, so when I came back I was married, so I added the Mrs :)

[mrshipsmcgee]

Coming Up Roses

PART TWO PART THREE

John Logan x Fem!Reader

NO USE OF Y/N

3.3k words

Summary: A Hawk House Party leads to devastating news about the team's new Physical Therapist, who just so happens to be the girl John Logan can't seem to keep out of his head.

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Crude Language, Protective John Logan, Mentions of SA/R, Descriptions of Panic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Overprotective Hawks Team

A/N: I genuinely hope you enjoy this fic, because I had so much fun writing it. My birthday is today, so this fic feels like a present from my brain <3

_____

Music thumps loudly, practically shaking the walls as you and Allie dance around one another, keeping close on the packed, make-shift dance floor of the hockey house’s living room. The home is brimming with people after yet another triumph on the ice, the second of three games that will lead The Hawks closer to winning the NCAA knockout rounds.

Tuck weaves through the crowd, flashing stressed smiles at everyone he passes before finally reaching the kitchen and sighing as he pulls out his fifth appetizer of the evening.

Logan stands from fixing yet another leak under the sink, “Jesus, Tuck. When do you sleep?” He breathes, shaking his head as he pulls off the bandana he had on, “You are incredible. Cooking for these drunks.” He teases. “You are far better than I.” 

Tuck’s hand’s brace on his hips as he smiles at his friend, “I really appreciate that, man. Thanks.” He turns and grabs a sample of his freshest dish, holding his hand under the food as he nods - “Bite?” 

“Much obliged,” John leans towards his friend, basically inhaling the snack from Tuck’s hand. His brown eyes roll as he hums, chewing and swallowing the food quickly.

“Good?” Tucker’s eyebrows raise as he awaits his friend’s reply, “I hope?”

Logan’s brow lace together as he snarls, “You hope? That shit is delicious, Tuck!”

Tucker smiles, “Thank you. Really, dude. Thanks.” He turns to his phone, scrolling through his Spotify before he looks back up to John, “What’re you thinking?”

Logan’s eyes shift over to where you and Allie dance, “Whatever keeps those two dancing. I haven’t seen this kind of entertainment since Dean and Graham went streaking on the ice sophomore year.”

“What have I missed?” Dean’s wide hands playfully slap down onto Tuck’s shoulders, scanning the room before his gaze quickly falls back to his friends, “Busy night, huh?”

John Logan nods as he braces his hands on the kitchen island, “Damn right, Di Laurentis. Packed house, yet again.”

“I haven’t seen this many people in our house since fall semester. I’m just happy no one’s called the cops.. Coach would kill us,” Tucker slightly shakes his head before stress eating an hor d'oeuvre. “Maybe we should shut things down? Call it a night? The house is definitely beyond capacity.”

“Hell no!” Dean protests, rubbing his hands together as he walks around the island and towards the crowd. “Let's ride things out and see where the night takes us, huh?”

“Whatever you say, man,” Logan’s eyes remain on where you continue to dance. A ridiculous smile spreads across his face as he sees you and Allie start to scream hearing the beginning notes of some Charli XCX song.

“You know you can go talk to her, right?” Dean says as he nods towards the living room. “Just because she’s our physical therapist doesn’t mean you can’t converse with her. We’re all adults here.”

John’s forehead creases as his eyes shift back to his friends, “I thought Garret said she has a fiance?”

“Nah, man.. I haven’t seen a ring on her finger,” Dean’s brows raise as he eyes Logan. “She’d have a ring on her finger right now if she were engaged.” All three men stare, trying to scope out an engagement ring on your finger.

“What the hell are you guys looking at?” Jules says, startling the hockey players. 

Logan turns towards Dean, looking embarrassed as he looks down at his sibling. He shrugs, slightly shaking his head, unable to find the words to say.

“Alright, Fifth Line. What’s the deal with Stretch?” Dean leans towards Jules. “Why did she leave MU?”

Jules inhales with a hiss, “She actually got fired from Minnesota.”

“There’s no way she got fired,” Beau interjects as he saunters up behind the boys. “She puts up with all of us idiots daily, and then puts up with you idiots too. I dare say she might be a saint. No one fires a saint.” He takes a sip of his beer.

“She has to be a saint to have put up with the assholes at Minnesota,” Dean shakes his head. “So pretentious and entitled.”

“Wait,” Tuck sounds concerned as he pulls out his phone. “We play Minnesota tomorrow, do we not?” He scrolls and clicks on the screen before laying his phone down on the countertop. 

ROUND THREE: BRIAR HAWKS V MINNESOTA FROST 6 PM

“Shit,” they all collectively curse before directing their attention to where you and Allie dance.

Jules blinks before making a face, “Well, that’s not gonna be good.”

“Yeah, it’ll probably be super awkward,” Tucker puts his phone back into his pocket. 

Jules' head shakes, “It’s not as simple as her just ‘getting fired’. She got fired after accusing three MU hockey players of sexual assault... I thought this was known news.”

The guys turn towards Jules immediately, shocked and disgusted at hearing what you had endured. 

“What?” Logan’s voice is flat, his nostrils flair as he grips the liquor bottle in his hand.

“Yeah,” Jules takes another sip of their drink. “Her case didn't even make it to court, which is insane because of what she accused them of doing to her.” Their eyes roll before glancing over to you, “At least she’s made friends here already. She seems like a great addition.”

“She is,” Tucker says as he mixes ingredients in a bowl. “She fixed my hamstring! She clearly has a gift.”

Dean’s eyes are locked in on the dance floor, “Minnesota will have to face us if they fuck with Stretch.”

