Summary: Dean and Garrett recount Logan and reader’s night for them over breakfast.
Warnings: established relationship, mentions of sex, mock moaning???, Dean and Garrett being assholes, Tucker being an innocent bystander, loud reader.
A/N: Little blurb I thought up to tie y’all over until I finally get my next works out. Sorry it’s taking so long, I’ve got major writers block. And I just finished The Pitt and I’m obsessed with Garren Howell and Dennis Whitaker.
“There they are!” Dean exclaims, his signature mischievous smirk spread wide and smug across his face.
Him and Garrett are sat at the kitchen table in the Hockey House, both shirtless and in sweatpants that hung way too low on their waist for your liking. Tucker was already dressed for the day and busy making breakfast for the house.
You and Logan continued your way into the kitchen, both still in your pyjamas and hands intertwined, now slightly more cautious after Deans comment.
“Some night you guys had.” He added.
“Dude-” Tucker tried to silence the inevitable douchey statement Dean was going to make, ever the peace keeper.
“What?” You asked, your face starting to burn with embarrassment.
“What the fuck are you talking about man?” Logan quipped, already fed up with his roommates antics.
Garrett and Dean shared a knowing look, devilish smirks spreading across their lips like wildfire.
“Y’know, your night last night? Must’ve been fun.” Garrett added.
You and Logan looked at each other in immense confusion before looking back at the two at the kitchen table.
“Care to elaborated?” You retorted bluntly.
“No! You do not want them to-” Tucker attempted to warn you before Dean cut in, banging his fist against the table rhythmically and tilting his head back.
“Oh, Logan! Oh, Logan!” He mimicked your moans in a dramatically high pitched voice.
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Garrett joined in in mocking your cries of pleasure from the previous night.
“Oh my god-” you nearly shouted, burying your face in your hands and turning to hid in Logan’s chest.
“Seriously guys? Don’t be an asshole.” Logan snapped.
“Dude, your girl if fuckin’ loud.” Garrett laughed.
“I’d say be gentle but, clearly she likes being murdered by your-”
“Oh my god!” Your shriek of humiliation cut off Dean’s comment as you practically bolted back up the stairs and into Logan’s room.
“Do you always have to be such a dick?” Logan asked Dean before making his way upstairs to comfort you.
“Hard not to be when yours is keeping the whole campus up.” Dean added under his breath.
“Shut up and eat your fucking pancakes.” Tucker retorted.
Summary: you and Garrett have been dating for a while now. But you kept your relationship a secret because of your brother. But it was harder to keep it a secret than you thought it will be.
Or the five times you almost got caught and the one time you did. Based on this request.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, explicit language, secret relationship, jealous Garrett, kissing, making out, shower sex, p in v, unprotected sex, Logan is angry and disappointed (lmk if I missed something)
Word count: 6382
Author's note: I got a little carried away writing this one. But I enjoyed writing it, and I kinda like how it turned out. So, I hope you all will like it too.
Author's note2: not proofread. Also English is not my first language so maybe there will be mistakes.
Garrett Graham Masterlist
Off Campus Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Dating Garrett Graham, the Briar hockey's team captain was probably not a smart choice from you. Not because he was known that he doesn't do girlfriends. No. That was not a problem. Garrett proved multiple times that he's serious about you. The problem was that he was your brother, John Logan's best friend. Well, that would also not be a problem if you wouldn’t have got together behind his back. You have been sneaking around for months and never said a word to him. That's why he was so mad when he found you in Garrett's bed. Naked. What Logan didn't know was that he almost caught you two multiple times before. He almost found out about your relationship five times. And that one time, he actually did caught you two.
The first time was at the locker room after hockey practice. Garrett took more time showering than he used to on purpose, waiting till the others left. While you were waiting outside of the hockey arena, just walking around aimlessly. Luckily, no one paid attention to you, not even your brother, Logan, who spotted you, but he just walked to his car and left without saying anything to you.
After every guy left, you waited a few more minutes then simply walked into the arena, and you made your way to the boys locker room. There you saw Garrett's clothes on a bench and heard the shower running. A small smile appeared on your lips as you stripped your clothes off and hid them under Garrett's clothes, just in case. The shower was already running, water droplets running down his body as you joined him. As you sneaked up behind your boyfriend, Garrett's back and wrapped your arms around him from behind.
"Baby..." he said and turned around to face you "What took you so long to get here?" he asked and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. While your hands wandered up his body and your arms sneaked around his neck.
"Your teammates took so long to leave" you explained "I couldn't risk it. They saw me walking outside aimlessly anyway. They would know if I just walk in"
"Makes sense" he said as his hands went from your waist to your ass and he lifted you. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist, and you felt how hard he's already "I missed you" he whispered before he pressed his lips against.
"I missed you too" you whispered back and he deepened the kiss.
His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, seeking for entrance which you gave him by parting your lips and your tongues met halfway. One of your hands went to his wet hair, tugging on it which earned a groan from him. He adjusted you in his arms to line his aching cock at your entrance.
"Fuckk... you're so wet, baby" he muttered against your lips as he teased your entrance with his tip.
"Please don't tease. I need you" you whispered between kisses and who is he to deny his girl's desires.
He pushed inside you with one trust which made you moan into his mouth. Your moan just spurred him on as he backed you against the shower wall and immediately started moving inside you, not even giving you time to adjust. Your moans, his groaned and the sound of skin slapping against skin were echoing from the shower walls.
He started trailing kisses down your neck, and you tilted your head back giving him more access. The water was still falling from the shower rose, hitting your face while he was moving inside you and your hand tugged on his hair more firmly.
You felt as your orgasm built, the knot in your stomach getting tighter, ready to snap at any moment as you were getting closer to the edge. Your walls clenched around him, letting him know that you're close but he was just as close as you were. And you knew it because you felt him twitching inside you.
"Garrett..." you breathed out between moans.
"I know, baby... I know" he groaned, knowing what you're about to say.
But before you could finish, you heard the door open to the locker room. Garrett stilled inside you when he heard the door open and someone walking in.
"G... you still here?" you heard Logan's voice and you prayed to all gods that he won’t walk in here.
"Uhmm... yeah" Garrett answered as he quickly set you down and pulled out of you. You whined at the loss of contact, and you had to lean against the wall because your legs forgot how to work properly.
Garrett took a look at you then quickly grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around his waist. He was still hard and the towel did nothing to his arousal, but he walked out to Logan anyway. Because he knew if he won’t then Logan gonna come to the showers and see you, and you two would get caught.
"Why are you here?" Garrett asked.
"I left something here. Why are you still here?" Logan asked back.
"No reason. Just enjoying a shower after hard practice" he lied. Logan nodded and even though he noticed Garrett's erection he didn't comment on it.
"Okay... you coming then?" Logan asked.
"No. You can go. I'll catch up to you all later" Garrett said and after another nod Logan left. Garrett let out a sigh of relief then he walked back to you and handed you a towel.
"Maybe, we should continue this somewhere more private" Garrett suggested.
"Yeah..." you agreed as you took the towel and wrapped it around your body.
The second time was at Dynamic Duo party. You secretly talked with Garrett that you'll choose something that will give a duo. But also, not that obvious if people saw you and him. That was how your idea came that you'll dress as a bunny. While Garrett will dress up as magician. Luckily, people didn't even though much about it. When they saw you or Garrett alone, they didn't think much about it. They thought your costume is cute but sexy at the same time. While everyone thought that Garrett's just a terrible vampire.
You went along the party for a while. You tried to keep a distance but stay close at the same time so people don't expect anything. Garrett's eyes were glued to you. He followed your every move and watched with who you talk to. But you did the same. You were just more subtle than him. He was being a little too obvious. He almost got caught by Tucker once when Garrett was staring at you as you were dancing with one of your friends.
"Are you staring at Y/n?" Tucker asked, snapping Garrett out of his thoughts and making him freeze on the spot.
"I'm not. I'm definitely not. Why would I stare at her?" he asked and took a sip from his drink.
"I don't know. You're the one staring" Tucker said then left Garrett alone.
Once Tucker left, he looked back at you, only to catch you already staring at him. He saw you say something to your friend then walked towards him. He waited for you till you got to him and he placed his free hand on your lower back, guiding you to the kitchen.
"What did Tucker say? You completely freeze" you said as you opened a cabinet and poured yourself a drink.
"He might catch me staring at you" Garrett whispered in your ear as he stood behind you. His hand was on your waist now and you felt him breathing against your neck
"But I think I handled it pretty well"
"I'm sure you did not" you disagreed and turned around to face him "You're a terrible liar" you said before you took a small sip from your drink.
"I'm not a bad liar" he protested.
"You're, baby. I'm sure Tucker didn't believe you" you stated.
"Fuck... I also think he didn't believe me" he admitted then he saw from the corner of his eyes as a few people stare at you two. That's when he realized that he's standing too close to you, so he took a few steps back.
"How about we just leave?" you asked when you noticed the staring people too.
"It would be weird if we leave together" Garrett said.
"It won’t. I didn't feel good. You noticed. Offered to take me home. Which I accepted. The rest? They don't have to know about that" you came up with the perfect lie.
"Okay. Let's go" he said then waited for you to walked towards the door. You were almost at the front door when Dean stopped you two. Which wouldn’t be a problem if Logan wouldn’t be with him.
"Where are you two going?" Dean asked.
"I don't feel too good. Garrett offered to take me home" you lied before Garrett could say a word, so he just nodded.
"I can take you back to your dorm too" Logan said but you shook your head.
"You already drank" you said.
"I'll do it. I wanna leave anyway. And I didn't drink any alcohol" Garrett said, and you were genuinely surprised by his lie.
"Okay" Logan agreed then you two finally left.
"You really didn't drink?" you asked once you were in his car.
"No. I hoped the night will end up like that. I know probably I'll have to drive so I didn't drink any alcohol" he admitted.
Meanwhile Tucker finally joined Dean and Logan.
"Don't you think your sister spends a little too much time with G?" Dean asked Logan.
"What do you mean?" Logan asked.
"I mean... recently they spend more time together. Didn't you notice?" Dean asked.
"Dean's right. I even catch Garrett staring at Y/n tonight" Tucker said and Logan immediately turned towards Tucker.
"What? You two think they have something going on?" Logan asked them but the two boys just shrugged, which was anything but comforting to him. His little sister and his best friend possibly together? That can't be true. Garrett doesn't do girlfriends. But if they do have something going on you two would have told him, right?
The third time happened at Hockey house where all the boys live. Garrett told you that the others will be out the whole day so you two could have some time alone. Garret should have go to but he cancelled it, coming up with some stupid reason so the others won't ask many questions. Luckily, the others didn't ask him why he was skipping, yet another hang out. They already suspected he has someone. That he has a girlfriend. They just didn't know it's you. But they also knew that Garrett's gonna introduce the girl sooner or later.
So, after the boys left, he sent you a quick text, saying they're gone and waited for you on the couch. He didn't have to wait long since your dorm was pretty close to the Hockey house, so you were there soon. You didn't even bother to know. You just walked in. And as soon as Garrett heard the door open and he was immediately on his feet and in front of the door.
"Hey, baby" he greeted you. He placed one hand on your waist, pulling you to him and with his other hand he shut the door behind you. And before you could say a word, his lips were on yours.
"Hey" you managed to say it between kisses.
"I missed you" he muttered between kisses.
"You literally saw me yesterday" you said after you pulled back from the kiss.
"But I weren’t able to kiss you or touch you" he complained.
"Are you saying you're touch starved?" you asked and laughed a little.
"I'm not touch starved" he stated and his fingers dug into your waist more. Then his lips were on yours once again.
It didn't take long till you ended up in his bed. Sweaty and breathing heavily. You were wrapped in his arms till your breathing went back to normal then he pulled back and got out of bed.
"Where are you going?" you asked as you sat up in his bed.
"I'll make us a bath" he said then he disappeared and seconds later you heard the water running.
Then a few minutes later, the water stopped running and he was back in his bedroom. He walked to the bed where you were, and he didn’t leave you many choice as he picked you up in his arms and started carrying you to the bathroom.
"You know I can walk, right?" you asked. But the truth was, you weren’t sure that you'd be able to walk after the many rounds you have. Your legs were still trembling.
He just ignored what you said as he carried you to the bathroom then kicked the door shut behind him. He walked to the huge bathtub and placed you in the warm water. Which felt amazing. It immediately helped with the tension in your legs, and you couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.
Then he got in behind you and pulled you back against him. The water and bubbles enveloped both of your bodies as you sat there talking about everything.
His hands were on your thighs, caressing your skin softly while he was talking about the latest hockey practice. And how Logan forgot the blade protectors on his skates, so he fell as soon as he stepped on the ice.
You started laughing at the story, leaning more against him while he was staring at you with a smile on his face. He always loved hearing you laugh, especially if he was the one who made you laugh. But your laughter died down when you heard footsteps coming up the starts then someone was fumbling with the doorknob. You looked back at Garrett with a panicked expression, but he was just staring at the door.
"Fuck..." he cursed as the door slowly opened and you quickly went down under the water. So, like this you were completely under the water, under all of that bubbles. As the door opened, and the person, Logan walked in, he only saw Garrett in the bathtub.
"G?" Logan asked.
"Hey" Garrett said as he tried to look composed.
"Are you okay?" Logan asked.
"Yes" Garrett said quickly but Logan just raised his eyebrows not believing him "I mean... no. I don't feel too good. That's why I take a hot bath" he lied.
"Alright" Logan said still not believing him.
"What're you doing here? I thought you won't be back all day" Garrett said.
"I left my wallet here" Logan said as he reached for his pants near the laundry basket and took his wallet out of his pocket.
"Ohh... okay" Garrett said and he waited when Logan will leave finally. Logan looked at Garrett one more time then he left and closed the door.
Garrett let out a sigh of relief, and you came back up as you heard the soft click of the door. Now, your hair was all wet and you had bubbles all over your face. Garrett looked at you and started laughing, earning a glare from you.
"This is not funny" you said.
"It is a little funny" he said still laughing.
"I swear my brother has the worst timing in the world. This is the third time we almost get caught" you said.
"Maybe we should tell them then" Garrett suggested.
"No. My brother would definitely kill you if he finds out" you stated.
The fourth time was at Malone’s after another hockey game. As usual you all went to Malone’s to celebrate, yet another win. The guys immediately took their usual seats after they ordered their drinks and now waited as they were talking about the game. But Garrett was only half paying attention to anything what they were saying. He was too busy looking for you. Because ever since the game ended, he didn't see you.
"G... you're not even paying attention" Dean said, which snapped Garrett out of his thoughts.
"I'm sorry. I'm a little distracted," he said as he turned back to the other just in their drinks arrived. So, he immediately reached for it and drink almost half of it "Anyway Logan, where's your sister?" Garrett asked.
"Uhmm... she had some things to do. But she'll be here soon. Why?" Logan asked, suspicious why Garrett suddenly cared so much about your presence.
"No reason. I was just curious. Usually she's always here" Garrett said then the moment, you finally walked in.
The bell rang above the door and his head snapped towards the door. When he saw you, he visibly relaxed, glad that you're finally here. You looked over at him and smiled a little. Then you walked to the bar and ordered yourself a drink. Once you get it, you walked to the group and sat down next to Garrett.
"Congrats for you guys on the win" you said and lifted your glass.
"Thanks" the guys said in unison, and they lifted their glass too. Then you felt Garrett's free hand on your thigh. You tried to control your body from reacting and join in on their conversation. That was until your glasses became empty.
"Alright... next round is on me boys" you said and you got up from your seat and everyone thanked you.
"You're the best" Logan shouted after you as you walked towards the bar to order another round of the drinks.
Meanwhile Garrett followed your every move. His eyes were glued to you. So, when he saw that a guy stops next to you by the bar counter then saw the guy's hand on your waist, his hands immediately balled into fists. You looked at the guy and pulled away from him but then you saw who it is. And suddenly the distance weren’t as big between you and that guy as Garrett wanted. You two were close. Too close. But then the guy said something and you laughed. The real one. Not the one you fake to be polite. It was a real laugh. Which just made Garrett more frustrated. His jaw clenched and he was seconds away from going over. He hated that some other guy was so close to his girl.
"G... are you okay?" Logan asked.
"I'm fine" he grumbled as he was still staring at you and the guy. The others followed his gaze, only to realize who he was looking at.
"Are you jealous?" Dean asked and he couldn’t hide his laugh. Because it was so obvious that Garrett's jealous. He couldn’t even deny it.
"I'm not. Why would I be?" Garrett asked.
"You look jealous" Logan stated "Do you have a thing for my sister?"
"I don't have a thing for your sister. She's your sister. And absolutely not my type" he lied. It was too obvious it's a lie. Even Logan knew that you're exactly Garrett's type. He just didn't comment on it.
"You're so jealous" Tucker said.
"Once again. I'm not jealous" Garrett said and glared at his friends.
Garrett didn't even notice as you returned with the drinks. He only noticed when he finally felt your body next to his and his hand immediately went to your thigh again. And he was just glad that the guy didn't come with you. Then came another round of drinking and talking. Until you got up and went to the bathroom where obviously Garrett followed. Luckily, the others didn't notice because they were too into their conversation.
Just as you came out of the bathroom stall, you didn't notice Garrett first. Only when you washed your hands and looked into the mirror only to saw him standing behind you.
"Did you really follow me here?" you asked as you dried your hands and turned around to face him.
"Who was that guy?" he asked as he stepped closer and his hands went to your waist.
"What?" you asked confused for a second.
"Who was that guy with you? By the bar" he repeated the question.
"A friend" you said.
"Yeah... a friend" he scoffed and his fingers dug into your waist "a guy friend. A guy friend who makes you laugh like that. A guy friend who think he has any right to put his hand on your waist like that" you were taken aback by his words, and you opened your mouth to argue but then realization hit you.
"Wait... are you jealous?" you asked, amused by the situation. You couldn’t believe Garrett's jealous.
"I'm not jealous" he stated and pulled you closer to him.
"You're so jealous" you said with a smile on your face "you don’t have to be jealous"
"Well... you're mine, baby. And I don't like when other guys touch what's mine" he said in a low voice as he leaned closer. He was so close you felt his breath on your lips.
"So, you admit you're jealous" you whispered and chuckled.
"Fine. I'm jealous. Happy now?" he asked.
"You don't have to be jealous" you said and wrapped your arms around his neck "He's not into me" you whispered before you pulled him into a kiss. He didn't hesitate to kiss you back and deepen the kiss. His hands slid down from your waist to thighs as he lifted you onto the bathroom counter and stood between your legs.
"That's impossible he's not into you" Garrett said before he started trailing kisses down your neck and you tilted your head back, giving him more access. He smiled against your skin when you tilted your head back and he started sucking.
"Well... he's not. He's more likely into you than me" you whispered as your breathing grew heavier when he sucked at your pulse point.
"Ohh...." he said and he immediately pulled back "Good to know" he said with a smug smile, and he pulled away from you.
"What? Are you seriously stopping now?" you complained.
"The others will get suspicious if we don’t go back soon" he said and you knew he's right but before you could say anything else, he left the bathroom.
There was only one problem with that. The moment Garrett stepped out of the women bathroom, Logan stepped out of the men's bathroom.
"G... what were you doing in the women's bathroom?" Logan asked which made Garrett freeze.
"What?" he asked but Logan just raised an eyebrow at him "Ohh... Seems like I made a wrong turn. Good thing no one was in there" Garrett lied.
"Yeah..." Logan said, not believing Garrett "Recently you're acting weird"
"I don't act weird" Garrett lied once again.
"You do. Should we worry?" Logan asked.
"No. It's nothing bad. I'm just... seeing this girl recently" Garrett admitted as they walked back to the others.