“Wait, what happened with the hockey players?” Logan asks as he opens the bottle of liquor and pours it into a shot glass before tossing the liquid into his mouth. 

“Absolutely fucking nothing,” Jules pulls out their phone and scrolls before pointing at the screen. “The accused are actually Minnesota’s starting line.”

The men all share the same primal look before Dean says, “Guess we’re wrecking Minnesota tomorrow.” 

“You’re damn right,” Logan agrees before taking another shot. He watches you dance around, carefree and happy. His stomach ties in knots thinking of what you had been through. 

You can’t help but to feel like you’re being watched as you start to scan the room, still dancing around Allie. Your line of vision lands on the kitchen where a small group of athletes stand awkwardly behind the kitchen island; each of the men stare off into different parts of the room. Jules smiles and waves before taking another sip of their drink.

You wave back, confused before turning back to Allie. “What is that about?” You ask, breathless as you continue to dance along to the rhythm of the loud music. “That was weird, right?”

Her brown eyes shift over to the kitchen before falling quickly to the ground, “I- uh.. Y-you know them- there’s no telling.”

Your brows lace together seeing Allie’s apprehension, “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, “Nothing, nothing. I think the crowd might be getting to be too much.” You notice her eyes shifting over to the kitchen island again, her gaze lingering before ultimately falling back to the carpeted floor, “Maybe I’ve just drank too much.”

“I’m sure Tuck would be more than happy to feed you,” You motion towards the kitchen. “C’mon, let's get you sober.”

As the two of you push through the crowd, Hannah and Garrett descend the stairs, looping around the foyer to the kitchen and running into you and Allie at the island. 

“Holy shit at this crowd,” Hannah says loudly over the bumping music.

“How have you guys managed?” Garrett asks.

“Alcohol, Graham. Alcohol,” Dean teases, taking a shot before he turns away from the group and heads towards the dance floor. “In fact, I’m about to be managing even better.”

“So, were you helping tutor Garrett?” Allie teases as she gives Hannah a hip bump.

Hannah smiles widely, blushing as she bumps her hip back at Allie, “Oh, shut up.”

Garrett’s hand wraps around Hannah’s waist as he plants a gentle kiss on the back of her head, “I’m gonna take the trash out real quick, okay?”

“Okay,” She nods as she turns her head towards her boyfriend, kissing him sweetly before turning back towards you and Allie. 

“You guys are adorable,” you smile. 

“Thanks,” she peeks over her shoulder, watching her boyfriend head out towards the trashbin outside. “He’s pretty great. I’m lucky.”

“Han,” Allie says, her brown eyes darting towards the staircase. “Bathroom trip?”

“Of course,” Hannah replies before she looks at you, “Bathroom trips are for the girlies only. Would you like to join?”

“I’m actually good,” you flash them both a smile. “I’m honored to have been invited though. Next time!” 

“Fine,” Allie says. “You’ll be missed.”

“However will you pee without me?” You tease.

“I’ll hold her hand, don’t worry,” Hannah jokes. “Be right back!”

“Good luck!” You say before turning towards the countertop where most of the hockey players stood, bumping right into Logan’s chest. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” 

“No need to apologize,” he shakes his head, his warm eyes gaze down at you. Beau accidentally backs into you as a group of puck bunnies make their way through the house, pushing you back into John’s chest. “Are you good?” he gulps at your nearness.

“Feeling a tad squished,” your chest presses firmly against the man towering over you, “And very short.”

Logan nods, “You are quite short.” 

“Hey!” You give him a sassy look. “Maybe you’re just insanely tall?”

John’s face is only inches from yours as he says, “You know, I just realized I never thanked you for fixing my neck a few weeks ago. That thing was killer and you magically made it go away.”

God, he smelled so good.

“Thanks, Logan.”

“No, ma’am. Thank you,” he licks his bottom lip before smiling at you again. 

“I am so sorry, Stretch,” Beau turns, dusting you off and giving you room to breathe again. “It was a little cramped there for a bit. Sorry about almost squeezing you to death.”

“It’s okay, Beau,” you reply, feeling like you should be standing on a step stool as you stand sandwiched between the two athletes. “Would you guys want to do a shot with me? Hannah and Allie aren’t here and I don’t like drinking alone. It’s okay if not.”

“Hell yes!” Beau grabs three shot glasses and nods at Logan, “Three shots, good sir.”

“Gladly,” John bows, smiling widely as he fills the small cups with liquor. You each grab your respective glass.

“Cheers to our incredible physical therapist,” Beau says as he holds his shot glass up.

“No, no, no,” you raise your glass. “Cheers to the Hawks being undefeated this semester!”

“To Stretch!” Dean yells from across the living room, holding up an invisible glass as he dances behind a beautiful redhead. 

“When did he get so plastered and who allowed it?” You turn to both boys. “Who was on Dean watch?”

The guys look at each other and then to you. 

“It was Tuck,” Beau says quickly, shrugging.

“Oh, no no no, Maxwell, you two aren’t pinning this on Tucker, because he has been graciously hosting all of us. You-,” you point at Beau. “-were on duty tonight. Weren’t you?”

“I can try to wrangle him in,” Beau says before abruptly knocking back his shot and stretching his neck from shoulder to shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck!” You yell over the music as Beau shimmies his way into the crowd.

Logan’s laugh grabs your attention. 

“What’s so funny?” you ask, still holding your full shot glass.

“Nothing, really. There’s just never a dull moment. Hasn’t been one since I’ve gotten to Briar U,” He watches his friends before directing his brown eyes at you. “We still need to take these shots!”

“Oh, shit!” You hold your glass up to the man. “Cheers to you, John Logan.”

“No, ma’am,” he touches his glass to yours. “Cheers to you. We’re lucky to have you.”

“You are always so sweet to me, John. Thank you,” you nod before taking your shot, shaking your head as warmness spreads through your stomach. 

“You’re easy to be sweet to, Stretch,” his cheeks hurt from smiling as he throws the shot into his mouth, hissing before placing the glass back onto the island countertop.

“Looks like Beau has successfully corralled Dean,” you nod towards the two men wrestling on the living room floor, grunting and laughing as they each take turns overpowering the other. “I guess?”

“This is normal behavior, so I say Beau’s wrangling of Dean was a success. Now to get Dean to go to sleep..” John laughs as he watches Beau get Dean into a playful chokehold.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow’s game?”

His question makes your heart race.

“I- uh, I think you guys will do well if you all stop drinking,” you tease, though your voice is laced with melancholy. “No, really. I think you guys will easily win. Your line of defense is too strong to lose.”

John’s eyes look sad as he stares down at you.

“What?” Your brows furrow. “Did I say something?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I.. uh-I was asking because Jules kind of told us why you left MU.” He shakes his head at his sudden word vomit. “But- but, it's not a big deal, I swear.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. “What? Oh god.. You guys know?”

John is at a loss for words, swallowing hard before he clears his throat.

“Oh my god,” you feel lightheaded from the rush of anxiety washing over you. Faint ringing silences the noises from the party around you. “I-uh, I have to go.”

You feel like you’re outside of your body as your feet begin towards the front door of the house. John quickly follows as you head out of the house and start down the sidewalk, not even walking in the direction of your room.

Your feet pick up the pace as you begin to run, hoping to escape the shame and embarrassment you felt as hot tears run down your face.

Logan runs after you, his long legs catching up with you as his large hands reach out to grab your arm. “Hey, hey-” he coos, bringing you both to a halt. “Hey, look at me. Please.”

You blink back tears as you stare at the ground. “You guys weren’t supposed to find out.. no one was. Coach Jensen said the news would never get out,” you shake your head. “I told him you’d all find out eventually and that you’ll think differently of me.. Maybe even hate me. Or-or maybe you’d be uncomfortable to be around me if you knew.”

“You thought we would hate you after finding out three grown men sexually assaulted you?” He lets out an exhausted scoff. “You should have been worried that we would kill the assholes that hurt you after we found out what happened.”

Finally, your saddened gaze meets John’s deep eyes. The tears streaming down your face shine under the streetlamp, breaking Logan’s heart as he swallows down his building rage, not wanting his defensiveness to scare you.

He points in the direction of the stadium, “If any of those motherfuckers even look your way tomorrow I will personally beat the shit out of each one of them.” His lips press together as he exhales slowly, shaking a bit as his fingers rake through his locks. “Look.. No one is ever hurting you again. None of us will allow that shit.. Especially me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you murmur, staring at the beautiful man in front of you. “I-I was so scared for you guys to find out why I had to leave Minnesota. Especially you..”

“Me?” He’s taken aback, brows furrowing as he blinks. “Why?”

“Who wants to be with a girl who got raped by three different guys?”

“I’m sorry, what? They raped you?” John starts seeing red as he begins to pace. “And no one believed you?”

“People would rather not believe me than believe their star hockey players are monsters,” you try to relax your aching jaw from clenching your teeth so tightly. “I should have never come forward. I probably should have just stopped being a physical therapist after everything happened.”

Logan stops pacing, “You were right in coming forward. I believe you. We all believe you.”

Your voice is small as you say, “I’m scared to see them tomorrow.”

“You can be scared, that’s valid,” he locks eyes with you again. “But you need to know, no one will hurt you while I’m around. I swear on my life.”

“You don’t think differently of me?” You ask, confused by his protectiveness after finding out your deepest shame. 

“Hell no,” he says, stepping closer to you. “If anything, it makes me even more protective of you than I was before.”

“You wanted to protect me before?” You choke in disbelief that John Logan even thought of you outside of being the hockey team’s physical therapist.

“Yeah, I did.. And I still do,” his chest rises and falls as he looks down at you, his fingertips brushing against yours before his hand wraps around your shaking palm. “You are an incredible woman.”

You instinctively stretch out onto your tippy toes and plant a chaste kiss on Logan’s stubbly cheek. “Thank you, Johnny,” you whisper. “Thanks for believing in me.”

His cheeks flush as he nods, his hand reaches out to wipe the tears from your face. His voice is so kind as he whispers, “You’re welcome, Stretch.”

You look away bashfully just as John’s warm lips meet your cheek, shocking you as you turn back to him, blinking wildly as a gleeful smile spreads across your face, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He looks confused. You point to your cheek, blushing. “Are you thanking me for kissing you on the cheek?” He smiles, “I’ll do it again.”

His free hand gently cups your face as he slowly leans down and lovingly kisses your cheek before moving to your opposite cheek, tenderly kissing your flesh and sending butterflies rushing through your gut. 

He stands a little straighter, your cheek remains cradled in his large hand as he says, “Let me take you home. I’ll even come get you tomorrow before morning skate so I can take you to get brunch at Malone’s before my pre-game nap.”

You laugh, “You take a pre-game nap?”

“Yes ma’am. They’re glorious, and greatly encouraged by Coach,” he smiles. “You’re more than welcome to join me in whatever you feel comfortable doing. I do happen to have an incredibly comfortable blow up mattress I can sleep on, so you can take my bed if you decide to partake in nap time at the hockey house.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up as you reply, “I’ll have to consider that. I guess we’ll just see where the day takes us, Logan.”

“Whatever you do tomorrow, please don’t be alone,” he sounds like he’s pleading. “You need to stick with me and the boys, or Hannah and Allie tomorrow since those assholes will be around town.