"What girl?" Dean asked as Logan and Garrett sat back down.
"I won't tell it yet" Garrett asked and to his luck, the others dropped the topic.
"I can't wait to find out who got you whipped" Logan said.
"Who's whipped?" you asked as you sat back down.
"Garrett" Tucker said.
"Yeah? That's interesting" you said and looked at Garrett.
"Where were you anyway?" Logan asked you.
"In the bathroom" you answered.
"That's strange. I saw Garrett came out of the women bathroom and he said no one was inside" Logan said and for a second you started panicking. This was not good.
"I didn't see anyone either. But I did hear someone walk in and a few minutes later leaving" you lied "so that was you? What were you doing in the ladies bathroom?" you asked Garrett.
"I made the wrong turn" you said the same thing he said to Logan.
The fifth time was the karaoke night. You didn't wanna sing that night. You didn't wanna come. But since your brother organized it, you were kinda forced to come. But you were sure you won't sing. Even though your friends tried to convince you to sing.
"No. I won't sing" you said as you sat with your best friend, who was also your roommate by the bar.
"Why not? You have an amazing voice. Everyone would love it. It would get your brother all the money he needs" your friend tried to convince.
"How do you know I can sing?" you asked.
"I heard you sing a few times. When you thought you were alone. Or when you were showering sometimes you sing" she said.
"I still won't sing" you said.
"You should sing" Garrett said as he appeared next to you.
"No" you said and glared at him.
"But I wanna hear you sing" Garrett said with his usual smirk and you rolled your eyes at him.
Well, after a couple of drinks you changed your mind about singing. You were drinking, and more and more people tried to convince you to sing. And thanks to the alcohol, you agreed to finally sing.
"Fine. I'll sing" you said after you finished your fourth drink and everyone cheered.
You get up from your bar stool and walked towards the mini stage. You gave the person there what you wanna sing then stepped on the stage.
"This is for you, baby" you said, pointing at Garrett before the music started and suddenly every head turned towards him.
"Why does my sister mean that this song is for you?" Logan asked Garrett as he was standing next to him.
"I have no idea" Garrett told him which was only a half lie. He was just as surprised by your words as everyone else. He didn't expect that you'll do that or say that. He didn't think that you might expose your secret. But he knew it's because of the alcohol.
Then the music started and you started singing 'I wanna be yours' by Artic Monkey. Garrett knew why you choose this song. This was your song. So, the fact that you choose this despite everything made him smile. Besides you had an amazing voice. Only one person wasn’t amused. And that person was your brother, Logan. His gaze was switching between you and Garrett. What you were singing while you were only looking at Garrett and how Garrett were looking at you. His eyes were full of adoration and the smile on his face. It should've been obvious that there's something going on between you two. It was obvious that there's something between you two. Logan just didn't wanna accept it yet.
"Okay... you two recently act weird. Is something going on that I don't know about? Is my sister your mysterious girlfriend?" Logan asked Garrett, snapping him out of his staring.
"No. There's nothing going on between me and your sister. She's definitely not my girlfriend. Why?" Garrett asked Logan and looked back at you.
"You two look at each other like you're in love with each other. And that song. Dedicated to you" Logan said his eyes going between you and Garrett as the song came to an end.
"I have no idea why she chose that song and why she dedicated it to me" Garrett lied.
"I don't really believe you" Logan started and he wanted to say something else, but you walked up to them.
"Take me homee" you said to Garrett who just looked at Logan.
"Go. But we're far from done with this conversation" Logan stated and Garrett nodded. But deep down he was glad that you interrupted the conversation because he couldn’t have explained it to Logan otherwise.
"Let's go, baby" he whispered in your ear and placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the door while Logan kept a close eye on you two. Once you were outside Garrett spoke up again "You almost exposed our secret, baby"
"I'm sorry" you said.
"It's fine. You were the one who wanted to keep this a secret" he said "But I have to admit I really like your song choice. And I was right"
"Right about what?" you asked.
"That you have an amazing voice" he answered and you would've rolled your eyes on him of you weren’t drunk.
The one time they got caught was the morning after the karaoke party. You were really drunk and you didn't want to go back to your dorm. You wanted to go to Garrett's place. And you asked him so nicely that he couldn’t say no to you. Most of the times he can't say no to you. That's how you ended up that night at the hockey house. After he hardly got you into car, he drove back to the hockey house. You didn't even wait for him as you got out of his car and just walked towards the front door which was unlocked for some reason, so you just let yourself in. As you walked towards Garrett room. Your body automatically took you there. But till you get into his room, most of your clothes were discarded which Garrett had to collect, so nobody will notice. Then he arrived into his room and saw you sitting on his bed, only in your lingerie set. He even made a mental note to himself that you look really sexy like this.
"I want you" you said as you stared at him.
"No, baby" he said.
"What do you no? Yes. I want you" you repeated and got up to walk to him. You stopped right in front of him and looked up at him "you don’t want me?"
"I do. I want you too, baby. But you're drunk" he stated.
"So? It doesn't change anything. I still want you. And I'm your girlfriend anyway. You have consent and everything" you said and reached for his shirt to pull it off him, but he caught your wrist halfway to stop you.
"Still no. I'm not gonna do this. I'm not gonna fuck you while you're this drunk" he said then he gently back you till his bed and he pushed you down on it. Then he walked to his closet, grabbed a shirt from it and gave it to you. You removed your bra and accepted his shirt which you put on while he changed too.
You watched him move back to where you were, to the bed and lay down on his half of the bed. You spent so many time in his room that you even had your own half of the bed.
"Come here, baby" he said and opened his arms for you. You wanted to be mad at him for denying sex from you. But you just couldn't. So, you basically throw yourself in his arms. Your arms wrapped around his torso, and you rested your head on his chest. He just laughed a little at you then wrapped his arms around you. It didn't even took long till you fell asleep.
The next morning, luckily you didn't have a headache. But you were still horny. And finally, this time Garrett didn't say no to you. Especially because he woke up to the feeling of your lips on his skin. As your lips trailed kisses down his jawline to his neck.
"I could get used to waking up like this" he said with his groggy, morning voice which always gave you goosebumps.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked at you. You wanted to pull back from him, but he grabbed your chin and slammed his lips against yours. You couldn’t help but moan into his kiss. Then he pushed you onto your back and crawled above you. He settled between your spread legs, and you felt how hard he is already. But you were just as turned on as he was. Your panties already soaking wet, sticking to your pussy.
He didn't waste too much time, pulling the shirt off of you that you were wearing, pushing down the sweatpants and boxers he was wearing, and ripping your panties.
"Garrett" you scolded when you heard the fabric ripping and suddenly your panties were in two pieces on the floor.
"I'll get you a new one, baby. But now, I need you" he said and leaned down to kiss you again. While he lined the tip of his cock to your entrance and pushed inside you with one swift movement. He let out a groan, and you moaned at the feeling of his hard cock stretching you out.
"Fuck... you're so tight" he groaned and started rocking his hips against yours slowly. You could only moan as he started moving. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing him even deeper inside you. But this slow pace was torture.
"Faster Garrett, please" you pleaded as your hands ran up his back and your nails dug into his skin.
"Faster? You want it faster, baby? Like this?" he asked as he picked up the pace, fucking into you faster and harder. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your moans, his groans and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall.
"Fuck... yes... Just like that" you moaned loudly but Garrett quickly covered your mouth with one hand.
"Shh... you have to be quiet, baby. We're not alone. Anyone could hear you. Your brother could hear you. You don't want that, right baby?" he asked and you shook your head. He slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth and placed his forearm next to your head, so he was supporting his weight on both his arms again.
You had to purse your lips together to hold back the sounds. But when he picked up space even more and when he hit your sweet spot, you couldn’t hold back more. So, he had to find a different way to shut you up.
He pressed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans while you were scratching down his back. Sweat was covering both of your bodies, and you felt as you're getting closer to the edge because with every trust, he hit your g-spot.
"Garrett..." you moaned into the kiss and your walls clenched around his cock.
"I know, baby. I know. I'm close too" he whispered against your hips as he kept up the pace and focused on hitting your g-spot repeatedly. Then one of his hands moved between your bodies and he started rubbing circles on your clit.
"Garrett..." you whimpered as the pleasure became too much.
"Come for me, baby" he murmured against your lips as he kept trusting in and out of you while he was rubbing slow but firm circles on your clit. His words were the last thing you needed. The knot in your lower stomach tightened then snapped. Your walls fluttered around his cock, and you moaned his name as you came.
But he didn't slow down. He kept trusting into you, chasing his own high which was close and he had to bury his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his groans.
He trusted into you a few more times then he buried himself to the hilt inside you as his cock twitched and he spilled inside you. His white, hot seed painted your walls as his cock kept pulsing inside you.
He stayed still inside you for a while as you were both panting, coming down from your high. He waited till your breathing returned to normal then he placed a soft kiss on your neck before he pulled back and slowly pulled out of you. He rolled off of you and pulled you into his arms. You rested your head on his chest as you laid in his arms while he was playing with your hair.
It was a peaceful moment between you two until Logan decided to barge into Garrett's room without knocking. And everyone froze at that moment. Garrett froze. You froze. And Logan froze in the doorway. He was just staring at you two. Garrett, his best friend naked. His sister was in his best friend's bed. Also naked. You couldn’t even deny what happened since after sex, you didn't bother to cover yourselves. But now, you quickly grabbed the bedsheet to cover yourself.
"What the fuck?" Logan shouted.
"It's not what it looks like" Garrett said.
"Not what it looks like. For me it looks like that my best friend is fucking my sister behind my back" Logan stated.
"Okay. Maybe it's what it looks like" Garrett admitted.
"We can explain" you said.
"How long? How long have you two been doing this? How long have this been going on behind my back?" Logan asked and he genuinely looked disappointed. A little mad but mostly disappointed which was ten times worse.
"A few weeks" Garrett admitted.
"A few weeks?" Logan asked "and you two never told me. You two decided to lie straight to my face"
"I asked Garrett to keep it a secret. I was scared you wouldn’t take it well" you said quietly.
"You know... I'm more disappointed in you than I am Garrett. I thought we agreed to tell each other everything" Logan said to you.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you" you said and looked away from your brother. You couldn’t keep looking at him.
"The thing is... I wouldn’t have mind this. I wouldn’t have mind that you're together. If you told me. But you didn't. You decided to lie to me instead" Logan said then he left the room and shut the door behind him.
"He hates us" you stated as you stared at the door.
"No. He doesn't. Probably he hates me. But he definitely doesn't hate you. He's just mad" Garrett said, trying to comfort you.
"He's disappointed. That's worse" you said.
"He'll accept it. It was just probably too much for him right now" Garrett said and wrapped his arms around you to pull you into a hug.
"Do you think he'll ever forgive us?" you asked and looked up at Garrett.
"Definitely. He just needs time to process it right now. But he'll forgive us. For you? Definitely. For me? Probably not that easily. But I'll deal with that" Garrett said and kissed your forehead.
☆ warnings: reader fucks osc in his sleep, osc returns the favour when he wakes up before her. needy!osc x needy!reader, mutual somno, unprotected p in v, praise, slight objectification, switchy, osc is a whiny horny mess ⋆ inspo: (x) (x) (x)
⋆ ‧ ⋅ ☾ ‧ ⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ‧ ⋅
it’s winter break. oscar is asleep.
so much is demanded from osc. the noise, the pressure. the expectation of performance. so in winter break, sleep takes over oscar so easily. he's knocked out.
he just lets go and rests.
but it’s been too long. too long since you enjoyed him.
you lie beside him in bed. you can see the tension melt out of his body. his breathing low and steady. he's properly asleep. one arm is draped over his head. the other rests near your waist, not quite touching you. he reached out for you out of habit but fell asleep like that. he looks soft. warm and sensitive.
you lie there staring at him for awhile. you don't move.
there’s something about the way he looks when osc is sleeping. he’s completely unguarded. it makes your thoughts narrow. makes your thoughts filthy. you tell yourself you’re just keeping him company. finally reconnecting after so many weeks apart. just staying close.
but he's just there, so soft and sleepy. his little lashes resting against his cheeks. mouth slightly parted. his bunny teeth peeking out. fuck, he looks so pretty like this.
you need him.
you shift closer. just a little. testing.
he doesn’t move.
your fingers trace his skin. slow, claiming. you don’t touch him to wake him. you touch him just because you can.
because he’s yours.
the entitlement feels obscene and so delicious, all at once.
your hand is resting on him. his body responds immediately. not waking, but not ignoring you either. he lets out a small sound in his sleep. he subtly shifts closer.
your breath hitches when you notice. you give him time. some space to pull away.
he doesn’t.
so you climb over him. careful and unhurried. you don’t want to wake him, he deserves to rest. you just can’t help taking what you also deserve. you settle your weight exactly onto his bulge. he exhales softly. his body is reacting to you, but his mind stays hazy. it’s instinctual. his hand twitches against the sheets. it’s his tiny tell. he wants this.
you smile.
“always so responsive, osc. you always want me.” you murmur.
you take your time.
you drag your cunt back and forth on his clothed cock.the anticipation feels heavy. the friction feels amazing. after a few drags, you take his cock out. he’s so hard. so fucking pretty. his cock is this unmistakable sign that he wants you just as badly as you want him. even when he's so out of it. he always wants you. and you want him.
you push your underwear to the side. you sink on his cock. fuck. your cunt fits around his cock so nicely. so warm and wet. oscar whines.
you start to move slowly. every little bounce draws another subtle reaction from him. a stuttered breath, a low sound caught in his throat. he doesn’t wake up, but his body answers you anyways. he’s so honest. so fucking good for you.
that’s what gets to you.
the way oscar gives in to whatever you need from him. whatever you want from him. you know he loves it just as much.
oscar senses warmth. a lot of it, all around him. his cock twitches inside you. the feeling creeps into his dream. he’s unsure whether this is reality or a horny thought. his breath is hitching. muscles tightening and loosening. you keep using his cock for your pleasure. you keep riding him.
he stretches your cunt so fucking well.
you lean down, pressing your mouth to his neck. you suck lightly on his pale skin. you want to mark him, claim him. your hips keep rocking on his cock. slow and gentle, taking what you need. his brows furrow. soft, confused sounds keep slipping from his lips. he’s almost awake, just not quite yet.
you don’t stop. you keep fucking yourself onto his cock. you’re indulging your own craving. so greedy, so certain. he looks so fucking pretty like this. used. taken apart in his sleep. giving you whatever you need.
and god, you need more of him.
he shifts. his hips respond to you before his eyes even open. he's fucking up into you. slowly, but surely. his hand lifts, hovering over your hips. he’s not sure know what to do with it. his eyes open slowly.
“osc,” you moan softly. you don't want to startle him. so sweet.
his eyes blink open slowly. unfocused. pretty lashes fluttering. it takes a moment for everything to settle in for osc. he sees you above him. on him. your tits bouncing, your hips rocking. so pretty and determined. so needy for him.
his face goes pink immediately. he murmurs something incoherent. a whine, a whimper.
you don’t answer. you rest your hands more firmly on his chest. you fuck him harder. bouncing up and down the length of his cock. his cockhead repeatedly bruising your sweet needy spot. you’re chasing your own pleasure. you’re letting him feel it. feel you.
realisation hits him all at once.
his breath catches, all sharp and dizzy. not fear or confusion. just pure awe. his hands tighten on your hips. there’s a flicker of something so shy in his eyes. it makes your stomach tighten.
“oh. you… wanted me this badly?” he sincerely asks. he's almost embarrassed, so fucking adorable.
you pause.
you give him the chance to pull away. he doesn’t. his eyes stay on you. shifting his gaze between your face and where his cock is filling you up so nicely. his eyes widen.
you lean down. you kiss his jaw.
“go back to sleep, osc.” you tell him gently. “ i can take care of it myself.”
the sound he makes is helpless. he melts.
he tries to nod. slow and careful. he tries to relax. so pliant, so exhausted. his body is so willing before his brain can even catch up. his hands fidget at your sides. osc seems unsure whether he’s allowed to touch. you press them down, pinning them softly into the bed.
“shh,” you murmur. “you don’t need to do anything.”
so he doesn’t.
he lets himself sink back into the bed. he’s offering himself without any words. there's trust in it. quiet vulnerability. his eyes slip shut again. every small reaction feels amplified. the way his chest rises faster. how his jaw tightens when your cunt clenches around his cock. it’s like a little nudge, a little wake up call.
“...i like this. knowing you want me this bad. fuck.” he softly admits, almost embarrassed.
what a sweetheart. he's so fucking good to you. you keep taking what you want.
his pubic bone is softly teasing your clit. tingles are running across your back. he’s so fucking pretty underneath you. it all feels so good. the way he responds without restraint. no performance, no control on his end. just raw, instinctive need.
oscar is a little whiny mess beneath you. your cunt keeps hugging his cock so tightly. you keep fucking him. slowly, gently. you don't wanna push him too far. you wanna take care of him, too.
you reach down and play with your own clit. usually, osc handles that. he's always so good to you. even like this, he’s filling you up in the way only he can. you rub tight small circles on your clit. his cock is hitting you slow and deep. he thrusts up into you. you're close. his breathing is ruined. shallow and shaky.
soft little sounds fill your bedroom. oscar's whimpers. oscar's cock is fucking into your wet cunt. your brain can only focus on oscar. how good oscar’s cock feels inside you. how good oscar looks all ruined under you.
and that's it. fuck.
a deep, warm tingle spreads across your whole body. not sharp, not overwhelming. just comforting. a sense of relief. you came around his cock.
he smiles. it's soft and small, but he fucking smiles. you notice it. maybe he's not so out of it as much as you thought. he looks proud. satisfied. he took care of you in his own sleepy way.
you collapse against him, laying on his bare chest. he drifts back to sleep, pulled again by his initial exhaustion. you drift off too, still wrapped around him. calm and satiated.
──── ☆☆☆
morning light comes through. night and day shift, and so do your roles.
light filters in through the curtains. oscar wakes up slowly. his body feels heavy and spent. oversensitive.
he groans quietly. he freezes. memory hits him all at once. the memory of you being so needy and determined to have his cock. you rode him whilst he was asleep. you clenched around his cock whilst he was asleep. you fucked him until you came around his cock.
heat floods his face. but the memory of last night still doesn’t leave him. how you touched him without hesitation. the certainty in your gentle voice. how you needed him so fucking badly.
you’re still asleep beside him. mouth parted, hair messy. innocent and untouched. as if you weren’t the one that utterly ruined him last night.
he lies awake beside you, staring at the ceiling. heart pounding too fast. he’s trying to push the thoughts away. but the memory just won’t leave his brain. it’s filthy. it’s hot. he tells himself to go back to sleep. but he just can’t. his cock hurts. the urge is overwhelming.
he shifts closer. careful and hesitant.
his hand hovers above you before he lets himself touch you. he then gives himself the permission he knows you already gave him. the kind of permission he gave you last night. it’s unspoken but clear.
oscar’s morning need is different from yours. less indulgent, more feral. sharper, more desperate. he can feel it coiled low in his stomach. it’s driving him forward before he’s fully awake enough to argue with himself.
he shifts even closer. gets bolder when you don’t move. his breath tickles your skin. his hands settle at your hips. you sigh softly.
that cute sound almost made him lose himself right there and then. you’re still bare, reminding him of how you used him for your own pleasure. he gets needier the more he thinks about it. oscar’s brain is only focused on how good you felt wrapped around him. no other thoughts, just the warm wet feeling of your cunt.
fuck. without thinking, he takes his cock out of his boxers.
“i’m sorry… i just- fuck, i need you.” he whispers, barely audible.
he's so hard, leaking already. he teases your clit with his cockhead. you’re asleep, but you still deserve to feel good underneath him. and your clit is just always so sensitive for him. he always wants to treat you so well. he presses his cock between your folds. just enough to test.
a needy soft whine escapes your lips.