The anxiety from early comes creeping in as your heart starts to race.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey, look at me.. Please.”

Your wary eyes scan up to meet his deep gaze. 

“Remember that I am right here, always. You need me at 3 am? Call me. You want me to go egg the hotel where MU is staying? Say less, let's go right now.”

You smile weakly at John, “You’re too sweet to me.” 

“I’m serious. Please.. If you need anything or feel scared.. Anything.. Just, please- please promise me that you’ll call me so I can be here for you,” he pleads. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I need you to know that I’m here for you.”

“I promise, I will,” you nod. “Walk me home?”

“Okay, Stretch,” his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek before he motions towards the Hawk House. “Lets get out of here.”

———

PART TWO PART THREE

A/N: soooo, what did you think? I hope you enjoyed this read and that you have a great day <3 - Cait

[mrshipsmcgee]

in a shocking turn of events, I am now writing an Off Campus fic?

[mrshipsmcgee]

There’s currently a 3.3k fic sitting in my drafts <3

Let me do some final touches and it’ll get posted :)

[mrshipsmcgee]

in a shocking turn of events, I am now writing an Off Campus fic?

[mrshipsmcgee]

would love you're take on season 5

This is very kind of you to say!! <3

[killue]

you have a headache because you have powers

[russianblush]

no ai usage over here. you’re gonna get my shitty authentic writing whether you like it or not

[djosnoopy]

on your mind | steve harrington part one: the unspoken rule of apartment 4b

pairing: steve harrington x reader word count: 5.9k warnings: 18+ mdni (male and female masturbation, vibrator use) includes: roommate!steve, freak4freak, a little mutual jealousy, a little bit of pervy!steve, but also pervy!reader tbh, tiny mention of bisexual!reader, steve gets hard over chicken parmesan summary: steve can't help but notice how quiet you are when you bring guys home and he finds himself fixated on your pleasure more than he should be. but when he comes home during lunch one day he's in for a surprise when he finds out just how loud you really can be. a/n: i actually don't know what to say about this other than enjoy and prepare yourself for part two. as always thank you to lid @tinfoileddd who lets me pick her brain and expand on the random ideas i send her. this wouldn't have came to life without her <3

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Steve Harrington prided himself on being a considerate guy. 

Which meant his roommate telling him that they’re going on a date tomorrow night was all he needed to know. He was considerate enough to read between the lines and vacate the apartment for the evening with no questions asked. 

It was an unspoken agreement between the two of them and he was grateful his roommate extended the same courtesy when he mentioned going out with someone– especially when his said roommate is a woman. 

Steve had never imagined himself having to live with a roommate, especially a woman that wasn’t his significant other, but coaching and teaching sex-ed to a bunch of middle schoolers didn’t pay shit, and he couldn’t stand living with his parents anymore. So when one of the few people besides him out of the rag-tag group of people he called friends that had stayed in Hawkins mentions something about getting a place together he figures– why not? 

He’d known you for years, had experienced too many near death experiences with you, and he also knew you were looking for any excuse to get out of the damn near slum of an apartment you were living in then. So, on a bright sunny Saturday morning in April the two of you sign the lease for what has now been your home for a little over a year. 

Living with each other was a lot easier than either of you thought it was going to be. Shared chore lists, weekly movie nights, eating dinner together, learning each other’s little quirks– it was all very domestic.

So domestic that sometimes your lines of reality and fantasy blurred and sometimes you’d have to remind yourself that Steve was not your boyfriend and just your best friend. Which usually happened a couple times a month when he’d casually mention that he had a date and so you’d be the good roommate you are and let him have his alone time and then the following week you’d just so happen to have a date also. 

Which is how you’ve ended up with Eric breathing heavily into your ear as he pounds into you with such a hurry that you think maybe he wants this to be over with faster than you do. Your bedframe repeatedly hits the wall as you count the ceiling tiles above you and it’s not until you hear him groan something along the lines of i’m cumming that you let out a fake gasp and then he’s rolling off of you without as much as a second glance. 

He says he’ll call you tomorrow. 

You know he more than likely won’t and that’s more than fine with you. 

Steve strolls through the door near midnight, figuring thats plenty enough time for you two to do whatever, and for the guy to leave without there being any awkward introductions. Thankfully he’s right and he’s greeted with you sitting on the couch, freshly showered and in your pajamas, with what he can only assume is your leftovers from dinner in your lap. 

He plops down onto the couch beside you with a sigh and you immediately shove the styrofoam container of lasagna towards him. “Want some? It’s from Enzo’s.” 

“Enzo’s?” Steve questions, eyebrows raised in surprise. “He must have really wanted to impress you,” he states, grabbing the fork and shoving a piece in his mouth without a second thought. “Did it work?” 

“No,” you reply, taking the fork back from him and splitting what’s left down the middle for the two of you to share. “Should have ended the date after dinner was over.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything, but he knows what you’re alluding to, and he just nods understandingly at you as he takes his turn with the fork. The two of you didn’t necessarily talk about your sex lives, it was implied when either of you had mentioned going on a date and that you needed the apartment to yourself, but neither of you sat here and talked in detail about the latest orgasm you’d had, but if Steve had any inkling, he was pretty sure the guys you brought home weren’t giving you any. 

The thing about your unspoken agreement with Steve about dates and bringing people home was that it wasn’t fool proof. Sometimes the two of you would go out without any expectations of bringing someone home. Then one thing leads to another and suddenly there’s someone trailing in behind either of you and the sound of a bedroom door slamming. It didn’t happen often enough to where it would be an issue, but it happened enough that Steve, while he wasn’t trying to be a creep, was being observant and had seemed to notice the lack of noise from you. 