“fuuuuck…” osc whines to himself.
he pushes his cock inside you. your cunt is so warm. so fucking welcoming. he’s not patient anymore. he starts fucking you. his thrusts are fuelled by instinct. guided by hunger. not a single thought in oscar’s horny needy brain. he’s lost in your cunt. just fucking into you, shamelessly. rutting into you.
he’s feeling so guilty. so ashamed. so pathetic.
“fuck fuck fuck…baby, im sorry. fuck, it’s so soo fucking good…” he’s rambling.
his cock keeps thrusting into you. rapid and shallow. osc is too lost in your cunt to try and make it last long like usual. what a feral mess. he’s not even able to stay quiet anymore. your cunt is making him too stupid. osc can’t stop himself from chasing the friction. chasing the relief. he glances at you, checking for any signs of discomfort.
there aren’t any. he fucks into you harder.
you lean closer to him in your sleep. you’re seeking him and his cock even when asleep. you’re such a pretty slut for him. your body welcomes everything oscar gives you. and fuck, does that ruin him completely.
it’s all the encouragement he needs.
“fuck. you want me. even like this, you still want me.” awe and perverted horniness all tangled in his words.
he’s chasing his own high. not careless, oscar is never careless with your pretty body. fuck, he’s so grateful to you. grateful for how sweet you are to him. how sweet your cunt tastes. how well your cunt squeezes his cock.
fuck. he wants to breed you in your sleep.
he buries his face into your neck, breathing you in. your scent pushes him to the edge. it makes him worse. his thrust turn needier, more uneven. he has blushy cheeks and messy hair. he can’t stand it anymore. the guilt of using your tight cunt whilst you’re so peacefully asleep. the pure pleasure each time his cock drives into your cunt, stretching you out to fit him so tightly.
but the guilt fades quickly. it’s drowned by the memories of you being so fucking slutty earlier. you couldn’t even control yourself, you needed his cock. you fucked him in his sleep. you rode him until your cunt milked his cock. he deserves to use your cunt. oscar deserves to use your body to make himself feel good, too. he buries his face in your shoulder and keeps wrecking your needy hole.
it’s just feels so right. so warm, so tight.
“so so so good. fuckkkk. way too fucking good. holy shit.” he’s a pathetic mess.
you’re feeling yourself being held too tightly. not uncomfortable. just owned, used. you don’t open your eyes. you don’t need to.
oscar is not hiding how much he wants you. you feel it in the way his hips snap forward. his hands roam all over your tits. his body is doing all the work, his brain lost in that stupid horny daze.
“osc…” you murmur softly.
he freezes the second he realises you’re awake.
“oh shit. i-” he starts, mortified. “i’m so fucking sorry… i didn’t mean to wake-“
“fucking me in my sleep? god, osc. you learn so quickly.”
he exhales. your words pushed him too close, too quickly. he pulls out of your warm cunt and taps his cockhead on your clit.
“i just couldn’t stop thinking about last night.” voice so primal yet almost apologetic.
you thread your fingers into his hair. holding him right where he is. he winces. you tug on his hair, and he immediately fucks his cock into you again. you want him. no words needed.
the relief on his face is immediate. devastating. his control is all gone. he fucks into you harshly. frantic and needy. as if he’s afraid you’ll change your mind soon. breath stuttering. hips snapping into you with clear purpose.
“fuck, osc. don’t stop. please, don’t.”
“i feel ridiculous,” he rambles under his breath. “like i need you more than i should. balls deep inside you and i still fucking need more of you.”
you smile into the pillow. “good. use me.”
holy fucking shit. that does it.
with a low and wrecked groan, his grip tightens all over you. he’s making up for all the days he’s been held back. all the days he had to jack off to you in shitty hotel bathrooms.
you wrap your legs around his waist. his eyes are glassy, completely gone. he’s completely lost in your cunt. you’re letting him take what he needs. what he deserves.
“such a mess pretty mess, all needy like this.” you tease softly, thumbs brushing his cheeks.
he nods helplessly. such a good boy. cheeks flushed, eyes bright. skin glistening with warmth.
“you just feel so fucking good. want you so so bad.” he admits.
there’s something sincere in the way he says it. earnest, honest. desperate in a way that makes your chest ache and your cunt tighten around his cock. he’s not thinking. not performing. he’s just chasing.
“do i feel good?” you murmur.
he whimpers at that. forehead dropping to your shoulder. cock fucking into you harshly.
“fuck, yes. soooo fucking good. i promise.” he says immediately. “i love you. fuck-“
“i love you too osc. love how your cock feels, too.”
“…you do?”
you nod against him, smiling faintly.
“so needy and cute. fucking me so well.” you murmur, fond and warm.
your praise pushes him to the edge. you’re enabling him. enabling his horny needy self. he’s so impatient, couldn’t wait until he stuffs you full of his cock. couldn’t wait until he could feel your cunt squeeze him so tightly. your cunt feels more than a want. it’s a need.
he cums. it’s sudden. you feel the warmth of his cum inside you. he hides his face against your neck. he’s almost ashamed. it’s endearing.
he collapses against you. he lifts his head. eyes soft and unsure. he’s searching your face for any signs of regret.
“i’m sorry for waking you up. i didn’t mean to, i swear.” he admits softly. “…just couldn’t stop thinking about how much you wanted me last night.”
you smile. thumb brushing softly on his pink cheeks.
“that’s very okay. i liked it.”
he shuts his eyes, and rests his head on you again.
couldn’t make up my mind if i wanted to write abt oscar fucking his girl in her sleep, or him getting fucked in his sleep ??? so i wrote both <3 !! it was hard lol
꒰ঌ࿐𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓻𝓫 Logan catches you watching his biceps during his late night workout
꒰ঌ࿐𝓼𝓶𝓾𝓽 ✓
꒰ঌ࿐𝔀𝓬 1,4k
The first thing Logan said when he caught you staring was not even a word.
It was a laugh.
Low. Breathless. Almost mean.
He was on the floor by the foot of the bed, shirt off, sweat running down the centre of his chest, fists planted against the hardwood because apparently regular push-ups were too gentle for whatever stupid hockey-boy conditioning routine he’d decided to put himself through at eleven at night.
Knuckle push-ups.
Because of course.
Because John Logan couldn’t just be hot in a normal, manageable way. No, he had to drop low with his back flexing, shoulders wide, forearms corded, biceps tightening every time he lowered himself until his nose nearly brushed the floor. He had to breathe through it, slow and controlled, jaw set like it didn’t cost him anything.
And you, idiot that you were, had forgotten to pretend you were reading.
Your book was open in your lap. Upside down because nuance and subtlety were flung out the window around the time when his shirt also was tugged off.
Logan noticed on rep thirty-two.
His eyes flicked up first, then his mouth curved, “really?”
You blinked, “what?”
He pushed up again, arms locking, knuckles white against the floor, “book’s upside down.”
You looked down, “shit.”
He laughed, dropped once more, then held himself there, body hovering inches above the floor, biceps full and tense and completely unfair, “You staring at me?”
“No.”
He pushed back up, his breath barely affected- only slightly deeper, more controlled in sharp puffs. His smirk when he returned to his starting position could only be described as horribly cocky, “liar.”
“I was thinking.”
“About my arms?”
You shut the book.
Logan’s grin got worse.
That was twenty minutes ago.
Now your back was on the mattress, your thighs over his shoulders, and Logan’s arms were locked around your legs like he was proving a point with his entire body, “You wanted to stare?” he murmured against your inner thigh, “Stare.”
You could not. That was the problem. Your head was tipped back, one hand twisted in the sheets, the other locked in his hair while his mouth moved over you like he had all night and no intention of letting you survive it. His biceps pressed hard against the backs of your thighs, flexing every time you squirmed, every time his grip tightened to drag you back down to him.
“Logan,” you breathed.
He hummed. The vibration hit your clit and made your hips jerk.
His hand slid up, palm flattening low on your stomach, “stay.”
“Can’t.”
“Mhm,” another slow lick, “you can.”
Your thighs shook around his head.
He loved it. You could tell he loved it by the way he smiled against you, by the way his fingers dug into your skin, by the way he kept making these low, pleased sounds that blurred into you more than words, “Mmm. There?” he asked, mouth still wet against you.
You nodded too fast.
His hand smacked lightly against your hip, “words.”
“Yes.”
He kissed your clit, soft enough to be cruel, “yes, what?”
You tried to glare down at him, but his mouth opened over you again before you could form anything coherent, tongue dragging slow and flat, and the glare dissolved somewhere pathetic, “yes, there.”
His eyes flicked up, “Good girl.”
Your whole body clenched.
He felt it, “yeah?” his voice was rough now, a little wrecked around the edges, "you like that?”
“Shut up.”
He laughed against you.
You nearly came from that alone.
“Mean,” he murmured, “for someone who was looking at my arms like she wanted to bite me.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” He shifted one arm higher, bicep bunching beside your thigh as he pressed you open with his shoulder, “you were sitting there all quiet, squeezing your legs together.”
Your face went hot, “logan.”
“What?” He kissed you again, messy and open-mouthed, “you think I don’t notice?”
Your fingers tightened in his hair, “please.”
That did something to him.
His mouth stopped teasing. The next lick was firmer, slower, right where you needed him, and your breath broke into a soft, useless sound.
“There she is,” he said.
“Lo.”
“Mhm?”
“More.”
He groaned like the word hurt him. Then his arm shifted from your thigh, hand dragging down, two fingers pressing against you, slicking through the mess his mouth had made. He circled once, twice, watching your face the entire time.
“You’re soaked.”
You whimpered. His fingers pressed in slow, your back arched.
“Fuck.”
He smiled, but it was not smug anymore. It was hungry. Blown out. Like he had started this to tease you and ended up ruining himself with it too.
“That’s it,” he murmured, “take ’em.”
Your hand flew from his hair to his bicep, nails digging into the hard muscle there as his fingers curled inside you, “oh-”
He made another sound, almost a growl, and buried his mouth against you again.
It was filthy.
Wet.
Loud.
His tongue worked your clit while his fingers fucked into you, steady and deep, and you clung to his arm like it was the only thing keeping you anchored. The muscle flexed under your hand with every movement, hot and solid and so absurdly strong that your brain, already useless, managed only one thought.
Bite.
You did, mouth against the thick curve of his bicep, teeth sinking in lightly because you could not help yourself.
Logan froze.
For half a second, everything stopped. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you.
His mouth was wet. Chin shiny. Eyes dark enough to be dangerous, “did you just bite me?”
You released him slowly, “maybe.”
He stared. Then he laughed, low and disbelieving, and the sound made your stomach drop, “you’re fucking unbelievable.”
“You said I wanted to.”
“I was joking.”
“I wasn’t.”
Something snapped in his face.
Pure, awful heat.
His fingers curled harder inside you, and your mouth fell open, “you wanna bite?” he said, voice low, “fine. Bite.”
“Logan-”
He pushed his arm closer to your mouth and lowered his head again, “go on.”
Your thighs trembled around his shoulders.
His mouth touched you, “bite me while I make you come.”
The sound that left you was embarrassing. He hummed like he liked it and went back down, you bit him again when he did, harder this time.
His groan vibrated straight through your clit.
“Oh my God.”
“Mm?” he hummed, still working you open on his fingers, “that good?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, yes, f- Logan.”
Your hand locked around his arm, mouth pressed to his skin, teeth scraping every time his fingers hit that place inside you that made the room tilt. He kept his pace brutal and perfect, tongue circling, sucking, flicking, then flattening again when your hips started to buck.
You were babbling now.
Not words, not properly.
Just little sounds and broken pieces.
“Lo- yes- there, there, please-”
He pulled his mouth away for one breath, “for me?”
You nodded frantically.
His fingers stopped.
You nearly sobbed.
“Say it.”
Your eyes opened, wet and furious, “for you.”
His face softened for one second.
Just one.
Then his mouth was back on you, and he curled his fingers again, and you were gone.
Your orgasm hit hard, messy, thighs clamping around his head, teeth pressing into his bicep as you came with a muffled cry against his skin. Logan held you through it, arm flexed under your mouth, fingers still moving in slow, dragging strokes while his tongue worked you until you were shaking too hard to keep biting.
“Lo,” you gasped,” too much.”
He stopped instantly. Pulled back.
Pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh, then another, softer, right beside the first.
Your chest heaved. He crawled up your body like he had all the time in the world, mouth wet, hair wrecked from your fingers, a faint red mark blooming on his bicep where your teeth had been.
You stared at it.
He caught you, “seriously?” he said, breathless.
You reached for his arm again.
He caught your wrist and pinned it gently to the pillow beside your head, “no.”
You blinked up at him, “no?”
“You’re cut off.”
“But-”
“You bit me while I was eating you out.”
“You told me to.”
“I know,” His mouth brushed yours, and you tasted yourself on him, “that’s why I’m hard enough to die.”
Your gaze dropped.
He laughed into your mouth, “yeah,” he muttered, “now you notice.”
You lifted your hips against him, and his laugh broke into a groan.
“Baby.”
“Mhm?”
“Don’t start unless you want me to finish.”
You smiled, still dazed, still clinging to his wrist. Then you turned your face and kissed the inside of his bicep.
Logan closed his eyes, “fuck me,” he breathed.
You grinned against his skin, “thought you’d never ask.”
summary ! after you start dating on tinder, john quickly realizes that he doesn't want you to date at all.
warnings ! swearing, slight angst n fluff, smut 18+ mdni, protected sex, nothing too crazy
wc ! 2.8k
author's note ! inspired by me being on tinder lmfao. not proof-read.
to be added to my taglist.
The first time you went on a Tinder date, John didn't think must of it. Sure, he felt a little weird, but he chopped it up to him being overprotective. You were his best friend, and he wanted you safe. So, he stayed up all night waiting for you.
You texted him at 11:51.
Can I come over? Bad date.
Door's always unlocked for you.
John felt guilty. Just a little. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason, he was a little happy that the date didn't go good. Maybe he shouldn't have been. And maybe he was a shitty person, but he couldn't help it.
The love of your life was not on Tinder, he was sure.
So he waited, and you came over, still dressed up and still in your makeup. He let you wear his clothes and you took your makeup off with the spare wipes you had on his desk. You ranted on and on about how disrespectful the guy wason.
To you. To the waitress. To society. It turned you off immediately, and by the end of the night he was still trying to get you to come home with him.
John listened, carefully and closely, humming along and making noises of disgust at certain parts. The guy sounded like a douchebag, and he was glad you had enough sense to get away from him.
The night ended with the two of you in his bed, your phone silenced from the Tinder notifications going off, as they did mostly in the middle of the night. You laid there, before John slowly wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until you were on snuggled into him.
"Maybe Tinder's just not for you," he whispered.
You chuckled, shaking your head. "One bad date doesn't mean it's not for me, silly."
John smiled, but there wasn't a lot of light to it. He wasn't sure why he was feeling like this, but he knew it wasn't going away.
++
The second time you went on a Tinder date, John felt worse. His chest got a little tight, and his brain kept telling him to talk you out of it. He didn't, of course, because he had no right. But it was miserable hearing you get excited for it.
You were feeling good about this one, and that made him feel worse. He knew he was a shit friend for thinking the way he was, but he didn't want the date to go good. He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't help it.
Everything felt bad when you discussed it. But he held it in. He was being supportive. Even if it killed him.
So, he waited, like the first date, all night for you to say something. To send him a text or call him for a fake emergency. The text didn't come until later, but it still came. 12:32.
Well, that failed miserably. You up?
Yep. Door's always unlocked for you.
You looked significantly more disheveled this time around. Your makeup was smeared slightly, hair a mess, and your dress was a little less put together. There was a lump in John's throat. He ignored it.
Again, he gave you some of his clothes and watched as you cleaned off your makeup and brushed your hair. You ranted, again. This time, he seemed decent. A good kisser and blah blah blah—John was feeling a little sick from it all.
And then his girlfriend showed up. Now, John was feeling a little pissed. Yeah, he wanted the date to go bad, but not because you were some second sneaky link pick. He wanted it to go bad because you thought the guy was bad.
Not because he had a girlfriend.
He immediately felt guilty for wishing it went bad in the first place. You were clearly a little sad and shaken up over it, and when you climbed into his bed, John didn't hesitate to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.
"Seems like it might be me," you mumbled like it was a joke, but it didn't land like one.
John held you closer. "No way in hell is it you."
You chuckled softly, but it didn't really hit right either. John felt it then, the all-consuming heat in his chest.
Fuck.
That's what it was. He felt like an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.
He wanted you. All to himself. Exclusively.
Fuck, he was so fucked.
++
By the third date, John was losing it completely. He was a shell of a person, really. He was trying to be supportive and keep it together, but you looked far too good for some douchebag off Tinder. He was sure of it.
Still, he kept quiet. He had to. He wasn't going to be the dickhead who ruined something for you because of his own selfish desires. Even if they were big and consuming and he felt like he was on fire by keeping his mouth shut.
So, just like the last two times, he waited.
This time the text never came.
He accepted that at exactly 4:02 in the morning. His eyes were closing on him and his body was exhausted, but more than that, his heart hurt. This date went well. Fuck.
He should've been happy. Should've been supportive and all that good friend bullshit. All he felt, though, was this pit in his stomach. Overwhelming jealously and complete and utter despair. He should've opened his mouth.
He should've said something.
He hated himself right now, for so many reasons. He sighed, climbing into bed and putting his phone on the charger as he grumbled inaudible words to himself, tossing and turning as he tried to get comfortable.
He was almost asleep when his phone dinged. His eyes opened, throat working as he swallowed. He was telling himself not to get his hopes up, but who else would be texting right now?
He turned over, grabbing his phone.
You up? I need to talk to you.
John smiled softly, like a fucking idiot who was too whipped to really care how desperate or embarrassing he was.
Yeah. What's up?
The next text made his throat dry. He wasn't sure why, but something felt daunting about it.
Can you come over? Sorry, but this is important.
With a text back, John hopped out of bed and put some clothes on, immediately on his way to your apartment. He didn't hesitate, even if he was nervous and everything felt wrong, he didn't hesitate. If you needed him, for any reason, he'd be there.
He pulled up to your building ten minutes later, buzzing in and heading to your floor. He, like a fucking idiot, waited at your door for a whole minute, just trying to get his shit together. Then he knocked. Once, twice. Then paused. Knocked again. Once, twice.
He always knocked on your door like that. It was a sure way for you to know it was him. The door opened soon after, and John's breath hitched at your appearance. Your eyes were red, makeup tear-streaked.
He didn't ask questions, he just stepped forward, closing your door and pulling you into a hug. Your breath was shaky, your body tense. Whatever this was, John was equal parts worried for you and pissed at whatever happened to make you like this.
Silently, he picked you up, carrying you over to your couch and sitting down on it, you in his lap. He look at you, pushing your hair away from your face. "What's going on?" he asked softly.
You swallowed, shaking your head. "I'm gonna tell you something, and it'll probably ruin everything, but I have to say it. It's killing me."
His heart sped up. The thought that maybe you were about to confess your feelings didn't cross his mind. Instead, he was convinced you were about to break his heart somehow. Unintentionally, of course, but still.
He stiffened slightly, head nodding. "Okay."
You sucked in a breath. "Tonight went really well. Like, really well. I even invited him over." The pit in his stomach got worse, but he stayed silent. "We were literally about to have sex when I sort of realized something. Something that was embarrassing to try and explain to a guy who had his hands in my pants."
You chuckled breathlessly, shaking your head. "I know why Tinder's not working out. It's not because of the douchebags or the lustful losers, it's just...it's you, John. You're fucking...you're in my bones. And this is terrifying to say because I love our friendship, but I think if I don't say it, it'll ruin me. Because...I love you. I'm in love with you."
The air stilled, as if it knew how big of a moment this was. John's body was still as well. Nothing was moving, nobody was daring to do anything. His eyes searched yours, for confirmation or maybe for deceit, but he knew that wouldn't be there.
He knew you'd never just say that.
Words didn't come, not right now. Stupidly, he had none. So, instead, he just leaned in, kissing you softly and deeply like he'd been dreaming of, grasping your jaw and pulling you closer. You gasped into it, following his lead.
His lips moved desperately against yours, not wanting more, just wanting this forever. He pulled back suddenly, panting. "Fuck, fuck," he whispered, swallowing. He had to remind himself to slow down. He wanted everything all at once and he needed to breathe.
He looked at you, smiling. "Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself." He chuckled lowly, and you shook your head, a smile on your face.
"It's okay."
"I love you too, angel. Of course I fuckin' love you," he murmured, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.
You smiled brighter, leaning in and kissing him deeply, tongue slipping into his mouth. He groaned, grabbing your hips and squeezing. "Tell me when to stop," he mumbled into your mouth in between kisses, making it clear that he didn't want anything you didn't want.
"Don't stop."
"Angel-"
"John, don't stop."
He moaned as your hips ground against his, and his lips traveled to your jaw, sucking softly, before exploring your neck. He sucked behind your ear, and you moaned, gripping his biceps, nails digging in slightly. John sucked harder.
In one swift motion, he was standing up with you in his arms, heading to your bedroom. He laid you on the bed gently, hovering over you as he looked down at you. "Are you sure you want this? I can wait for it, angel."
You smiled, hands running through his hair. "I can't."
He chuckled, leaning in and kissing you again, messier this time but no less passionate. The hand not holding him up slipped under your shirt, large hand spread out against smooth skin, giving you goosebumps.
You moaned softly, and John pressed his hips into yours. His lips found your neck again, sucking gently, not hard enough to leave lingering marks, but enough to make you squirm. He smirked against your skin, pulling back and resting on his knees to pull his shirt off.
Your hands came up, nails gently raking up his torso to his neck, and he let out a shaky breath. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes.
You smiled, sitting up slightly to tug your shirt off, leaving your torso bare. John's breath hitched, and he leaned down, pushing you into the mattress as he kissed down the valley of your breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking.
You moaned, back bowing for him as he slipped a hand behind you, pulling you into him as he sucked on your tits. His lips were precise, tongue greedy as he did so. He was devouring you, and he was just getting started.
His lips slowly trailed down your belly, to the waistband of your shirt. His breath ghosted past your skin, tongue darting out to taste. His eyes flickered up to yours, and he waited for the signal. Didn't rush, didn't push. He was content where he was until you were ready.
You nodded, hand running through his messy locks. He smiled, fingers hooking in the waistband of both your shorts and panties, pulling them down in one big motion, tossing them on the floor with your shirts.
He paused, breathing heavy as his eyes scanned you. He licked his lips, hands rubbing your thighs and slowly pushing them apart. "So fuckin' beautiful," he murmured, leaning in and pressing his tongue flat against your slit.
You moaned, head falling into the mattress as he began eating you out. His lips sealed around your swollen clit, sucking softly as his tongue swirled. His hands massaged your thighs gently, leaving your skin with goosebumps and your breath heavy with desire.
He was lapping at you like a dog starved, and honestly, that's what he felt like. He moaned against your pussy, tongue tasting every bit of you he could. "Fuck," you breathed out, hands tugging at his hair.
He groaned, tongue flicking over your clit faster. You cried out softly, back bowing once more as you pressed your hips into his face. He slowly pulled back, your slick covering his face as you both panted.
"Sorry, baby, but I gotta feel this pretty pussy," he murmured deeply, hands going to his sweats and untying the drawstring.
You swallowed, nodding as you smiled softly, a little dizzy from it all. You reached over, opening your bedside drawer and pulling out a condom. John smirked. "Oh?"
You giggled. "Safety first, John Logan. Don't make it weird."
He slipped his sweatpants and boxers off, and your breath left your body at the sight of him. He smirked, grabbing the condom from you. "Nothing weird about safety, baby." He leaned down, kissing you deeply, hand on your jaw as he did so. "I'll be gentle. So fucking gentle, I promise."
You nodded, kissing him deeper, before pulling back. "I trust you."
He smiled, a real, genuine smile. "Good. I'd never hurt you."
He opened the package, rolling the condom on. He grabbed your leg, hooking it over his hip as he lined himself up. "Ready?" he asked softly.
You nodded. "Been ready for this for a while," you murmured, a small smile on your face. He chuckled, slowly pushing in, just enough for you to feel the stretch.
You moaned and so did he, the feeling of you amazing. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your jaw, your neck—pretty much everywhere he could as he slowly pushed in a little more, letting you adjust the size of him.
"Fuck, John," you moaned softly, nails digging into his bad.
"That feel good, angel?" he murmured against your skin, and you nodded, moaning.
He rolled his hips once, pushing in a little more until he was about halfway, and then he stopped, not wanting to push you too far or hurt you. His hips stilled, letting you adjust as he kissed your skin softly.
His breathing was heavy, small moans and whines escaping his lips as the feeling of you fluttering around him. "Feel so good," he murmured. "Fuckin' made for me."
You moaned, and he grabbed your other leg, hooking it over his other hip and deepening the angle. You cried out softly, his hips starting to move slowly, deeply, letting himself feel every rub against your walls.
"Fuck, angel," he moaned, sucking your collarbone. His hips slowly sped up, your moans filling his ears as he made love to you. It wasn't just fucking, it was deeper. It was raw and real and everything he'd been wanting for so long.
"You're fuckin' mine, you know that?" he murmured into your jaw, moving so his eyes were on you. "Look at me," he whispered. Your eyes fluttered open, full of pleasure as you moaned. HIs hips never stopped, never faltered, just drove into your deeper and deeper until your legs were shaking.
"Mine," he repeated, kissing you deeply. You nodded against him frantically, moaning into his lips.
His hand came down, slipping between you and finding your swollen clit, thumb rubbing tight circles. You whimpered in pleasure, head tossing back as your nails dug into his back, spurring him on. "Feel good?" he rasped, hips continuing to hit that spot inside of you.
You moaned, nodding. "Use your words, pretty girl," he told you.
"Y-yes. Fuck! Yes!"
Your moans got louder as your legs started tightening, and John continued, wanting to feel you come around him, needing it.
"Fuck, that's it, baby. Let me feel you."
You cried out as your orgasm crashed over you, your back bowing and nails scraping down his back as your toes curled and your pussy pulsed. You gasped, legs shaking as you tried to ground yourself in the moment.
John hummed, moaning against you as he worked you through it. His own orgasm crashed over him seconds later, and he twitched deep inside of you, head buried in your neck as he whined. "Fuckk," he choked out, hips continuing to roll against you, dragging your pleasure out.
You were panting below him, whimpering every time his cock moved inside of you. "Fuck, I love you, baby," he murmured, hips slowing down to a stop. "I love you so fucking much."
He lifted his head, kissing you deeply even as you both panted and tried to come down. You moaned into his lips, nodding. "I love you."
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader, andrea kimi antonelli x gf!fem!reader
summary: kimi has everything oscar has ever wanted. and oscar knows kimi doesn’t deserve any of it. not the praise. not the wins. and especially not you. so when the envy becomes too much, oscar decides he’ll take it all from him. every single last thing that makes kimi happy. even if that means taking you.
warnings: fluff, LOTS of angst, jealousy, established relationship, very innocent and slightly dumb reader, technically infidelity, toxic childhood!bf!kimi, gaslighting, arguing, yelling, manipulation, possessiveness, kimi disrespects reader a lot, kinda cunning!oscar?, 18+ (minors dni), teasing, p in v, unprotected sex, degradation, public sex, voyeurism, handjob, poor humour // poorly proof read as usual
word count: 12.3k
a/n: based on this request! first piece of my 6000 follower celebration!!! letting you know you may be triggered at many points of this fic and that's okay! 😬
Oscar Piastri had never really let anyone get under his skin. Early in life, he had learned the art of calm and composure. Underreaction had always been the silent winner. No one ever got to him. Nothing really pissed him off. He treated people fairly. He always thought that if he went by the books, one day he'd reap the rewards.
But very quickly into his Formula One career; he had learned that was not the truth. And nor was he as calm as he once thought he was.
In the very same time frame Osar was supposed to be receiving praise and getting race wins, came Kimi Antonelli. The monster rookie. The new Verstappen who replaced the Sir Lewis Hamilton's seat.
It wasn't like Oscar hadn't heard of him. He had always heard of him down the line. The kid in the Mercedes' junior line up. A racing prodigy. A sweet guy with all the Italian charm. When he heard Kimi was racing in F2, skipping the previous level, he had even thought of extending his hand. Sure, you couldn't be friends with everyone on track. But it didn't hurt to try.
But Oscar was sorely mistaken.
The ego-boosting headlines and the compliments had gotten to Kimi. He walked, no—he strode with pride. Innocent brown eyes filled with a disgusting shade of smugness that no driver could fathom. His lips in a constant curved smirk. Complaints and complaints on the tip of his tongue when nothing went his way. The coy downplay of his achievements at such as young eage. How easily he manipulated Toto and Susie to get what he wanted.
It was different kind of art. A sick, satrical version of it. How easy the Italian charm had faded away.
And always by his side was you. Kimi's pride and joy. His girlfriend of three years, always wrapped around his arm.
You... You were the worst part of it all.
Oscar had seen you like everyone else had. You were simply gorgeous. Oscar could never forget how slowly his head had turned when you had first entered the paddock. The double take he had taken along with everyone else, watching your every move.
Everything about you seemed perfect.
Your sparkly wide eyes. Pretty painted lips. Soft, boisterous laugh. Perfectly styled hair. Perfume that made all in your trail dizzy. You talked with your heart rather than your mind. You were a good person. Pure. Whole. Anyone could see that from a mile away.
It was then when Oscar had locked eyes with Kimi, spotting that smirk on his stupid face and that evil glint in those brown eyes. A look of acknowlegement. Yes. It was you next to him. Not next to Oscar. Not next to anyone else.
Oscar would never forget that very moment where Kimi's head had leaned down just a little, lips gliding over your ear to whisper something that made you laugh while his hand creeped down your waist, to your lower back and right over your ass. Fingers slightly while as he groped you shamelessly. And not a second later, his lips were on yours, kissing you deeply and messily, tongue out without any hurry. Like there weren't any cameras on him.
He remembered your flushed cheeks while you kissed Kimi back. Eyes a little wide with disbelief but still you had kissed him anyways, smile apparent on your face. Small hands reaching for his sleeves to brace yourself.
Then there was that mix of disgust and anger that rushed through Oscar's body. He genuinely couldn't believe it. How could anyone dating you treat you like that in public? Like you were a plaything. A trophy.
And that's how it had gone on for months. That superiority Kimi welded with you by his side. Making you sit on his lap at dinners, hands travelling carelessly under the short skirts and dresses he had gotten you. Interrupting interviews just to go and kiss you on the camera. Letting those videos of you and him in the nightclub get posted where you danced together.
And while it seemed like things were all sunshines and rainbows for the both of you, Oscar could see the truth for what it was. Kimi had no respect for you. In fact, he was horrible to you.
Because behind Kimi's handsy fingers and clingy mouth were the arguments in the quiet parts of the paddock. The ones where he would make your pretty eyes cry and then pretended to kiss them better. Where he constantly made you question yourself and belittled you in front of others. Then he'd let your eyes light up with the fake promises of a future together. He didn't really let you talk to anyone either unless it made him look good.
And you had no idea. Simply believing him with your heart. The epitome of 'love makes you blind.'
You were like an innocent lamb in the dirty hands of Kimi's.
It had gotten worse this season.
The consistent wins and praise had made Kimi delirious. If he was careless before, he had not a single inch of it in him any longer. With the whispers of a Championship-winning car and a talent one people wouldn't see for years, he was driven by the foundation of immature confidence.
Perhaps that's why Oscar had heard what he had heard in China. Seen what he had seen.
It was Lando, Oscar, and George conversing between the Mercedes and McLaren garages. Talking about the cars and whatnot while the paddock had finally become quiet after the race. Some teams were still in their debriefs, some packing up. The sun threatening to settle, orange mixed lightly into the air.
The conversation was coming to a swift end, Lando and George citing how they needed to grab their things from their hotel before they all met for the private flight back to Monaco. The two of them had barely walked away before Oscar had heard it.
A deep mewl in the air.
Oscar blinked, brows furrowed as he turned towards the Mercedes' garage. He couldn't see anyone nearby. The place empty with a majority of the team still in another debrief. He would've taken a step back and joined Lando but then he had heard it again.
"Oh fuck!"
Call it curiosity. But Oscar's legs seemed to move on their own, defying the rules of non-personnel entering the garage while he quietly walked onto enemy territory. It didn't take him long to navigate, the ins and outs similar to any other garage. The sounds became louder and louder with every step he took. Yet he couldn't quite discern them.
But when he did, it made his feet stop and his blood freeze.
He stood outside of Kimi's driver's room. It not just any sound coming into the air. It's yours. Hands imprinting onto the blurred iced-glass door, your shadowed figure could barely be made out. Your moans travelled through the glass with bare deviation from the lewd, deep slaps of skin echoing around what felt like his skull.
"Louder, belle. Let them hear who makes you feel this good," Kimi grunted shamelessly. "God, you're so pathetic. This turned on when anyone can hear you. You make a good whore, don't you?"
His chuckle was deep and mocking. And yet, your trembling moans merged into the air.
Oscar could hear it. Your sharp pants. Desperate and needy. "More," you begged. "Deeper."
Oscar blinked, breathing in deeply while he took a shaky step back. Fuck, this was so wrong. He could barely think with your sweet sounds tainted by Kimi's disgusting insults. It felt like he was watching a crime being committed.
The struggle grounded him for a few moments. Not willing to move. But the idea of you reaching any sort of end with Kimi made a thin layer of bile crawl up Oscar's throat. So he moved before he could hear it, feet quick and light.
He was sweating by the time he reached the McLaren suite, mind haywired, breath erratic while he tried to block out those sounds. That was a mistake, right? Something he had come across on pure accident. Yes. That was it. Kimi wasn't so vain that he'd just put you out there for anyone to listen to. That was an accident.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
But by the time Oscar had reached the private jet, he had once again been proven wrong. He was there, backpack slung across his back and suitcase rolling next to him as he arrived to find Lando and George waiting near the stairs of the plane.
Oscar raised a brow. "What are you guys waiting for? Shouldn't you be onboard?" He queried.
"I..." Lando said wordlessly, awkwardly looking over at George who looked slightly paler than usual. Neither of them could bring it up. The mere idea too shameful.
"What?" Oscar pressed, sighing when no response was given. He moved forward, pushing past them to get up the stairs. By the time he was through the door, it had become evident as to why those two were waiting outside.
"Oh fuck. That's it," Kimi's voice flew from the bathroom down the aisle.
Oscar's fingers instantly tightened around his suitcase. His stomach churned with disgust as his brain familiarised itself with the situation once again. The sounds of you against one another was far less muted this time. Your whimpers curling around Oscar's ears.
He couldn't tell what was worse. The fact that the plane hadn't even gotten off the ground yet or the fact Oscar wasn't the only one subjected to this. His coworkers down below. The staff of the plane awkwardly trying to resume their job. All while Kimi was burning your dignity to the floor.
"You gonna cum for me, belle? Yeah?"
Oscar's breath quickened as Kimi's voice tightened.
"Tell me, baby. Who makes you feel this good?"
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath, annoyance simmering in his blood.
"You. You do, Kimi," you sobbed, gasp heavenly with every push forward harsher than before. "Kimi, Kimi—I'm going to—"
A smug moan fell from his lips. "I know, I know. Everyone's going to know how good I make you feel, belle."
Oscar regretted staying this time. He should've left the moment he had realised. He shouldn't have stayed to hear the sinful draw out of your voice nor the useless wavering grunt of Kimi's. Then he wouldn't of seen Kimi coming out of the bathroom, still shifting his pants on tighter, adjusting his zip with you following behind him, red in the face.
Kimi breathed with a drop of sweat worked up on his brow. "Hey, Oscar," he greeted, tugging at his shirt without a inch of shame in the world. He looked past him, spotting the emptiness in the jet. "Are Lando and George still waiting? I'll go them, yeah? Takeoff's soon."
Oscar's lips curled in disgust as Kimi walked past him, shoulder bustling into his before Kimi's hand, still covered in the musk of sex, patted him. His brown eyes flickered to yours, now seated with the imprints of Kimi all over you. Purple on your neck, hands on your bare thigh, poorly hidden beneath your skirt. You were tainted with Kimi. He swallowed, meeting your flustered gaze.
You gave him a timid wave. "Hi, Oscar."
Oscar's breath caught. He was sure that was the first time he had heard his name fall from your lips. He enjoyed the way it rolled of your tongue. It sounded much better than Kimi's. He gave you a hesitant nod of acnknowledgement. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the shame beneath your kind expression. He could feel the judgement pouring from the staff in the cabin. Remember the awkward look on Lando and George's faces. And it was all because of Kimi.
Oscar hated Kimi. He hated that Kimi had everything he ever wanted. An easy fight for a title. The potential to win more races than he ever had in his rookie years. And you. He had you.
Oscar was going to beat Kimi. One way or another, he was going to beat the stupid smug smirk off that Italian face. He would take everything that he had away from him. Even if that something was you.
It was a brief glimpse Oscar had gotten from you. But that was all he needed to stop in his tracks. The sight of you in tears, cheeks flushed, and hidden in behind some corner of the Mercedes' suite. No. That just wouldn't do.
You sniffled, tip of your nose red as Oscar placed down a cup of freshly steamed hot chocolate and sat across you. With a tight, thankful smile, you held the burning cup between your fingers.
"A-Are you sure its okay for me to be here?" You asked, eyeing the unfamiliar shades of papaya around you.
Oscar watched you quietly, nodding unconsciously. He blinked as your eyes drifted to his. The tips of ears reddened as he had been caught. He cleared his throat, nodding more definitely. "Of course, it is. I couldn't possibly have just left you like that."
You swallowed tightly, cheeks pouring with heat once again as you thought about how Oscar had found you just sobbing away. The concern in his eyes had been surprising. You had never seen anything like it before. A part of you wished you had. In a different pair of brown eyes.
Oscar pursed his lips at the silence brewing in the air. He sucked in a sharp breath, leaning forward. "I know it's not my place but... is it Kimi?"
You looked down at the mention of your boyfriend before smiling much to Oscar's surprise. "It was my fault really. I made a mistake. I just thought..."
He raised a brow. "You thought?"
You chuckled softly, blinking through your sore eyes. "It sounds crazy now that I think about it. I thought he was cheating," you laughed a little deeper, sighing as you shook your head in disbelief. "There was the girl and— well. He was right. I was overreacting. I just really thought..."
The ache in Oscar's chest was unwelcome as your voice grew small and strained. He blinked at your sudden smile yet again. "I was stupid, wasn't I?" You sighed, taking a sip of your hot chocolate.
"No, you weren't."
Your eyes flew to Oscar, wide. Your heart thudded in your chest, fear growing like diseased vines. What did he mean by that?
"It's not stupid to ask questions. That's the least you deserve. It's your right," Oscar murmured gently, fingers curling to move the loose tresses in front of your face but stuck at his side.
You pulled your brows together. That's not what Kimi told you. He always said questions weren't important. Useless, really. That only stupid people ask and answer. That's why he acted the way he did in interviews—disruptive and indifferent. But what you were hearing now...