He’d quickly put on music when he’d hear the sound of your drunken giggles echoing down the hall and then a much deeper voice accompanying yours, but the times when you come home long after he’d gone to bed and you end up waking him up with your loud footsteps and hushes to the mystery man– those times he shamelessly listens.

It seems to be the same variation of sounds and actions every time– the guy trying to be all suave with you, your headboard hitting the wall in rapid succession for a short amount of time, some curses from the guy, and then the sound of the front door slamming shut. Not a single peep out of you the whole time and at first Steve thinks you’re just being considerate, that you’d made the decision to bring someone home while he was here so you’re just being extra quiet, but he also knows that sometimes no matter how hard you try, staying quiet during sex is sometimes impossible.

He figures you’re bound to slip up after a while and he’ll hear a moan or a little dirty talk bleed through the walls, but it never does, except for that one guy you brought home that would not stop with the dirty talk and kept asking you who’s pussy this was. Needless to say Steve ended up putting on music that night. 

And not to toot his own horn, but he knew what it sounded like when a woman was experiencing pleasure, and from what he could tell those guys weren’t getting you off. While he can’t account for the times he isn’t in the apartment, he can tell from your demeanor when he comes home that those times aren’t particularly stellar either. 

Your less than blissed out state as you sit next to him on the couch, sharing your leftover lasagna with him, it proves his point. 

But Steve doesn’t say anything about your lack of post sex glow and how these guys should make it their priority to make you feel good. He doesn’t want to overstep, doesn’t want to cross any lines and potentially make things weird between the two of you, even if he’s a little more concerned with how other guys are treating you in bed than he should be. 

Instead he takes the last bite of his portion of the lasagna and extends an olive branch, an out if you ever needed it, because again he cares about you more than he should. 

“You know if you’re on a date and he’s weird or making you uncomfortable or even if you just want to come home– you can call me. No questions asked, I'll come get you. I’m almost always at Eddie’s or at Slinky’s having a beer.” 

You give him a soft smile, trying to ignore the way his words make your heart do a traitorous thing, like the idea of him being willing to drive across town to come and take you home doesn’t make whatever you feel towards him that much more complicated. 

“Thanks Steve,” you reply, eyes focused on the little bit of lasagna left instead of him. 

“Of course,” he responds, slowly standing up from the couch. “Think I’m gonna go to bed,” his eyes traipse over you, waiting for you to look up at him, and when you finally do he smiles in that endearing way that makes your chest ache. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

You hear his bedroom door close and you’re left sitting on the couch with the now empty takeout container in your lap wondering how much longer you can go on with this act. How much longer can you continue to bring home these guys that don’t know your clit from your nipple and act like the man you actually want isn’t thirty feet away. 

You always get in your head like this afterwards, especially when Steve comes home and you’re absolutely buzzing on the inside with want, but the one thing you want– you can’t have. 

The couch creaks under you as you get up and make the decision to leave the takeout container on the coffee table, claiming you’ll take care of it in the morning. As you pad down the hall and past Steve’s room you hear his muffled voice behind his door and you’re not meaning to eavesdrop, but the sickeningly sweet tone that bleeds out under the door has you frozen in place. 

“Yeah, yeah– I know it’s late and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t get you out of my mind.” 

“Your number was burning a hole in my pocket from the moment you gave it to me tonight. I couldn't wait to hear your voice again.” 

“I had a really good time tonight and I’d like to see you again if you’re up for it?” 

“Yeah? Great. How about dinner next Friday?” 

“Can’t wait. I’ll call you later with the details.” 

That all too familiar sinking sensation settles deep in your gut and before Steve can figure out you were listening you dart across the hall and into your room. The door slams shut behind you with no regard for the pictures on your wall and before you know it you’re burying your face into your pillow. He’d met someone while he was out tonight and you know you have absolutely no room to talk, no leg to stand on when it came to however you were feeling, you’d been on a date tonight, brought a guy home and had sex, if you could call it that. 

Steve was allowed to do whatever he wanted to, and you knew that, it’s just that you don’t think you can handle another failed date on your end to fill that ache in your heart. 

The next morning you take the initiative to call Eric before he doesn’t and the second date is set for Saturday. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A couple weeks later you manage to score a day off during the week, which meant you had the apartment to yourself.

Steve had thought it was weird how eager you were to send him off to work this morning, in fact majority of the time when you manage to get a day off during the week you’re begging him to play hooky and spend the day with you, but this morning you were nearly pushing him out the door.

He tried not to think too much of it, maybe you just wanted some alone time, or maybe you were inviting Eric over. He had spent the night the last time you went out, which Steve thought was strange, considering you never let guys sleep over, but the mid breakfast meeting between the two men had been interesting to say the least. 

As you walked into the kitchen that morning you found Steve sitting at the little table eating his food with your plate across from him– eggs made just how you like, orange juice in your favorite cup, and toast still hot to the touch. It wasn’t an unusual sight by any means, but what was unusual was you having company in the morning. So he doesn’t even think to make sure you’re alone when he hears you enter the kitchen, eyes not even looking up from his plate, before he blurts out – was he any better this time?

Eric awkwardly clears his throat from behind you and Steve looks up wide-eyed and slightly embarrassed. Before Steve can even begin to spit out an apology Eric mumbles I should get going and it’s an awkward thirty seconds as he gathers his jacket from your room and walks out the front door, because you don’t even try to get him to stay and Steve continues eating his eggs, now content with the departure of the man from your shared apartment. 