You tilted your head, curiosity swarming through your brain. "Can I ask you questions then?"
A gentle smile sprawled onto Oscar's face as he leaned back in his seat. "You can ask me anything you want, sweetheart."
He watched you hum almost silently. Like you were thinking of all the new options you could explore. And for a split second, he saw it. That sliver of excitement swirling in your eyes. The expanse of your pupils. And it made his breath catch.
"Do you believe in aliens?"
Amusement coursed through his veins. There was something so mundane about the question. Out of all the things you could have asked... But he pushed down the quirk of his lips. "In a world of unexplained things, I think there's room for aliens."
Your brows pulled again, doe-eyes looking at him for a second. Maybe a second too long. Long enough for Oscar's heart to test new unhealthy rthyhms. "That's the most media trained answer you could've given. Nice job."
Oscar blinked at your response, brown eyes watching you stand as you looked at the digital clock that counted sixty minutes to the start of the first free practice. Sixty minutes that required you to be near Kimi. He breathed slowly upon your small smile beaming.
"Thank you for... well, just thank you," you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly. You turned on your heel before pausing, head tilting back to the brown eyes still on you. "Question. Do my eyes look puffy?"
Oscar could've remained seated and told you from where he sat. But he stood, taking those few closer steps near you. The world seemed to slow as he leaned in, inspecting your face from a careful distance. Or the lack of. It was silent for a brief moment. "No," he decided.
You swallowed, releasing the breath you had unintentionally been holding. You smiled lightly. "Good. Kimi doesn't like it when they are," you chuckled. "Okay. Bye, Oscar."
Oscar pressed his lips together, biting down the distaste lingering on his tongue as he bidded you goodbye. His turmoil seemed to linger even when you were gone. Every time he thought he couldn't hate Kimi anymore, you gave him one more reason to do so.
The crowd roared as usual. A fundamental noise that your ears had become used to as you stood beneath the podium and metres away from the finishing cars. It was Silverstone. Classical and traditional. Every driver's dream race to win. And Kimi had done it.
You stood between the neverending Mercedes' team, dolled in Kimi's jacket waiting for for him as he did his final few victory laps around the circuit, basking in the cheers and exclaims pouring from the stadium. Yet, he wasn't the first driver you saw. It was Oscar, cladded in papaya, and the claimer of P2. You watched him down the line, greeting his team. And for a moment, you expected him to sweep right past you.
But someone at Mercedes knew him a little better, pulling him aside with a handshake. And then those brown eyes flickered to you and over the teal and black clinging to your shoulder with an emotion unfamiliar to you. But a smile graced his face nevertheless. Boyish as usual, you noticed.
You returned the gesture. "Congrats on second," you said loudly, hands curling over the barricade.
"Thank you," Oscar breathed, hand dishevelling his sweat-ridden brown locks, lines of his balaclava etched into his slightly reddened face. “If only I had one more lap," he sighed tiredly, reminiscing the hundredths between his and Kimi's finishing times.
You pressed your lips together, smile hanging awkwardly. "Next time. I'm sure of it," you nodded astutely, brows pulled with firm belief.
A chuckle fell from his lips. Cute. His head tipped in agreement. "Yeah. Next time," he mumbled. He took a quick breath in. "I was wond—"
Oscar's words were quelled as the supporting shouts grew louder with Kimi's pull into parc fermé. You both silently watched him remove his steering wheel, topping the his car with his fists in the air triumphantly. His small jump off was smooth after every recent win. You felt his head glide towards you while he inched closer to the weighing scale. Nothing decipherable about those eyes behind the helmet.
Kimi didn't waste a second. Helmet and balacava off. Sponsor watch on. Marching towards the crowd of teal and black. Marching towards you. Aware of every lens following his every move. His stagnant gaze on you purposeful. Gait with a force so casual yet demanding.
Forceful enough for Oscar to take a step back as he watched Kimi's hand, the very one with the sponsor watch, fall to your face and bring his lips to yours. The grandstands and pools of fans around cheer as expected. The cameras zoom in hungrily, too blinded to see the quirk of Kimi's lips. Instead disguised as the loving boyfriend depicted across fanpages and headlines.
But Oscar could see it. He stood behind Kimi, jaw locked, teeth clenching so tightly the pain swells in his gums. He hadn't realised it until Sophie, his press officer, put her hand on his arm to attend the trackside interview, grounding him back to reality. He swallowed tightly, taking a slow breath in and out before turning on his heel, fingers curled tightly at his side.
With every step closer to the cameras and the waiting interviewer, Oscar couldn't shake the image of you two out of his head. This was the very same guy who had sent you crying just a few weeks ago, leaving Oscar to pick up the pieces. Who had the sheer audacity to make you feel like shit just for doubting him.
What a fucking asshole.
Monaco was not home for Oscar. It would never be. Nowhere near as comfortable and easy as Australia was. He preferred the scorching heats and casualness of the people around him. Not the sports cars or luxury yachts collecting dust on the Monégasque waters. This was well and truly just a perk of his job. Nothing more, nothing less.
But just when Oscar couldn't find anything happy about it, a walk outside to get his groceries left him finding you nearby, eyes glued to the clothing store nearby.
You blinked at the call of your name, tearing your eyes away to find a familiar mop of brown hair. The smile on your face was instant. You waved in a way that made his cheeks tighten. "What are you doing here?"
Oscar breathed in, looking around the streets he had become used to, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. "Uh, I was going to get some groceries. How about you? Not in Italy. Well, obviously," he chuckled awkwardly.
Christ... was he always such a loser?
You grinned, nodding in agreement. "Kimi finally moved in so I came to help. Now... I'm shopping," you said, lifting your arm with the few shopping bags you had collected so far.
He suppressed his frown at the mention of Kimi's name. "So I guess I'll be seeing you around more often?" He queried, brows raised with hope.
"Yeah. I mean maybe. This place is a lot," you laughed softly, eyes tracing over the endless cars, stores, and yachts. This was definitely not Bologna or even Milan. Monaco was a in a league of its own.
Oscar nodded. "It's overwhelming at first," he agreed, swallowing tightly as a new thought popped into his mind. "I mean, if you don't mind, I could be your guide when you're here. You can give me your number. Call me when you're around."
You mulled over his offer, surprise light but evident on your face. You never really gave your number to anyone. Especially not any of the drivers—Kimi's rule. But Oscar was just being nice. It would probably be good too. That way you didn't have to bother Kimi.
"Sure," you said, hand reaching out to grab your phone. "Give yourself a miss call."
Oscar's eyes lit up, faint smile on his face as he punched in his number into your phone, letting the call linger briefly. Satisfied, he saved his name into your phone. Oscar :)
"Perfect," you breathed, eyes crinkling with a thankful glint as you pocketed your phone. "I'll let you get back to it then. I still have a few more places I wanna see."
Oscar tried not to let his disappointment show. You just got here. "If you wanted some company... I'm happy to join," he shrugged, hoping that was as casual as it was in his head.
Your eyes widened slightly. "Really?"
"Yeah, sure. I know a few places too," he nodded, unable to understand your shock. As if Kimi never joined you—oh who was he kidding? Of course that asshole didn't join you. And if he did, it would be for him.
You grinned. "Lead the way."
You pursed your lips, eyeing the skirt you hovered over yourself as you stood in front of the store's long mirror. It was a sparkly little thing. Silver. Small. Sequined. Your eyes flickered to Oscar's reflection, finding him standing nearby some rack (as if he hadn't been quietly watching you). “Oscar, can I ask you a question?"
Oscar raised a brow, swiftly moving away from the rack he had been pretending to rummage through. "You know you don't have to ask that every time, right? You can just ask," he grinned, inching closer to you.
"Oh," you pursed your lips, blinking blankly as the heat in your cheeks grew. "Right. Sorry," you smiled lightly, looking back at yourself in the mirror. "What do you think of this?" You asked, gesturing to the sparkly skirt dangling over the hanger.
He swallowed. It was pretty thing really. Made him imagine things he didn't want to imagine. But as he had watched you, he couldn't help notice the light in your eyes missing. Or the frown of your lips. He shrugged. "You don't seem to like it very much."
You fell silent for a moment, eyes slightly wide while you blinked. How Oscar knew that... you had no idea. You sucked in a sharp breath, staring at the skirt in the mirror with a small pout. "Kimi likes these things."
There it was. The perpetrator behind everything miserable and unbalanced in your life. Of course, Kimi liked these things like this. Short and tight. It was a way to claim you in all those parties and night clubs. One hand always on your exposed leg or on the curve of your ass as he practically screamed, "Look at me."
Oscar bit his lip, pushing away the rousing annoyance in his chest. "What do you like?"
The question was simple. Yet it seemed to leave you stumped. Doe eyes a bit dazed. Lips parted. Like you had never really given that much of a thought. And that only worsened the ache in his chest.
You tilted your head, directing your gaze behind Oscar. "I think that's pretty," you murmured, eyeing the semi-long white sundress nearby.
Oscar turned his head. With no sly comment or look of distaste you usually recieved, he stepped towards it, grabbing the hanger with ease before bringing it back to you. "Then wear it."
You pursed your lips, unsurely flickering over the dress. "But—"
"Just try it. You won't know if you don't try," Oscar said, firm yet gentle as he took your previous shopping bags slung on your arm and moved them to his. He pushed forward the dress again. "Go on."
He watched you swallow awkwardly, gingerly picking the dress out of his hand before drifting towards the fitting rooms. He followed after you, stopping when you suddenly turned back to face him.
"Will you wait for me?"
Oscar blinked. He hated how foreign the idea sounded to you. That you actually had to question it because your piece of shit boyfriend couldn't spare one second that wasn't for him.
He smiled warmly, not missing a beat to respond. "I'll be right here. Don't worry."
You nodded thankfully as he took a few steps back, taking a seat while he waited. And with every second the passed, Oscar couldn't help but think of it. The few times Kimi would come with you. Probably when the fans were out or along with the paps. How he'd probably walk around, not paying attention to you. Picking out clothes that he liked. Standing there, convincing you that you liked it as much as he did.
The clothes were just one example. Oscar was almost a hundred percent sure it was Kimi who had gotten you to publicise your socials to get more coverage. Every second post being a photo of you together where you looked happy and Kimi looked like presumptous asshole he was.
Had Oscar spent an unhealthy amount of time looking at your account? Yes. Maybe. But he couldn't help it. It was almost intuitional. The more he found to despise about Kimi, the more he seemed to sink deeper into the world that was you.
"Oscar?"
Oscar blinked, head lifting up as though he had been called by a siren. He found you peeking out of the curtain with a fretful smile. He raised his brows curiously. "Yeah?"
"Do you think you can help me with the strings? Or find someone who can? I can't really do them by myself," you chuckled awkwardly, cheeks slightly flushing.
He was standing on his feet when you called his name. Walking as you asked. Without as much of a fight or resistance you usually experienced, he had said yes.
You breathed in, feeling the narrow confinements of the fitting room become even smaller as Oscar entered. You pursed your lips, eyes darting between anything and Oscar in the mirror. "Just... those ones," you murmured, hovering over the two long strings sitting at your lower back.
Oscar held his breath in his lungs, fingers stretching and curling around the two attached pieces. He told himself he shouldn't look up as he looped each string. Because if he did, he was scared to see what he'd find. But he did.
He wasn't sure what fucked up his brain chemistry more. The heat radiating between your bodies from something a simple as a little knot. Or the brush his fingers over the fabric of your dress. Or perhaps the bob of your throat as you caught his eye. Like he made you nervous. And that thought alone made him warm all over.
He fastened the last knot, watching your breath hitch. "There," he said, voice gruff and strained while he committed the sinful cling of the fabric to your body to his memory.
He kept quiet, observing your eyes drift over yourself in the mirror. He saw it. That missing light. The small look of approval in the quirk of your lips. "Buy it," he simply said. "If you don't, I will."
Your lips parted with nothing quite to say as Oscar excused himself from the room, finally taking a breath of fresh air. His lungs burned as if he had denied the right to breathe with you, happy to let you suffocate him.
"Jesus Christ," Oscar muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He was so fucked.
You swallowed tightly as Kimi threw his phone in front of you, left open with a picture of you and Oscar talking outside the store yesterday. He stood in front of you, arms folded with an incredulous smile on his face. "I called you here to help me," he said chuckled, shaking his head. "I mean... I can't believe you thought I was cheating. How hypocritical can you get?"
You blinked, scatter of red creeping up your neck and cheeks instantly. "I... we were just talking, Kimi. I bumped into him on accident."
The scoff from his lips made your eyes sting. Not an ounce of trust rested in him as much as it did in you.
"Accident?" He questioned, raising his brows with amusement. "Nothing accidental about that prick. Don't think I haven't noticed him being around you more often. I mean come on, ___. Are you his girlfriend or mine?"
You frowned. "Of course, I'm your girlfriend, Kimi," you instantly said, not missing a beat to respond. "Why would you even ask that?"
Kimi tilted his head. "You're asking me that? Then don't do things that make me question you, belle," he grunted, jaw tight. He sucked in a breath when he spotted the thin shine over your eyes. He almost rolled his own. Of course. You couldn't go a conversation without crying.
"Why are you being so mean?" You murmured, eyes brimming with tears, tip of your nose beginning to flush.
After a moment a sigh fell from Kimi's lips. He stepped forward, hands holding you at either side of your arms. He leaned forward, meeting your gaze, brown eyes suddenly gentle. "I don't want to be. You just make it difficult, belle. You know I love you so much, yeah? Don't cry. I hate seeing you cry."
You blinked, feeling Kimi's lips gided over your eyelids briefly. For a moment you felt like your soul had separated from your body. Like you were watching yourself from another plane. You breathed in, sniffling quietly to yourself as he pulled away, thumb grazing your cheek.
"You understand, hmm?" He hummed, tucking your hair behind your ear.
You smiled tightly, giving him a nod. "I understand, Kimi. I won't do it again," you promised, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. "Ti amo."
Oscar hated clubs. There was nothing more uncomfortable for him as an introvert. The loud music, flashing lights, sweaty bodies, and an unhealthy amount of alcohol. All features of a nightmare he's had time and time again.
But he was here. Under the strobe lights, music vibrating throught the floor he stood on while his eyes searched through the dancing crowd. He was here because you were here. A small detail you had slipped into your texts with him recently. A night out with the drivers and their partners.
Lando spotted him first, surprise evident on his face as he came closer. He eyed the blue jeans and black polo shirt his teammate wore and chuckled. "Well this is out of the norm. I wonder why."
Lando wasn't as daft as some made him out to be. Of course, things were a lot easier when his usually composed and calm teammate was riled up by the simple mention of you. Oscar had made the mistake many other drivers had once made. Everyone had seen you once Kimi moved up racing categories. No one was going to deny it. You were a gorgeous girl with a pure heart. But you were young. And that was always risky territory. That fact you were Kimi's... it rubbed everyone the wrong way. Where as everyone saw you for what you were, Kimi saw you as the shiny trophy to put his on his arm.
But no one had tried to go against him. The effort against someone so cocky and arrgoant was tumultuous. Formula One was already bad enough as it was. The last thing any driver wanted was an extra target on his back when they raced.
But it seemed Oscar had willingly taken it up. And it ws going well. By sheer luck or pure talent, he had finally thwarted the neverending Mercedes domination and Kimi's winning reign. With a few race wins up his sleeve, Oscar loomed over the championship leader with a confidence Kimi would almost find familiar.
"Shut up," Oscar rolled his eyes at Lando, returning his gaze back to the crowd. There was no question as to who he was searching for. And he found you where he had expected. On Kimi's lap. His chin nestled into your shoulder, hand over your thigh while he talked to Ollie like you weren't there. And there you were again, dressed in the clothes that your fingers threatened to tug down.
Oscar watched silently as your lips dipped towards Kimi's ear, whispering something that made him nod and made him loosen his grip on you. His own feet moved across the club before he knew it. But he wasn't so obvious, blending with the crowd as you seemed to near the bathroom. At least from Kimi's angle. But from his, he could spot the right turn towards the stairs immediately.
The strobe lights turned red as Oscar walked up the stairs. The atmosphere up there, though still loud, seemed different. Slower and slurred. Crowded yet less chaotic. And in the mix of it all he found you. Sitting in an empty booth, head in your hands, resting on the table.
"You okay?"
You lifted your head at the voice, ears perked instinctively. You breathed a little more calmly when you realised who it was. "Oscar," you greeted with a small smile though you didn't hide your surprise. You watched him slide into the booth, sitting across you. "What are you doing here? This doesn't really seem like your scene."
Oscar rested his arms on the table. "Doesn't seem like yours either," he simply retorted. He grinned at your pursed lips and briefly stoic face. Like he had caught you in a lie.
You sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back into the booth. "It's not," you admitted with a sheepish nod. The sheer amount of eyes and people made you want to throw up. "But—"
"But Kimi likes it... right?" Oscar bitterly finished, brows raised.
You smiled lightly, nodding once again as your eyes drifted across the dancing crowd, swaying a bit more softer to the electric beat. "I came up here to breathe a little," you mumbled. "It's better than down there. He would've found me outside."
It was silent for a moment. Just Oscar watching quietly and you basking in something that didn't have Kimi's name scrawled all over it.
"Can I ask you a question?"
You blinked, peeling your gaze away from the scene and back to Oscar. You furrowed your brows. That was usually your line. But hearing it come from his mouth was humouring. You smiled lightly, gesturing for him to continue.
"Do you like to dance?" Oscar asked. It was a bold ask. One that made him regret it almost instantly. Lodge his breath in his throat as he waited.
You folded your arms, pondering over his question. "At home. Usually by myself. Kimi doesn't really enjoy it anymore," you sighed sadly, corners of your mouth frowning. You had tried asking once or twice. But the outcome was always the same. He was too busy or too weirded out.
Your eyes fell to the outsretched hand in front of you and then to the standing Oscar. You raised a brow.
"Let's dance then," he breathed.
You swallowed tightly, thinking back to the night just weeks ago where you and Kimi had argued about Oscar. About the promise you had made. You rubbed your lips together, looking at him fretfully as your stomach churned. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
Oscar tilted his head at you. "Stop thinking about Kimi and think for yourself. If you want to dance, then dance."
You should've kept your hand to yourself. You should've gone back downstairs. Whether it was those brown eyes staring back at you or the determination in Oscar's voice, you couldn't decide. But you gave him your hand and let him guide you to the floor.
It was a tight fit with the occassional bump of a shoulder or body nearby. Your eyes locked under the flashing red lights as you stood in front of each other. The music you could feel through your heels. For a moment, you do nothing. Just stare at each other.
"Do you even know how to dance?" You asked with a small but teasing smile, eyeing his frigid posture. He was like a frozen block of ice. Unable to move. Cautious of the surrounding movements. The awkward tipped grin on his face told you everything. And it made you laugh. Earnestly and genuinely.
Oscar bit the inside of his cheek, preventing him from smiling too hard when he felt the brush of your head fall against your chest. He watched as you lifted yourself up, amusement littered all over your face. Your hair dishevelled, tresses flying in different directions. Eyes sparkling under the lights. Smile beaming at him. And he could've sworn his heart stopped.
"They say to just feel the music. Move your body," you advised, brows scrunched like you were trying to remember.
He raised a brow. "They?" He repeated with a grin. "Who's 'they?'"
You pursed your lips, shrugging. "Club people. You learn a thing or two when you just sit there."
Oscar snorted. There was something unexplainably enjoyable when you became a little more loose-lipped without Kimi nearby. He cleared his throat. "So... you just move your body? That what you said?"
You nodded, beginning to move your hands. "I think if you imagine yourself like a fish it works better," you wiggled your brows, trailing your hands across your body to the beat thundering around you.
For a brief second, Oscar laughed. But the picture of a fish dancing died in his head quicker as the rhythm filtered through his ears and his eyes fell to you. The world instantly lingered in his head. Siren. That's what you reminded him of. Every twist and turn of your body making the movement of your hair seem like some art.
He wasn't sure when he himself had begun moving. The bob of his chin. The shuffle of his feet. But he couldn't call it dancing. It was more the appreciation of you in front of him. Admiring how lost you were for just a moment in time.
He couldn't believe it.
How could Kimi deny this? Deny you?
To not dance with you was a sin in itself. The mere idea of missing this bright smile of yours... his fear grew stronger.
The gap between you and Oscar had substantially gotten smaller. Like it was the natural order of things. Heat radiated from every angle possible, the air thick with sweat and something you couldn't quite pinpoint.
You hadn't realised how close you were till you felt the glide of Oscar's hand against the curve of your waist. Your gasp was soft and barely audible. But you could feel the small electric sparks running down your body. You flitted your eyes to Oscar hesitantly and it almost made you take a step back.
He was looking at you already.
Darkened brown eyes strained with red underneath the lights. His large hand pulled you a little closer, letting you see the traces of his moles and freckles. Feel the heat of his skin against yours. The press of his fingers. The scatter of his breath. Any closer it would be his pacing heartbeat.
Oscar looked... good.
More than good. Hot. He looked hot.
You breathed in as he turned your body, leaving your back pressed against his chest. His arm curled around your waist. You pulled your lip between your teeth when you felt his lower half press into you. Not forceful or insistent. Just there. Teasing. And for some godforsaken reason, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.
You swallowed hard, feeling his breath skim past your ear. His lips rested close by.
"The dress... Kimi's choice?"
Your thighs pressed together at his tight voice. As though he was struggling. You didn't understand the extent of the heat unfurling in your stomach. You had never felt this way. Not even with Kimi.
You cleared your throat, nodding against him. "Hate it?" You asked, breath shaky when you felt the tip of his nose graze the column your neck. You could've sworn your knees melted when you felt his smile lines ghost your cheek, lips brushing against the curve of your ear.
Your eyes widened slightly as you faced him once again. His hand never left you, snug and comfortably around your waist. Your body burned as he rested his head against yours, brown eyes holding your gaze so carefully. So heavily.
"I was taught that if I don't have anything respectful to say, I shouldn't say it at all," Oscar breathed tightly, jaw half clenched.
It was no ordinary beat your heart followed. With large gaps and ample opportunity to miss as you tried to decipher what he was saying. But before you could, it was Oscar who stepped away.
You struggled to catch your breath, staring back at him with your doe-eyes and your stomach churning.
Oscar blinked, brown eyes raking over you for one last time that night. Because if he stayed here a second longer, he'd do something he couldn't. He smiled at you, tight yet warm. "You're a good dance teacher, ___."
You hadn't talked to Oscar since the club. You couldn't quite bring yourself to. Neither did Kimi really let you, keeping you by his side at all times.
You were confused. You still didn't have a full grasp on what had happened. One moment you were dancing and then the other you were... God, you had no idea. You could just feel him. Hear him. See him. For a moment, everything was just Oscar.
But things had dampened down since then. You ocassionally saw Oscar here and there. You'd look. But you never quite did much more than that. Especially as Kimi fought with Oscar on track. Both contenders for a championship. Both their first. It was like a cat and mouse game. If Kimi won once, it was Oscar's turn the next.
And today, Kimi had taken back that victory chainmail, standing on the podium with a smirk so wide, you almost hadn't recognised him. Nor the extra clingy behaviour as he came off of it, kissing you, hand on your waist, and showering you with sweet little comments.
But you supposed this was why.
To have you all pressed up in the men's bathroom with rushed urgency after his media duties and debriefing. Shorts and boxers slung low around his legs. You propped up against the sink, skirt bunched up. His head tucked into your shoulder, groans and grunts muffled. Hips moving into you with desperation and pleasure.
It seemed Kimi had it all planned out.
Except for one little thing.
The door cracked open.
You weren't sure what it was. Whether he had genuinely forgotten or he thought no one was actually going to walk by. And well, if they did, it was only his ass that was going to be seen.
But you couldn't have counted for the possibility of Oscar passing by and stopping, frozen in his tracks.
Your heart almost stopped right there and then. Your eyes stuck with the brown orbs staring right back at you. Your lips parted. Perhaps with the intention to stop Kimi. But you didn't. You didn't understand why you didn't.
You hadn't been wet for the past ten minutes but now the slick was beginning to pile up. The squelch of Kimi's cock driving into you, lewd and obscene.
"Oh fuck," Kimi swore into your skin. "You're getting so wet for me, belle," he panted, grunting as his teeth nibbled into your shoulder. "So fucking wet."
You could see the bob of Oscar's throat. Like a deer in headlights. He didn't move either. Instead the press of his teeth against his lip made you moan against Kimi's ear. The first sound you had made since you had gotten in here.
You focused on the betraying pull of Oscar's brows at the sweet sounds pouring from your mouth. How his fingers curled so tightly against his side. You wondered what he could see. how much of you he could see. The thought only made you clench tighter around Kimi's cock.
"Cazzo," Kimi hissed, hands digging into your hips. "Doesn't that feel so good, baby? Yeah? I'm making you feel so good," he groaned, pushing deeper into you. The sound of your skin against one another now escaped the bathroom with ease.
You choked on the air, hand falling to Kimi's brown curls while you eyed the flush of Oscar's skin. How dark his eyes were. How they fell to where you and Kimi met, enchanted. And for a moment, your breath matched his. Every heave of your chest... it was like he was guiding you just metres away.
You could barely comprehend the heat in your core. All you knew was it was messy. Juices running down your thighs. So wet a ring of white formed around Kimi's cock as he pushed in and out of you. The soft sounds tumbling from your throat uncontrollably as you watched Oscar's tongue swipe his bottom lip.
Oscar should have moved. Like he had done all the other times he had heard the both of you. But he could see it in your eyes. With every praise Kimi gave himself or you... the only thing turning you on right now was him.
His shorts, unexplainably tight around his more than obvious large bulge, only worsened as he watched your hand move between your and Kimi's bodies. Your eyes never moved off of him. His own lips quirking when your fingers pressed against your desperately sore bundle of nerves.
Because Kimi couldn't get you off.
Oscar could have laughed if it wasn't for the situation he was in. Or for the fact he could see this new pleasure so clearly on your face. Your brows furrowed tightly, teeth sinking into your lip, cheeks red, eyes dazed... he could tell. You were close.
Kimi seemed to be too. Speeding his hips up against yours. Still in his own little fantasy where he was the one making you feel so good. He came quick, stuttering against you with his lust-driven grunts. He was decent though, still moving for you.
Oscar had to give it to him. If Kimi hadn't continued and left you there to fend for yourself, it would've been him taking out his own cock and making sure you saw stars.
It was wrong. God, it was so wrong. You knew it. Oscar knew it. But you had never felt like this. So... good. Still the mix of shame and pleasure coursed through you simultaneously, hand gripping Kimi's brown curls while your fingers pressed and rubbed your clit breathlessly. This was it.
"That's it. Cum for me, belle."
But it wasn't it Kimi you were listening to. At least not directly.
Your hazed eyes capturing the small, encouraging nods of Oscar's head. His uneven silent breaths. And you can see his lips mouth the words.
Cum.
Cum.
Cum for me.
Oscar wanted to fall to his knees as he watched the peak of ecstasy hit you. You were seeing white. He could almost fucking feel it with how tight your body locked up, your lips parted in pure awe. But especially as you ensured your eyes were on him for every goddamn second.
Holy fuck.
Oscar had to step away. Any moment now it would be Kimi turning around. And this... whatever it was, would be over.
The walk to his driver's room was faster than anything he had ever done. He did his bare duties; strained smiles and nods. A brush past the few team members packing up. His door was locked in an instant, back pressed against the wall, and his hand under his waistband.
It was a wonder Oscar hadn't cum right there and then as he looked down at his cock, hung with urgency. His red tip leaked profusely, throbbing with a need he had never succumbed to before.
He had been careful in the past few months. Not to get wrapped up with your name on his lips and his hand on his cock. Because that journey would never go down well for him. But that night in the club... his hand on your waist and your ass against him... it had ruined him. He had gone home, jerking off like it was the first time he had ever felt someone this close to him.
But this... this was different. Oscar's brain was rushing. No. Overflowing with what he had just seen. And he couldn't get it out of his head. The way your breath caught when he had walked by. The honey-like sounds falling from your lips. The obscenely wet sounds coming from your cunt. And the most damning fact of all—you had kept going after you had seen him.
Oscar bit down into wrist, face contorted with pleasure, moans muffled as he fisted himself. His eyes and hips rolled with as much desperation as you had just shown. It was almost mimickable how wet he sounded, shaft and tip just doused in his neverending pre-cum.
He couldn't decide what set him off. The orgasmic bliss on your face or the knowing that it was him. Him that made you cum. Maybe not physically. But it was not Kimi and his idiocy. Your fingers and his presence... that was what had done it.
Oscar's body convulsed, hips stuttering as the pleasure climbed over him rapidly. His teeth clamped harder into his skin, spurts of hot cum coming out in long strings. Leaving his hands and shorts stained with the mess you had created.
Removing his wrist from his mouth, he breathed silently and hard, staring at the idle components of his driver's room.
Jesus. He might have been fucked before. But there was no going back after today.
You couldn't count how many times you had been like this recently. And by this, you meant curled up somewhere and in tears.
You had been a mess since Kimi's race. What you had done... that was so wrong on so many levels. There was no beating around the bush. You had cheated. One way or another.
And it was humiliating. Because that was probably the best you had ever felt in your life. But not because of your actual boyfriend, Kimi. But because of Oscar.
You had skipped as much races as you could without Kimi getting suspicious. You couldn't look at him without feeling ashamed. Nor could you look at Oscar. He had sent you texts. Too many of them. So you had blocked him and deleted his number.
But you couldn't get out of this one. You could see the questions brewing in Kimi's head when he had asked you if you were coming. And you had run out of excuses.
You thought it would be fine. That you could get through this weekend without any tears or any fights. But much to your disappointment, you were wrong.
Kimi's fixation with winning had turned into agitation now that Oscar was taking even bigger chunks of points out of his lead. He wasn't happy with the car's performance during practice. He had given the team hell after it. And when that wasn't enough, you were the next available target.
You had lost count of the type of things he had said to you in front of the team. How you weren't supportive enough. That you never stuck through with him like he did with you. How it was your fault that his car, which you had no connection to whatsoever, was bad. That you had somehow bewitched Oscar into being good.
The message was clear: it was your fault.
Humiliation didn't even cover it. Mortified was more like it. The awkward gazes of the team. The tears ramping up in your eyes. Your flushed cheeks. You hated it. And you hated it even more because it was your fault.
So you sat on the dry concrete in Belgium, between the awkward space of two team suites, head tucked into your knees as wave after wave of anger and embarrassment hit you. Your tears had partially died down, caught on your trousers and shirt.
Your jaw clenched as you glared at the concrete, chewing your lip anxiously. Why did you have to go screw this all up? You should have listened to Kimi. You should have never accepted that dance because then you would've never found Oscar like this. So good. So ugh... you wanted to scream at yourself.
"Hey, hey," a familiar voice echoed into the air, making the hairs on your body stand up. “What’s happened?"
You lifted your head slowly, reddened eyes meeting the concerned brown pair staring right back at you. It was Oscar, of course. Bent down, knees embedded onto the concrete and hands on the sides of your own knees. Your chest ached at the sight of him and yet the anger seemed to roar in your head when you thought about what you had done. You sighed almost annoyed, tilting your head back against the wall.
"Nothing. Just forget about it," you wiped your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your hand.
Oscar's brows mended together at your reaction. As if it was a crack in the perfect glass world you had been living in. "___, you know you don't have to be embarrassed around me—"
"This is embarrassing," you gritted out, hurt eyes drifting to him. "It's always embarrassing that you always finds me like this. Crying like some pathetic waste of space."
"No. That's not true," Oscar murmured, head shaking as he tucked your hair behind your ears. "Kimi should be the one that's embarrassed. Making you cry like this," he said, jaw twitching. He could only imagine what he had said to you. Piece of shit.
You chuckled dryly. "I'm a horrible girlfriend, Oscar. What I did that day... that's unforgiveable.,'" you whispered, eyes tearing up yet again. "I deserve this. It all makes sense now. The paddock was never boring. People don't talk to me because they know how bad I am."
Oscar almost wanted to laugh in disbelief. How bad you were? All you had done was dance a little and feel the best you had ever felt in your life. All you had done was live a little and here you were denouncing Kimi's actions like he had done no wrong.
"Sweetheart, people don't talk to you because of you. They don't talk to you because of Kimi. No one wants to tell you but I will," he swallowed the lump in his throat, chest sore at the sight of your reddened eyes.
You sniffled, confusion visible on your face. "What?"
"That Kimi doesn't deserve you."
Your brows furrowed, affronted in an instant. The memories seemed to hit you one after another. He was your first for everything. First kiss. First time. First boyfriend. First love. He was perfect, wasn't he? "That's not true. Kimi's—"
"An asshole," Oscar cut in firmly. "Someone who loves you doesn't hurt you. Someone who loves you doesn't make fake promises. Or put limits on how you act. Who you can see."
You shook your head. No. Your Kimi wasn't like that. "He's just protective—"
Oscar's hands moved to grab your face, holding your gaze so fiercely, for a moment you forgot to breathe. "___, someone who loves you doesn't make you question yourself."
You fell silent, not bothering to wipe the fresh tears spilling from your eyes. Your brows quivered and your stomach churning. Your heart echoed in your ears while your brain flashed between your altered memories.
It was like watching some sort of stained glass shatter right in front of your eyes. Your perfect Kimi no longer perfect.
"He wasn't like that at the start. I swear," you whispered, looking back at Oscar, lip trembling.
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath at the crack in your voice. Fuck. He sighed quietly, arms wrapping around you and bringing you to his chest, lips pressed to the side of your head. "I know, sweetheart. I know."
"Can you stop brainwashing my girlfriend?"
Oscar looked away from his trainer, conversation coming to a screeching halt. His eyes travelled around the room, ensuring it was still cladded in papaya. He smiled at Kimi. "Are you even allowed to be in here?" He raised a brow, folding his arms, leaning back in his seat.
Kimi tongued the inside of his cheek. He was sure he had never met anyone as obnoxious as Oscar Piastri. "Did you hear me? Stay away from my girlfriend. Or else," he glowered, jaw tight, turning on his foot.
"Or else what?" Oscar goaded, making the Italian stop dead in his tracks and his trainer sigh. He stood up from his chair, eyeing the figure in front of him with disgust. "Kimi, piece of advice. You should probably try treat your girlfriend better."
It was like something in Kimi had snapped. Turning around with such force, the air had bended as he stalked up to Oscar, his breath in his face. "Don't fucking tell me how to treat my own girl," he spat, chest heaving.
Oscar's mouth quirked. "You treat her like shit and come here acting like you don't," he chuckled, shaking his head, brown eyes hard with annoyance. "You don't deserve her. You don't deserve anything you have."
Kimi blinked, scrutinising the man in front of him before letting out a scoff. "I get what this is."
Oscar raised his brows, bored and tired. "Do you now?" He asked dryly, not so easily entertained by Kimi's smirk.
"You're jealous," Kimi deducted, smirk widening with every passing second as he thought back to the past year. His debut compared to Oscar's. "I'm so young and yet I have everything you were ever promised. The team. The car. The wins."
Oscar, the master of composure, remained stoic. Not a budge on his face to give him the true inkling—that he was right. That this was how it had started. But that wasn't going to be how it ended. "If that's all you can think about after treating her the way you do... you are exactly who I think you are," he muttered with distaste heavy on his tongue. "She's not yours, Kimi. She's her own person."
Kimi stood in front of him, unimpressed as his lips parted to retaliate. But Oscar leaned in, lowering his voice to a more inaudible frequency. "And even if she was yours, no honourable man would leave his girl to get off by herself," he murmured with a gentle smile, basking in the drop of Kimi's smirk.
Oscar patted Kimi's shoulder with feigned condolences, heading towards the exit of the McLaren suite. Leaving Kimi to stand by himself, pale in the face and sick to his stomach.
Kimi had crashed. it was horrible. Pieces of the car flying everywhere. The gasp of the crowd. The bang of his fist against the snapped halo. The replay was all you could think of as you finally made your way to the medical bay, eyes glossed with tears, stomach churning, and heart pacing erratically. You hadn't taken a breath until you opened the door, finding him sitting on the couch, icepack to his hand .
You sucked in a shaky breath, feet rushing before you could even think your hands flew to his face, frantically examining his entire body for something that maybe the doctor or nurse had missed. "Oh Kimi," you choked, tears spilling. "A-Are you okay? D-Do you want me to call anyone?"
A piece of your heart broke as Kimi slapped your hand away with his bandaged fist, icepack falling to the floor. He glared at you, disgust swarming in his eyes. "Don't do that. Don't pretend you care."
You kept your hand close to your chest, brows furrowed. "Kimi... what are you talking about? Of course, I care. I—"
"I crashed because of you."
You froze at his words. "W-What?"
He stood from the couch. He jammed his finger into your chest. "This is your fault," he gritted out, lip trembling with pure anger. " Oscar this. Oscar that. Oscar, Oscar, Oscar," he spat out.
"Kimi—"
"You might as well come out with it. Luring Oscar to mess with my championship. How could you do this to me? When I've been here for you since the very start?" Kimi exasperated, own eyes pricking with tears.
You swallowed the bile creeping up your throat as the tears seeped into your cheeks. You looked at him, repulsed and with your brows mended. Your skin ached where his finger landed, invisible bruises already forming. "You're really questioning my loyalty? Once. Only once did I ever question you. After all those signs... the looks to those other girls. I ignored it because I thought you really loved me. And I questioned you once and you ridiculed me. And you really think I did something as elaborate as tricking Oscar?"
"Who knows?" He heaved dryly. "You've changed, ___. Years ago, you would've stuck by me," Kimi hissed.
You chuckled despite the tears falling one after another. "I have been. Every single goddamn day. You’re the one who's changed, Kimi! I don't see the guy who stayed up all night outside my house to wish me happy birthday. Or protected me from the photographers. No. Now... with you it’s... it’s clubs. And parties. Cameras following our every move. You degrade me in front of your co-workers. Disrespect me in front of millions. You show me off like I'm some trophy and put me to the side when you don't need me."
"Right..." Kimi laughed bitterly, shaking his head with utter disbelief. "Oscar doesn't do that then?"
Your face burned with anger, lip twitching. How dare he...
"Well at least he doesn't make me cry!" You exclaimed with an exhausted sob, shoulders heavy and burdened. "That's all you ever do, Kimi. You make me cry, then you love me. You criticise me, then you love me. I do what you want and it's still never enough for you. I will never be enough."
And suddenly, you were young kids all over again. Facing each other outside of school under the blues skies and warm winds of Bologna. Your smile so bright for him, he promised never to make it go away. Eyes so full of light, he never wanted to see a single tear.
Kimi blinked, lips parting for a response but nothing ever came out. Just the croak of realisation as he stood in front of you, finally taking in your reddened eyes, tear stained cheeks, and flushed skin.
It was like a slap to the face.
That was his doing.
He had made you cry.
He had hurt you.
What had he done?
You wiped your cheeks hastily as he stepped forward, hand hesitantly reaching out. Your throat burned, raw and sore from yelling. "I'm done, Kimi. Don't call me. Or my parents. Don't come by my house," you sniffled, lip quivering with disgust. “I don't ever want to talk to you again."