Steve figured after that debacle there was no way Eric would be back around, but if he knew Steve wasn’t going to be there today, well there was a chance, and it bothers Steve more than he’d like to admit. Either way though, Steve was going to find out what was going on back at home, because by the time second period rolled around he realized he’d forgotten his change of clothes for baseball practice tonight. There was no way he was going to be out there on that field in slacks and tie, especially when in true Indiana fashion, summer had arrived early and it was sweltering already in May. He’d just run home on his lunch break and grab some clothes and be right back– no big deal. 

He’d even called you before he left to give you a heads up that he was coming home soon, but there was no answer, and so he thinks that maybe his little spiral over Eric potentially being there was for nothing and you probably were out shopping. 

When his pickup truck pulls into his unofficially assigned parking spot at home and your black sedan is in its usual spot next to his– his mind conjures up a million different reasons as to why you hadn’t answered the phone earlier. None of them are good and frankly majority of them involve Eric and he chooses to ignore the alarms going off in his head about how he shouldn’t care this much about you fucking another guy. 

His eyes do a quick sweep of the parking lot, he doesn’t know what Eric drives, so he really doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, but Steve feels like he has crazy intuition and he’s expecting the vehicle to glow like a fucking beacon the second his eyes land on it. 

The search is of course futile. 

His wristwatch lets him know he only has twenty minutes left until he needs to be back at the school and with the hope of not walking through the front door to find Eric balls deep in you– Steve reluctantly gets out of the truck and walks towards apartment 4B. 

For the first time ever in his life– Steve knocks on his own front door. Not because he’s forgotten his key, but because he’s afraid of what might be going down on the other side of this couple inches of wood.. He gives it a minute and when there’s no response or the sound of two people scrambling to get dressed, he shoves his key in the lock and slowly opens the door. 

The living room comes into view as the door fully swings open and to Steve’s surprise it’s exactly as he remembers it when he left this morning– your favorite blanket draped over the back of the couch, his glasses that he claims he doesn’t need on the coffee table, and some of the various VHS tapes that Steve had nabbed back from his Family Video days in a pile on the side table. 

The apartment is eerily quiet save for the hum of the refrigerator and Steve comes to the conclusion that one of your friends has come and picked you up, because when you’re home it’s obvious. There’s always music playing or the TV is loudly playing some show you aren’t even watching– your presence is always known and right now all that lingers is reminders of you. 

He doesn’t think much more of it as he wanders down the hall and towards his room, but the sound that bounces off your four walls and through your door has Steve stunned and his feet cemented to the floor. 

“Oh my god!” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

From the moment you woke up this morning you’d been buzzing with anticipation, finally having the apartment to yourself in god knows how long, the new toy you’d picked up the other day burning a hole in your bedside drawer, and the fact that you haven’t had a good orgasm in ages– it had you wound tighter than a drum. 

It didn’t help that you’d slightly been edging yourself all morning, refusing to touch yourself, but constantly thinking about how good it was going to feel once you did. You could have jumped right into your bed and shoved your hand down your pants as soon as Steve left this morning, but this was more fun, and you knew the payoff for waiting would be worth it. 

It’s not until you find yourself squeezing your thighs together as you fold laundry that you finally cave. 

You grab your new vibrator from the drawer and get comfy on your bed as your heart nearly beats out of your chest from how worked up you are without even touching yourself yet. You’re still in your pajamas, a big t-shirt and shorts, but you keep them on to tease yourself just a little longer. The feeling of your fingertips tracing antagonizingly slow circles around your nipples through your thin t-shirt has a steady warmth spreading through your body and the ache between your plush thighs that much stronger. 

While your left hand still gives your nipples the attention they so desperately crave, your right travels down past your navel and in between your thighs. Your sleep shorts are thin and perhaps you hadn’t put any underwear on last night when you went to bed and maybe the ragged seam had been rubbing up against your clit all morning and maybe you did it on purpose so that when you finally caved just the slightest touch to yourself would have you gasping. 

Which is exactly what happens when your index and middle finger press down against your clothed core and the seam of your shorts rubs against that sensitive bundle of nerves. It feels so good and god you want nothing more than to just go crazy and bring yourself over the edge, but you’ve been so patient, and you’ve got all day to play with yourself. 

So why ruin the fun so prematurely? 

You start slow, the pads of your fingers rubbing small circles over the fabric while your other hand, that is now slipped under your shirt, pinches and gently tugs at your nipples, the both of them working in tandem. The warmth that radiates through you is intoxicating and it doesn’t shock you to feel the cotton of your shorts dampening in record time. You’d been working yourself up all morning and when your hand finally trails under the waistband of your shorts it’s a little obscene just how wet you are. 

Your shorts quickly get discarded, haphazardly thrown onto your floor, and then your shirt gets bunched up just enough to expose your tits to the cool air. The anticipation is burning through you like a wildfire and the only way to smother it is to make yourself come. 

Which is something you planned on doing– multiple times. 

Soft moans slip past your lips as your fingers rub tight little circles on your clit and as your eyes flutter closed your mind wanders to the one thing that you know will only amplify your pleasure.

Steve. 

You’d imagined one too many times, what it would be like to be the girl moaning underneath him, how it would feel to have his big warm hands caressing your body, to have him showering you in compliments and praises. 

Your fingers trail through your folds and down to your sopping wet cunt, circling the sensitive skin around your entrance with such a slow tortuous pace that it tears a whimper from you, hips bucking forward for something more. You know your fingers aren’t going to give you what you need, but you sink your index and middle finger in anyways, searching for that pleasure that you’ve never been able to give yourself. 