Oscar had recognised your downbeat face in a heartbeat as you sat in the McLaren motorhome, in his room, waiting with a cup of hot chocolate in front of you. A familiar sight. But something was different. He could tell.
No longer could he see the awkward, nervous demeanour Kimi had elicited from you. Instead a frame of exhausted freedom in your sunken eyes. Tip of your nose red and cheeks flushed from crying.
Oscar could tell this would be the last time he'd ever let you cry.
He breathed in quietly, removing his cap as he took a seat next to you. For a brief moment, he didn't say anything. A minute of silence for what was gone. For all your efforts that had been disrespected in every manner.
"We don't have to talk about it," Oscar mumbled, grabbing your hand, frowning at your cold skin. Warming your hand gently, he took in another breath. "Or do anything. As long as you're happy, I'm happy."
You moved your eyes from the coffee table drearily to Oscar, your hand, and then back to him. "Can I ask you question?"
Oscar swallowed, nodding with a perfect ease. "Of course," he said softly.
"Would you ever make me cry?"
Not one second wasted to think when he already knew the answer. "Never," he breathed, moving to tuck your dishevelled hair behind your ear. "There is no world or universe where I could even fathom it."
You pursed your lips, searching his eyes, trying to understand the weight of his words. Waiting for a split second to see if you could find the lies you had ignored in Kimi. But you found none. Just his warm gaze and the feel of his hand on your cheek, resting.
The corners of Oscar's lips teetered. "Was that a good media trained answer?"
You couldn't help but laugh a little, chest just a bit lighter now. You nodded your head. "Nice job," you murmured teasingly, nudging him with your elbow.
Oscar smiled, boyish and gentle as his thumb grazed your cheek back and forth before tracing over the small crinkles near your eyes, raised from your own smile. His chest ached slightly. Happiness looked far better on you.
You watched Oscar's eyes dip, falling to your lips for a brief moment. A silent struggle he decided to shake away. You sucked in a quiet breath, gentle fingers raising to brush over his lips, making him freeze. Meeting those brown eyes, a new shade you had come to enjoy, you tilted your head up and leaned in, pressing your mouth to his briefly.
Oscar's breath caught and his pulse jumped as you pulled away a smidge, shy smile faint on your face. Without a second thought, he brought you right back to him, lips pressed against yours with a barely contained urgency. His nose knocked against yours, head tilting while he parted your mouth with a simple ease.
The air in your lungs seemed to burn, caught and stuck while your brain turned into mush. It had been a while since someone had kissed you like they had meant it. Not for any camera or audience. A moment just yours. Your breath to steal.
You shifted against him, feeling his hand move to your waist in an attempt to bring you closer. The soft noise from your throat made the both of you shudder. The thud against the couch was gentle as you fell on top of him, never quite parting. as though the taste of each other was all consuming.
Oscar begrudgingly pulled away, breath shaky as he rested his head against yours. He swallowed, trying to compose himself. A gentle laugh fell from his swollen lips, brown eyes flickering to you and your flushed cheeks. "I was supposed to take this slow," he sighed.
Your body shook lightly with an amused laughter. "You have all the time in the world to try," you teased. "I'm giving you my heart, Piastri. Don't screw it up."
Oscar softly blinked, smile slowly stretching onto his face. "I promise," he breathed, pressing a long kiss to the top of your cheek.
Radio silence. That all Kimi had heard from you. He had ignored your warnings. Called and called. Text after text to try and rectify his wrongs. But you had quickly blocked his number. And it wasn't the only gruelling problem in his life.
Kimi didn't know what was going on but he was losing. He was losing bad. Every race... it was like he was taking a thrashing. And each one from them coming from Oscar. From wins and podiums... he was stuck at the bottom of top ten towards the end of a season. His big point lead now heavily eaten into. His confidence on thin ice.
And it was all Oscar's fault.
It was driving Kimi crazy. Leaving him in tears. because nothing quelled his anger. No workout. No crash. Nothing. He was even beginning to hallucinate. Hoping to turn around in the paddock and see you nearby. Hearing echoes of your voice in the air. Anything to keep him sane.
But you weren't here. Because he had fucked up. because Oscar Piastri had decided to get in the way.
Here Kimi was. After all of it. Entering the paddock miserably for the third to last race of the season. One of the championship deciders. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep on the plane. Long hours spent in silence and with his brain.
He needed to head towards the Mercedes' suite for a morning brief. Pick up any instructions from the communiations team, maybe train a little before he went off to complete his media duties for the day.
His smile was tight and dull for the nearby cameras, hand hanging onto the bag slung over his shoulder. He walked with no extra pep or ego in his step. No cocky cadence that he once exhibited. Only with a sliver of hope that he could win. Even by a single point. Because suddenly the season he had been dying to start was the same one he was dying to be over.
Kimi's brows furrowed at the surprised looks of the photographers and people nearby. Their eyes travelling to the scene behind him, wide and cautious. He paused in his steps, body slowly turning to satiate his curiosity. But what he saw made his heart freeze and his blood run cold.
He blinked once. Twice. And another two more times.
But the sight never changed.
Kimi wasn't hallucinating. It was you.
For a second, Kimi's heart soared. A genuine smile threatening to spring onto his face. But as his eyes dropped down to your hand intertwined with another, he followed the arm to the familiar face of Oscar's and whatever happiness he had felt for a brief second had been smashed to smithereens.
He watched silently. Forced to do so, if anything. Watched as Oscar did the opposite of everything he ever did. Guiding you through the hoard of photographers and fans, keeping you close by as you both meet with Lando nearby. Watched as Oscar noticed your untied shoe and bent down to tie them without a second thought. Coming back up to give you a gentle kiss on your cheek as you enthusiastically engaged with his teammate.
Respectful and gentle with you. Fufilling all the promises Kimi had once made.
You looked unexplainably happy. Talking to someone that wasn't him. Someone that was no longer afraid to reciprocate any conversation with you.
For the first time in a while, Kimi could see the very same light in your eyes and your bright smile under these blue skies. None of which were for him. And it was like a stab to the heart.
But nothing worse than the smooth swivel of Oscar’s head, brown eyes meeting his as he smiled at him. Not a grin. Or smirk. A smile. Innocent and kind on the outside was the gesture. But the lingering stare emphasised it all.
It was official.
His wins.
His podiums.
His reputation.
His happiness.
His first love.
Oscar Piastri had stolen everything Kimi once had.
Thank you for providing some of the best writing out there for off campus, i'm kicking my feet giggling over here 🤭 Would you be down for a Tucker one where they're friends but he finds out she's into the spicy cowboy romance genre and that's when he decides to sing "save a horse, ride a cowboy" at karaoke? Lots of blushing, teasing from the boys and confessing feelings? Thanks!! 🤠🐎💛
wait this is everything to me 😭 I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!
Save A Horse - John Tucker
ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
blurb: after dean gets his hands on your phone and discovers your cowboy romance habit, you’re convinced the teasing can’t get any worse. then tucker gets signed up for karaoke, chooses the one song guaranteed to ruin your composure, and suddenly your best friend starts feeling a lot less friendly.
warnings: 18+, smut, friends to lovers, mutual pining, teasing, karaoke chaos, alcohol mention, semi-public hookup, fingering, dirty talk, protected sex
You were sitting in Garrett and Hannah’s living room, tucked into the corner of the couch while everyone else argued over where to go that night. Logan wanted a bar. Dean wanted a bar with “personality,” which apparently meant sticky floors and men named Rick who took karaoke too seriously. Garrett wanted food first because he was Garrett and turned into a tragic Victorian orphan when he went more than two hours without eating.
Tucker sat on the floor in front of the couch, back against your knees, scrolling through his phone with one hand. His other hand rested loosely around your ankle, thumb brushing once over the bone like he hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.
You noticed.
Unfortunately, you noticed everything Tucker did.
Which was exactly why you should have known better than to leave your phone faceup on the cushion beside you.
Dean’s hand shot out before you could stop him.
“Whoa,” he said, dragging the word out.
You lunged for it. “Give it back.”
He twisted away, holding it just out of reach. “Absolutely not. This looks educational.”
“Dean.”
Garrett immediately perked up. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly.
Dean’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s not nothing.”
Tucker turned his head, looking up at you from where he sat between your legs. His brows lifted, more amused than nosy, and somehow that made it worse.
“Di Laurentis,” Tucker said. “Give her the phone.”
Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m offended you’d assume I’m doing anything wrong.”
“You stole her phone.”
“Temporarily relocated it.”
“Dean,” Hannah said, already fighting a laugh. “Give it back.”
But Dean had already seen enough.
His eyes dropped to the screen, and then his face transformed.
“Oh my God.”
You covered your face with both hands. “I hate you.”
Logan leaned over the back of the couch. “Read the title.”
“No,” you snapped.
Dean cleared his throat in a formal, dramatic voice. “Saddled by Sundown.”
Garrett choked on his water.
Logan made a sound like he had been punched in the ribs.
Hannah burst out laughing.
You snatched the throw pillow beside you and hurled it at Dean’s head. He ducked out of the way, still laughing.
“It’s a book,” you said, hot all over. “People read books.”
Dean looked down at the cover again. “This man is shirtless in a barn.”
“Farm labor is very demanding.”
Garrett nodded like he was considering it. “True. Lots of hay. Heavy equipment.”
“Don’t help,” you said.
Tucker still hadn’t moved, but you felt his thumb sweep once over the inside of your ankle.
You looked down.
He was watching you now, his mouth curved just enough to make your stomach tighten.
Dean, tragically still alive, kept going. “Wait, wait. There are more of these in the app. She has a whole collection.”
“Dean,” you said slowly. “I am begging you to remember that I know where you sleep.”
“Cowboy romances,” Logan said, looking far too pleased with this development. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“You don’t see most things coming,” you muttered.
Garrett leaned back in his chair, pointing his slice of pizza at you. “So is this why you got weirdly defensive during that movie when Dean said cowboys were overrated?”
“I was defending the genre.”
“The genre of shirtless barn men?” Dean asked.
You reached for another pillow.
This time, Tucker caught your wrist gently before you could throw it. His hand wrapped around you easily, warm and solid.
“Save it,” he said. “He’ll only get louder.”
Everyone started talking again, and slowly, mercifully, your phone was returned. You locked it immediately and shoved it under your thigh like that would erase the last five minutes from history.
Tucker gave your ankle one last squeeze before standing.
“You okay?” he asked, low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.
You lifted your chin. “I’m fantastic.”
His eyes moved over your face, taking in every bit of false dignity you had left.
“Sure are,” he said.
You hated the way his accent made two simple words feel like a hand sliding beneath your shirt.
By the time you all made it to the bar, the cowboy jokes had mostly died down, replaced by Dean getting rejected by the karaoke host because he tried to submit the same song three times under three fake names.
The place was crowded and loud, packed with Briar students, locals, and a few regulars who seemed deeply unprepared for whatever Dean had planned.
You claimed a booth in the back with Hannah while the boys fought their way to the bar.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said, still grinning. “But the way your face dropped when Dean read that title was incredible.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side. I also support your right to read about dusty, emotionally unavailable ranchers.”
“They’re not all dusty.”
“Of course not.”
“Some of them bathe in rivers.”
Hannah laughed into her drink, and you tried very hard not to look at Tucker where he stood at the bar.
He was leaning with one elbow on the counter, talking to the bartender like they were old friends, because of course he was. Tucker could make friends with a parking meter. He wore jeans and a dark shirt that fit him in a way you had been trying not to notice all night. His hair was a little messy from the cold outside, and when he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes found you immediately.
You looked away before you could do something humiliating.
The night settled into the kind of chaos that only happened with that group. Garrett sang a painfully sincere power ballad and somehow made half the bar cheer for him. Logan and Dean performed a duet that involved too much hip movement and absolutely no musical talent. Hannah recorded the entire thing while Garrett yelled, “That’s my girl,” even though she had told him twice that recording evidence of Dean’s crimes was a public service.
Tucker stayed beside you through most of it, shoulder brushing yours in the booth, one arm stretched along the back behind you. He did not mention the books again. He did not tease you about cowboys or covers or shirtless men in barns.
The silence felt deliberate.
You were halfway through your drink when Dean stumbled back to the table, flushed with victory from whatever crime he had just committed onstage.
“Tuck,” he said. “You’re up.”
Tucker lifted his brows. “Am I?”
“You are now. I signed you up.”
“Of course you did.”
Dean dropped into the booth beside Logan. “You’re welcome.”
You turned to Tucker. “You don’t have to.”
He looked at you for a second too long.
Then he smiled.
Not wide. Not obvious. Just enough to make you nervous.
“Nah,” he said, sliding out of the booth. “I’ll do it.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What did he sign you up for?”
Dean pressed his lips together with the focus of a man trying to keep a secret and failing at every visible level.
“Dean,” you said.
“I’m just here for the arts.”
Tucker walked toward the small stage, and your heart started beating harder for no reasonable reason. He looked too comfortable up there, taking the mic from the karaoke host, rolling his shoulders once like he was getting ready for something more dangerous than a song in a bar full of drunk college students.
Then the opening notes started.
You froze.
Dean slapped both hands over his mouth.
Logan fell forward onto the table, already laughing.
Garrett looked at you, then at Tucker, then back at you. “Oh, he’s dead.”
You sank slowly into your seat.
“No,” you whispered.
Hannah grabbed your arm. “Yes.”
Tucker stood under the cheap bar lights with the microphone in hand, his eyes already on you, and started singing “Save a Horse.”
The whole room erupted.
Dean was on his feet immediately.
Logan pounded on the table.
Garrett yelled, “Commit to the bit, Tuck!”
And Tucker did.
He did not have the best voice in the world, but he had enough confidence to sell it and enough charm to make the entire room go with him. He moved across the tiny stage like it belonged to him, smile easy, head tipped slightly whenever the crowd sang along. He kept it funny at first. Light. Ridiculous. Playing into the shouting and clapping like he was only doing it because Dean had signed him up.
Then he looked at you during the chorus.
Your entire body forgot how to behave.
He didn’t point. Didn’t wink. Didn’t make it obvious enough for everyone to catch.
He just held your gaze, singing the title like he knew exactly what it would do to you.
Heat climbed up your neck.
“Oh, she’s dying,” Logan said.
“I am not.”
“You kind of are,” Hannah said, delighted.
Dean leaned across the table. “Are the cowboys in your books this committed? Because I respect the hustle.”
“I’m going to pour this drink on you.”
Onstage, Tucker laughed through the next line, probably because he could see you plotting murder from the booth. It only made him worse. He got the crowd clapping again, voice rough and warm through the cheap speakers, and every time the song swung back to that chorus, his attention drifted to you like a match being struck.
By the time it ended, you were gripping your glass too tightly.
The bar erupted into applause.
Tucker handed the mic back, stepped offstage, and started toward the booth while Garrett and Logan cheered like he had just won a championship.
Dean bowed to him. “You’re welcome. I created this.”
Tucker slid back into the booth beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.
You stared straight ahead.
He leaned in, voice low. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m considering a transfer.”
“To where?”
“Somewhere without karaoke.”
“That’d be a shame,” he said. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
You turned your head.
He was close. Too close for the amount of people at the table. His eyes were on your mouth for half a second before they lifted again.
“I was embarrassed for you,” you said.
“Were you?”
“Mhm.”
Tucker nodded slowly, as if giving that the respect it deserved, which was none. “That’s why you haven’t touched your drink since I got onstage?”
Your fingers loosened around the glass.
Across the table, Dean was loudly explaining to Garrett that he had “changed the romantic trajectory of the evening,” so at least no one was paying attention.
No one except Tucker.
You tried to find something sharp to say. Something that would put the night back where it belonged, with jokes and distance and plausible deniability.
Instead, you said, “You’re a terrible friend.”
The amusement in his face shifted into something lower, steadier.
“Yeah,” he said. “I was hoping that came across.”
Your breath caught.
Tucker’s hand slid under the table and rested on your knee. Not high. Not rushed. Just there, his palm warm through the fabric of your skirt.
“Tell me I’m reading this wrong,” he said.
There was still laughter around you. Dean shouting. Garrett arguing. Hannah ordering another round. The bar lights flickering over Tucker’s face.
You could have lied.
You had lied for months.
But his thumb moved once against your knee, and your self-control went thin enough to tear.
“You’re not,” you said.
Tucker’s jaw worked slightly.
Then his hand moved higher.
Your breath went uneven.
He leaned back like nothing had happened, picked up his beer, and took a slow drink. To anyone watching, he looked relaxed. Normal. Like he hadn’t just shifted something huge between you with two quiet words and a hand under the table.
Then he stood.
“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” he said casually.
Dean waved him off, too busy trying to convince Hannah that he deserved producer credit for Tucker’s performance.
Tucker did not look at you when he walked away.
You stayed in the booth a little longer, listening to Dean talk over Logan, feeling the heat of Tucker’s hand still sitting on your knee like he’d left a mark there.
Then you slid out.
Hannah caught it, because of course she did. She glanced from you to the back hallway, and whatever she saw on your face made her pick up her drink and start an argument with Dean loud enough to cover you leaving.
Bless her.
The hallway to the bathrooms was dimmer than the rest of the bar, narrow and lined with old posters. Your pulse beat hard in your throat as you passed the women’s room and found Tucker near the single-use bathroom at the end.
His eyes lifted when he saw you.
That was all it took.
He opened the door behind him, and you slipped inside.
The lock clicked.
The room was small, with a sink set into the counter, a mirror, and music thumping faintly through the walls. For half a second, Tucker only looked at you.
Then you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to you.
Tucker kissed you like he had been waiting all night to stop pretending.
There was nothing slow about it. His hand came to the back of your neck, the other finding your waist as he backed you toward the sink. You made a small sound against his mouth when the counter hit the backs of your thighs, and he swallowed it, kissing you deeper.
He tasted like beer and mint and Tucker, familiar in a way that made your chest ache even as your body went molten.
His hands slid down to your hips.
“You have any idea,” he murmured against your mouth, “what you looked like sitting in that booth?”
You tugged him closer. “Annoyed?”
“Distracted.”
Your breath caught before you could stop it.
Tucker kissed along your jaw, then down your neck, his mouth warm and unhurried even though the rest of him was anything but. The music outside changed, bass thumping through the door, and someone laughed somewhere in the hallway.
The sound should have made you stop.
Instead, your hands slid under the edge of his shirt, fingers pressing into the warm skin at his waist.
Tucker’s breath hitched.
“Keep doing that,” he said, voice roughening, “and we’re not making it back to the table.”
You dragged your nails lightly over his skin.
“Good.”
His hands tightened on your hips, and whatever control he’d been pretending to have snapped thinner.
Then he lifted you onto the sink counter.
The mirror shook faintly behind you. You wrapped your legs around him, and he stepped between them, kissing you again like he had no interest in remembering there were people waiting just outside.
His hand slid beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh.
He paused.
His mouth stopped moving against yours.
You felt the second he realized.
He drew back enough to look at you.
“No panties?” he said, voice lower than before.
You tried to look composed and failed spectacularly. “Laundry day.”
His eyes darkened.
“That right?”
“Yeah.”
His hand moved higher, slow enough to make you grip the edge of the counter.
“All night,” he said, “you were sitting next to me like this?”
Your knees tightened around his hips. “I didn’t plan for you to sing that song.”
“No?” His mouth brushed yours. “What did you plan for?”
“Nothing involving a public bathroom.”
Tucker kissed you once, hard and brief.
“Plans change.”
His fingers slipped between your thighs, and your whole body jerked when he touched you. The sound you made was too loud for the space, too honest, and Tucker caught it with his mouth while his hand worked under your skirt.