If only you had Steve’s long and thick fingers inside you right now, he’d surely have you grabbing at the sheets as he curled them just right, reaching that spot inside you that had you seeing stars. It wasn’t like you had much experience when it came to getting pleasure from your g-spot, considering the only person to ever find it was the girl you hooked up with last October, but you had confidence that Steve would have no issue. 

Just the idea of Steve pumping his fingers inside your tight cunt, stretching you out as he adds a third, it has you mewling. The squelching sounds of your own fingers pistoning into you fills the room and you could only imagine the dirty comment Steve would make about it. You knew he had a way with his words in the bedroom, you’d shamelessly listen through the walls on those nights when he’d bring home a girl on a whim, and you’d stored away those words for times like these. 

God, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you pretty girl?

You’re soaking my cock baby. 

Gonna make a mess all over my sheets aren’t you? 

But even with Steve’s dirty talk echoing around in your head, your fingers of course aren’t enough to bring you over the edge, and you’re hurriedly reaching for your vibrator, slick fingers fumbling with the button before it comes to life in your palm. 

The second you press it to your swollen clit it seems as if electricity shoots through you, pleasure coursing through every vein in your body, and you’ve never been more thankful to be home alone as you lose all composure. 

“Oh my god!” 

Your eyes are screwed shut, head thrown back against your pillow, and the prettiest sounds continue to slip past your lips as you increase the intensity level on the toy. 

It doesn’t take long at all for that all too familiar feeling to creep up on you, for the warmth that’s started low in your belly to spread throughout your body. When you take your vibrator off your clit and slowly trail it up your body all the way to your nipples and circle each of them with it you swear you lose all ability to breath for a second. 

Your chest heaves as you trail it back down your body and back to the sensitive pearl between your spread legs, increasing the intensity once again, which makes your chest heave even more. You’re teetering on the edge, the coil in your tummy on the verge of snapping, and all you can think about is Steve. 

How it sounded when he’d brought home Amanda a couple weeks ago– which is what had caused Eric to happen– how she’d moaned out his name laced with such pleasure that it made you squeeze your thighs together while you laid in bed. How she’d told him don’t stop and how she unapologetically let everyone know how good she was feeling. There was clearly no need for her to fake it. 

God you wanted to know what it was like to be pleased like that, to be taken care of in such a way by someone else that it had you practically incoherent. 

The bad thing was, you wanted that someone to be Steve, who was unfortunately your roommate and best friend. So, having unholy thoughts about him while you masturbated was just going to have to suffice. 

You click the intensity button once again and that is what finally brings you over the edge and turns you into a babbling mess, legs trembling, free hand clutching so tightly onto the sheets that your fingers cramp. 

“Oh my fucking god. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you holler, pressing the toy harder against your clit as you ride out your orgasm, wishing it was Steve giving you it instead of this vibrator. “Please don’t stop, please, please.” 

Something mixed with greed and insanity takes over you and you press the intensity button again causing your leg to twitch and your hips to buck upwards, all while the vibrator is still glued to your clit. Your second orgasm crashes in fast, riding on the coattails of your first one, and it hits hard. 

“Oh fuck. Oh my god. Please Ste-”

You bite down on your fist, eyes rolling to the back of your head, all while muffled sobs fill your room. The vibrator gets tossed somewhere, on your bed or floor you aren’t sure, but your legs collapse out from under you and you lay flat on your bed, ears ringing with aftershocks coursing through you. 

On the other side of the door Steve is beside himself, his cheeks are flushed, and the semi he’s sporting is damn near a full erection at this point. He knew he should have swiftly turned around and left the second he realized what was happening, but he couldn’t, not when he’s imagined what you sounded like for some time now. What it sounded like when you were experiencing pleasure, what it sounded like when you came, and what it sounded like when you said his name. 

Alright so maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but Steve swears it sounded like you were about ready to moan his name, and you very well may have been getting ready to stay stop again, but he shamelessly hopes it was his name, because then he wouldn’t feel as dirty knowing you think about him when you touch yourself just like he does with you. 

God, you sounded so pretty though, and Steve can’t believe that those sounds came out of you. The girl who he wouldn’t even know was having sex unless he heard your headboard and the sound of the guy or you in a nonchalant way mentioning that the sex with whoever was shit. 

His heart is nearly beating out of his chest and his dick is achingly hard as he hears you coming down from what he could tell was two back to back orgasms. The way he can still hear little whimpers coming from you as you probably lay there spent, your inner thighs slick with your arousal, nipples still so sensitive and sore from you tugging on them. 

There were a million dirty thoughts swirling around in his head and he should feel ashamed, should feel like a creep for what he’s thinking, what he listened in on, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t for a long time when it came to you and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about that either. 

Steve’s startled out of his horny moral dilemma by the sound of your bed creaking and before he can get caught he’s swiftly darting into his room, grabbing what might be a dirty cut off t-shirt and shorts, and tip-toeing back down the hall and out the door. 

As soon as the driver’s side door of Steve’s truck slams shut (which is the only way to guarantee it’s actually shut after Dustin fucked around with it by swinging on it like he was five and now it’s never been the same since) he let’s out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in as his hands grip the steering wheel with such vigor that his knuckles are stark white. 

He quickly adjusts himself in his slacks, tucking his erection into the waistband of his boxers, and tries to think of anything other than the sound of your pretty little whimpers. His head smacks against the headrest as his cheeks puff up, blowing out yet another deep breath combined with an explicit of some sort. 

Steve takes one last look at the apartment, shoves the key in the ignition, and backs out of his parking space like his whole world hasn’t just flipped upside down. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s nearing seven-thirty by the time Steve trudges in through the front door in his cut off tee and shorts, sweaty and hot, and still thinking about what took place in this said apartment hours earlier. The remainder of the school day had been a slow type of torture he’d not wish upon his worst enemy and then he had to go coach baseball in the sweltering sun like his whole body wasn’t already on fire. 

You had occupied every square inch on his brain since he left the apartment earlier and at times it wasn’t even anything inherently sexual– it was just you. How he loved coming home everyday to you, how you knew what was wrong with him before he did sometimes, how you deserved to be with someone that could take care of you in a multitude of ways. 

And the sight that greets him as he enters your shared home does nothing to eradicate the overwhelming infiltration of you in his mind. You’re standing at the stove, comfy clothes already on, humming along to whatever Fleetwood Mac song is playing on the radio, and the unmistakable smell of his favorite meal wafts towards him. 

You turn around and the sight of Steve standing there startles you, causing you to jump slightly, then let out the prettiest laugh he thinks he’s ever heard, and it makes Steve’s heart do a traitorous thing.

He figured he’d make it all awkward seeing you for the first time after hearing and listening to what you were doing earlier, but it wasn’t the least bit awkward. It was like any other evening, except you were glowing more than usual, smiling at him like he’d personally given you those orgasms earlier and god as unhinged as it sounded he could only imagine what you looked like directly after sex. 

Which now has his dick doing a traitorous thing instead of his heart. 

“Hard practice?” you ask, eyeing how his biceps glisten with sweat and how he’s got his baseball cap on backwards to keep his hair out of his face. 

“Yeah, hot as hell out there today,” Steve replies, trying not to notice how you don’t have a bra on, how the window AC unit that you insist on running on full blast has your nipples poking through the thin cotton. 

“Well,” you start, before turning back to the stove to stir the boiling spaghetti noodles. “You’re in luck because dinner is almost ready and I’ve made your favorite. Should be done in a few, the chicken is broiling in the oven. I’m trying to get the cheese a little crispy just how you like.” 

“I’m gonna go take a shower real quick then.” 

You nod, not bothering to turn back to face him as you stir the sauce. “Alright, I’ll holler when it’s done.” 

Steve hurries down the hall towards the bathroom and quickly strips out of his sweaty practice clothes, making sure to put them in the hamper because he’s not a slob, and then gets in the shower before he loses his mind.

The cold water does nothing to smother the fire that’s ignited low in his gut and he can’t believe you making him god damn chicken parmesan has got his dick hard again. 

He really is a simple guy and the domesticality of it all does more for him than he’d like to admit. 

Steve knows he’s got to do something about his not so little problem and so he lets his mind focus solely on you as he wraps his hand around his aching cock. His fingers gently squeeze around his shaft and on the first upstroke his hips embarrassingly buck into his fist with no control as his head tips back against the shower wall. 

He fucks his fist with no abandon and when his thumb glides over his throbbing tip a broken moan slips out of him, bouncing off the tile and hopefully not out to the kitchen. His head is swarming with you and all he can think about is how pretty you sounded earlier, how he’d never expected you to be so loud, and it only makes him want to see how much louder you can get. 

He thinks about how he’d love nothing more than to thank you for making him his favorite dinner later by going down on you. To thank you for taking such good care of him, because you do without even realizing it, and as much as Steve is a provider, the kind of person that takes care of others because it’s who he is. Sometimes he needs to be taken care of too, and you do it so well that Steve doesn’t even realize he’s being taken care of, and to him that deserves a mind blowing orgasm or two. 

His chest heaves and he has to brace himself against the wall with his other hand as he continues to stroke himself, imagining it was your soft hands wrapped around him right now, and not his callused ones. 

You consume him entirely and he finds himself having to bite down on the bicep of his extended arm to muffle the moans and whimpers that want to come alive and live within the four walls of this tiny bathroom. 

He’s close, he can feel that sweet release sneaking up on him fast, and with one last stroke Steve comes so hard that he nearly draws blood from how hard he’s biting down on his arm, your name and profanities muffled against the tanned muscle. He paints the shower wall with his cum, stroking himself to damn near overstimulation, until he finally slumps against the wall behind him.

Exhaustion creeps in fast and he’s still trying to catch his breath when he hears a knock on the door. 

“Steve! Hurry up! Dinner is getting cold.” 

He swallows hard, heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the idea of you listening in on him like he had you, but he can’t let his mind go any further than that, can’t let you wait any longer. So, he rinses his cum off the tile wall and quickly finishes his shower. 

When he joins you a few minutes later at the tiny table in the kitchen, his hair still dripping wet onto the old Hawkins High Phys Ed shirt he threw on, and you immediately tease him about having to reheat his own food, but then grab the plate anyways and toss it into the microwave for thirty seconds. 

Steve knows he is utterly fucked. 

[mrshipsmcgee]

This was wonderful! 1000/10 - 5 stars - READ THIS! lol pls

(I try to read fics before working on my WIPs and man this was soooo good and so spot on for Steve's characterization. A part 2 of this will be so incredibly satisfying to read!)

ALSO - I was kicking my feet, screaming and blushing the entire read

[mrshipsmcgee]

I'm writing my take on ST season 5 and man... I'm thinking of killing someone off in the first 1500 words. Are y'all gonna hate me?

[mrshipsmcgee]

Update: Not going to kill them..... yet

[mrshipsmcgee]

I'm writing my take on ST season 5 and man... I'm thinking of killing someone off in the first 1500 words. Are y'all gonna hate me?

[mrshipsmcgee]

OKAY- Do I finish the current Steve Harrington fic I am writing or post it in parts??? currently at almost 3k and feeling like I'm no where close to being done

what do??

big ole one shot

series with chapters under 4k

Voting ended onJun 18

[mrshipsmcgee]

YESSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!! I’ll give y’all a mood board of the ✨vibes✨