“You’re gonna get us caught,” he murmured.
“You started this.”
“I sang a song.”
“You knew what you were doing.”
His smile brushed against your cheek. “Yeah, I did.”
He pulled his hand back just enough to lift it between you. You watched, breath stuck in your chest, as he licked two fingers slowly, his eyes not leaving yours.
Every thought in your head vanished.
Then his hand was under your skirt again.
“Oh,” you breathed.
He rubbed your clit in slow circles, slick fingers moving with a confidence that made your hips shift forward helplessly. You caught his shoulder with one hand and the counter with the other, trying to stay quiet as pleasure rolled through you fast and bright.
Tucker watched your face like he was learning what ruined you.
“You’re trying so hard to keep quiet,” he said, mouth near your ear. “It’s making it worse.”
You swallowed a moan. “Tuck.”
“I like that,” he said. “Say it like that again.”
Your thighs tightened around his hips.
He pressed a little firmer, circles steady and sure, and you gave him exactly what he wanted because you couldn’t help it.
“Tuck.”
His breath dragged out rough against your neck.
“There you go.”
The praise hit you hard, and he must have felt it in the way your hips rolled against his hand, because his fingers slowed just to make you chase them. Then they slipped lower, teasing your entrance, and your laugh broke apart into a gasp.
The music outside swelled, loud enough to rattle the door in its frame. A burst of laughter passed down the hall, and Tucker moved closer, his body covering yours as though that could hide what the two of you were doing.
His fingers pushed inside you.
Your grip on his shirt tightened.
He moved slowly at first, watching your face, reading every little shift. Then he curled them, and you had to press your mouth to his shoulder to keep from making too much noise.
“Tucker,” you gasped.
His jaw brushed your temple. “That’s the spot, huh?”
You nodded into his shoulder, too far gone to make a joke out of it.
He did it again.
Your whole body tightened.
“God,” you whispered. “Please.”
“Please what?”
You lifted your head enough to glare at him, even though you were breathing too hard for it to land properly.
“Tuck.”
He smiled, but it was strained now, his control wearing thin. “I know. I’m sorry. I just like hearing you ask me.”
You reached between you, fingers finding his belt. “Then I’m asking.”
Tucker kissed you as he helped, hands brushing yours, breath uneven. He got his belt open, shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough, and you caught one glimpse of him before he was reaching for his wallet with the kind of urgency that made your stomach flip.
“Tell me you have a condom,” you whispered.
He pulled one out.
“Thank God,” you breathed.
He tore it open, rolled it on, then gripped your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the sink. The movement made you gasp, your skirt pushed up around your hips, his jeans low, both of you still mostly dressed and somehow that made it filthier.
Tucker’s hand came to your face.
He kissed you once. Not rushed. Not this time.
Then he lined himself up and pushed inside.
Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out at first. He stretched you slowly, one hand braced on the counter beside your hip, the other gripping your thigh. Tucker’s forehead dropped against yours as he filled you, his breath shuddering.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Your nails dug into his shoulder. “Tuck.”
He stayed still once he was all the way inside, jaw tight, his body pressed close enough that you could feel the effort it took for him not to move right away.
“You feel so good,” he said, voice rough. “I need a second.”
A breathless laugh escaped you.
He smiled against your cheek, and then he started to move.
The first thrust made your head fall back against the mirror.
His hand came up behind your neck, cushioning you before you could hit too hard. Even here, even like this, he noticed. Then his hips snapped forward again, and your thoughts scattered.
He fucked you against the sink with his mouth at your neck and one hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him. The counter creaked beneath you. The mirror fogged slightly near your shoulder. Your skirt was bunched at your waist, your top twisted under his hand, your body taking him in quick, deep strokes that made it nearly impossible to stay quiet.
“Tucker,” you breathed, and his name came out broken.
His grip tightened.
“You have no idea,” he said against your throat. “How many times I thought about you like this.”
You clung to him, barely able to answer. He angled his hips, and the next thrust hit so perfectly that your eyes squeezed shut.
“There,” you gasped.
He caught it immediately.
“There?”
“Yes.”
He kept that angle, steady and focused, kissing you to swallow the sounds you couldn’t hold back. Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, pleasure building too fast after his fingers, your body already sensitive and wet for him.
His hand slid between you again.
When his fingers found your clit, you nearly fell apart.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
Tucker’s breath stuttered. “Come on. Let me feel it.”
Your body locked around him.
He kissed you hard as you came, his fingers still moving, his hips slowing just enough to drag it out. The orgasm hit you in waves, your thighs shaking around his waist, one hand slapped over your own mouth because you could not trust yourself.
He watched you through it, eyes dark and stunned, like he could not believe he got to see you like this.
Then his thrusts got rougher.
Desperate.
He buried his face against your neck, breathing hard, his hands gripping you as he chased his own release. You held onto him, murmuring his name near his ear, and that seemed to finish him.
Tucker came with a low groan, his body pressing yours back against the mirror, his hips stuttering once, twice, before he went still.
For a few seconds, the only sounds were your breathing and the muffled disaster of the bar outside.
Then someone in the hallway shouted, “Yo, whoever’s in there, some of us have beer organs with limited patience.”
Dean.
Of course.
Your eyes widened.
Tucker dropped his forehead to your shoulder.
“I’m gonna kill him,” he whispered.
You started laughing, quiet and helpless, your body still wrapped around his.
Tucker lifted his head, and the look on his face softened so much that it made the laughter fade in your throat.
He kissed you gently.
Then once more.
Then he helped you down from the counter like your knees were not in immediate danger of betraying you. He cleaned up, fixed himself, washed his hands, and handed you a paper towel without making you ask.
You straightened your skirt, then turned to the mirror and immediately regretted it. Your hair, your mouth, the flushed look on your face all gave you away at once.
Tucker came up behind you, but he didn’t wrap his arms around you right away. Instead, he braced both hands on the sink on either side of you, boxing you in without touching anywhere except the faint brush of his chest against your back.
You looked at him in the mirror.
He was watching you there, his hair a little mussed, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes quieter now than they had been all night.
“I don’t want to walk back out there and pretend this was just the song,” he said.
Your fingers paused at the hem of your skirt.
Tucker’s eyes stayed on yours in the mirror, steady in a way that made your chest feel too tight for the room.
“I want you,” he said. “Not just tonight. Not just because Dean’s an idiot and I picked a song I knew would get under your skin. I mean seriously.”
Your throat went dry. “You’re telling me this in a bar bathroom?”
His mouth curved a little, but he didn’t look away. “Yeah. Not my best setting.”
“No,” you said, softer now. “But it’s very you.”
Tucker leaned in, pressing one kiss beneath your ear. “Let me take you home. Let me take you out tomorrow. Let me do this right after doing it completely wrong first.”
You stared at him in the mirror for another second, trying to keep your face together and failing.
“Okay,” you whispered.
Tucker’s hands tightened once on the sink, like that one word had hit him harder than anything else you’d done in that bathroom. Then he kissed your shoulder, soft and lingering, before finally reaching past you to unlock the door.
Dean was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed.
Not surprised. Not horrified. Barely even interested.
Just waiting.
“Finally,” he said. “I was starting to think I’d have to send Garrett in with snacks.”
You froze in the doorway. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to know I was right.”
Tucker sighed. “Dean.”
“No, no, I’m being mature about this.” Dean pushed off the wall, eyes flicking between Tucker’s hand at your waist and your very obviously fixed-in-a-hurry hair. “I’m not saying a word.”
You stared at him.
Dean lifted both hands. “Out loud.”
Tucker started guiding you past him.
Dean fell into step beside you like he had been invited. “For the record, I accept thank-you gifts in cash, liquor, or public acknowledgment that I’m the reason this happened.”
blurb: a broken down car. boston. one phone call to your ex. a loft apartment. you did not expect this much from your weekend trip.
warnings: fem!reader, exes to lovers, angst but happy ending, alcohol, smut, oral (f. receiving), king of yearning john logan, celibate!logan, cumming untouched (m.)
“If your car ever needs a tune up, call me.”
The memory of Logan’s words was a harsh bite of mockery sneaking up on you in the middle of a surprise Boston rain shower, soaking you down to a lesser person.
Your thumb hovered over his contact name on your phone. The pitter patter of the rain hitting your screen like an underlining meant to emphasize his existence.
my hockey boy ❤️🏒
You hadn’t bothered to change it after the breakup. But frankly, that wasn’t entirely true.
You hadn’t come around to changing it. And if you’re really being honest—something you only do on Wednesdays at 4 pm with your therapist—you hadn’t changed it because you hoped that you wouldn’t have to.
You hoped that maybe keeping him as your hockey boy meant that he’d come back into your life and stay that way.
Now, as the sky continued to rumble and weep above, you prayed that Logan’s generosity was not limited to your relationship. And tonight, you were going to test that.
The phone rang three times before the call connected.
“Hello?” His voice was raspy, laced with more perplexity than anything else.
You closed your eyes. You hadn’t heard his voice in a year. “Hey, Logan?”
He could hear the faint yet rhythmic thuds of rain hitting your car window through the speaker. You had gone back inside your car to make this phone call.
“Is everything okay?”
He sounded concerned. That’s good, you thought. That means he cares.
You took a deep breath, “No, I…I’m not okay. My car stopped working and I’m stuck in the middle of this rain storm.”
“You’re in Hastings?” He asked.
You swallowed. “Boston.”
The line went so quiet you had to check your screen to make sure you hadn’t been disconnected.
Then, “You’re here in Boston?”
You bit your bottom lip, “Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“Boston Common.”
You heard the soft metallic jingle of keys and your heart skipped a beat at the implication. You almost wanted to take it back, undo this call, pretend it never happened.
“Listen, Logan, I don’t know where you live. You could be miles away from where I am, but I didn’t know who else to call—”
“I will be there in 10 minutes. Do not leave your car, alright?”
Your heartbeat spiked. For a moment, you felt like a selfish monster—making him leave his home, reopening a chapter in his life he might’ve wanted to close, clawing your way back in on your terms. Logan had always been too kind for his own good.
He called your name softly and you snapped out of it.
“You hear me?” He repeated.
“Yes, I won’t leave my car.”
“And lock your doors.”
You pressed the button on your car door.
After he hung up, you did nothing but stare out your window. You put the windshield wipers to tedious work, watching as they slid water across the glass in futile efforts.
You didn’t notice the time passing. And you certainly didn’t notice Logan’s figure until his knock on your window made you jump out of your skin.
You quickly unlocked and pushed your door open. Logan was drenched. His cotton t-shirt clung to his torso, catching the ridges enough to leave an imprint of his abs. Droplets of rain dripped from his brown locks, falling and sticking to his forehead. He looked like a vision.
Logan helped you out your car, guiding you with a strong arm behind your back—not touching—towards his jeep. He opened the passenger door and made sure you settled inside before closing it and going around to his side of the car.
You were breathing heavily, still recovering from the heavy downpour. When Logan got in and shut the door behind him, you looked over.
He threw his head back to push the wet strands of hair out of his face. When he turned to face you, you felt a dip in your stomach.
“I’m really sorry,” you said right away.
He held his hand up to stop your apology. “Are you alright? Did you leave anything important in your car?”
You shook your head. Phone, wallet, keys. All tucked safely—albeit sodden—in your deep coat pockets.
He shifted the gear out of park mode and drove the two of you away from the street.
The car ride was silent. The ambience of the outside storm filled enough gaps that should have been packed with conversation.
God, when was the last time you had a conversation with Logan?
It must’ve been junior year for you. He had just moved to Boston after being drafted by the Bruins, got a place of his own, playing hockey professionally like he always wanted. And you were back at Briar, studying hard, doing long distance with him, sharing dreams whenever he came to visit you on campus.
“It needs to be a loft apartment.”
“Why a loft?” Logan furrowed his brows.
“Fun downstairs, cozy upstairs,” you replied.
He smiled and nodded along, “Okay.”
“With floor to ceiling windows, so we can always have a view.”
His arms wrapped around you, “And what view is that?”
“Fenway Park.”
Logan rolled his eyes and buried his face in your neck, making you squeal. “You baseball brat! I can’t believe you’re choosing that over hockey.”
The stubble on his handsome face made you ticklish, squirming in his hold. “I never even heard of the Bruins before I met you!”
He gasped in mock betrayal, “Oh you’re gonna pay for that, Red Sox masshole!”
Your laughter filled the air as Logan attacked your neck with kisses and tickles.
It had been going so well.
Until it wasn’t.
Long distance was hard. It wasn’t gracious or patient, not easy on fragile hearts such as yours. It wasn’t the type to harbor kindness that saved you from the rain despite everything.
No, it was cruel, and you never wanted your love for Logan to be that. He was a rising star in the hockey world. He deserved so much. So much more than a college girlfriend who lived away, more than FaceTimes every night and short weekend trips whenever your schedules aligned—like the sun and moon trying to meet.
You blinked out the passenger window when Logan drove onto a familiar freeway. “Wait, why are we—”
“I live down the block.”
You finally tore your gaze out the window and towards him for the first time since he started driving. Logan’s eyes remained steady on the road ahead, his grip on the steering wheel unwavering.
You didn’t say anything else as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, or when the two of you walked into the lobby where the doorman greeted Logan with ease, or when you took the elevator upstairs to the 21st floor where he lived.
When he unlocked his door, he held it open for you to step in first. You entered with hesitant steps, like an elephant finding home inside a mouse’s hole in the wall. You pulled your coat off—now damp thanks to his car heater—and hung it up on the coat rack.
Logan’s apartment was beautiful. Polished with exquisite furniture—from the fine leather couches, to the shiny marble island, even the brick veneer fireplace in the living room. The deeper you ventured in, the more you were left in awe.
The floor to ceiling windows.
Your footsteps paused as you reached the far end of the room. You peered out the glass, coming face-to-face with the same Fenway Park the pair of you just drove by on the way here. The one you almost asked Logan about.
You turned around and met his eyes. He stood behind the couch, holding onto the cushions to keep him upright.
Your eyes glanced to the side of the apartment, where the floating staircase led to his quaint upper deck bedroom. Your eyes flicked back to his.
An unspoken exchange lingered between you.
“How’d you know where my car was?”
Logan pursed his lips before shrugging, “I just looked for the blue Toyota Camry.”
You nodded, “Of course you did.”
Logan walked over to his open kitchen, pulling out a bottle of something. “Reliable car,” he remarked.
You let out a huff of amusement, “Oh, for sure. Except when it’s pouring, right?”
Logan popped open the cork, “Cars don’t like water. They’re like cats.”
You sauntered your way into his kitchen. “Wish I knew that before I bought it.”
“I told you that when you bought it.”
Right. Logan had been the one who accompanied you to the dealership when you finally saved enough money to put a payment down for a car. He had spoken to the salesperson, checked out everything, told you all that you needed to know about cars. He was the reason you got a Camry because he said it wouldn’t let you down unless you let it down.
Perhaps that applied to more than just cars.
He held out a glass of wine towards you. You accepted it with a grateful smile, taking a sip.
Logan watched you over the rim of his own wine glass. “I’d give you the house tour but…this is pretty much it.”
“No, it’s nice,” you responded, looking around.
He nodded, “I’m glad you think so.”
Neither of you were willing to acknowledge his influence on your car preferences and your influence on his architectural choices.
You cleared your throat, “Thank you. Really. For saving me. You didn’t have to.”
Logan tilted his head, “No, I kinda had to.”
Your smile faded away.
He leaned against the kitchen island, “I told you if you ever had car troubles, I’m your guy.”
Your guy.
“Yeah, I know.” You replied. “I just…I wasn’t sure if you still meant that. After…everything.”
Logan looked away, finding sudden interest in the ceiling chandelier. “I’m gonna change out of this,” he pointed to his clothes.
You nodded, putting your glass down.
“You’re welcome to stay.” He told you, meeting your eyes once again. “We can go get your car in the morning—if it isn’t still raining—and I’ll fix it up for you.”
You wanted to decline his benevolent offer. Why was he so nice to you after you broke up with him? You didn’t deserve this—
Logan tugged you by your hand, his touch was electric after all the time apart. “C’mon, let me get you a change of clothes, too.”
He led you upstairs to the loft bedroom. The room was warmer, literally and figuratively. It wasn’t as chic as the downstairs, but definitely more homey.
Logan pulled open his dresser drawer and took out a t-shirt and pair of boxers. “These should still fit you,” he commented as he tossed them over to you.
You held them up. It was your favorite shirt of his, the one you always stole because of how soft the fabric felt. And the boxers, they had hockey sticks on them, something you bought him for his birthday one year.
He pointed to the en suite bathroom, “You can change in there, wash your face, whatever you want.”
You watched him for a moment as he pulled out his own change of clothes. Your mouth ran out of apologies and words of gratitude, so you simply nodded and made your way inside his bathroom.
By the time you stepped out in his apparel, Logan had already dressed in a fresh set of sweatpants sitting low on his waist and a white wife beater.
He paused when he saw you, needing to reintroduce the image of you in his shirt and boxers, as though it were a long-lost language he once spoke fluently.
He cleared his throat after a moment, “You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, Logan, it’s your place.” You argued.
“It’s fine, you’re my guest—”
“No, really, you should—”
“I insist—”
“But I—”
“Babe.”
You both froze when the word slipped out Logan’s lips so effortlessly. Your eyes met in a loaded exchange, but at least it got you to shut up about the bed. He cursed himself internally for allowing that to happen, and even more so when it felt so right doing it.
Logan let out a sigh and picked up a pillow and blanket, “Just…sleep on the bed. Please.”
This time, you didn’t shoot out a retort. You simply observed as Logan went down the stairs with his bedding.
You tried.
You really did.
But sleep would not find you no matter how many times you tossed and turned on Logan’s smooth sheets. Your mind replayed memories of him instead of dreams.
“Why are you doing this?” Logan’s voice was equal parts exasperation and anguish.
You sniffled, “Logan, I want what’s best for you. That’s all I want.”
“You’re what’s best for me!”
“No, I’m not—”
“You don’t get to decide that!” He held your arms with a desperate grip. “I’ve been making hard decisions my whole life. And this? You? It’s the easiest choice I ever made; it’s the only one I know that’s right.”
“You’ll change your mind, you’ll meet so many wonderful people in Boston. And I don’t want you to resent me for keeping you.”
“Resent you?” He repeated. “I love you. You’re it for me, baby. Don’t you get that?”
You sat up on his bed, your heart beating faster than normal. When you stood up and leaned forward on the loft’s railing, you spotted Logan sitting by the tall apartment window, staring out into the nighttime view.
“Since when do you like baseball?”
Logan turned his head and saw you at the bottom of the staircase. He huffed, “Boston brainwashed me.”
You smiled and sat across from him, your knees brushed against each other but neither of you pulled away. You followed his gaze out the window and towards Fenway Park.
“You been to any of their games?”
“One or two,” he answered.
“You a Red Sox fan now?” You teased.
“I have to be or else I’d get beat up on the streets,” Logan quipped.
You chuckled quietly. “What a waste of real estate.”
His expression sobered. He fiddled with his fingers before looking at you. “I only got this place because it’s what you always wanted.”
Your eyes darted to him.
He shrugged like the confession was helpless, inevitable, even. Logan wasn’t ashamed nor did he regret it.
“Logan,” you called softly.
“What do I have to do to show you that I want this? That I want us.”
Your chest tightened, “Logan.”
“It’s been a year, baby. I haven’t seen anyone else. I can’t. They’re not you.”
“Logan—”
“And you can try to tell me that this is what’s best for us, or whatever bullshit mature answer you have, but I won’t buy that. Nothing you say will change how I feel about you. I meant what I said when I told you that you were it for me.”
You kissed him.
He wouldn’t shut up if you hadn’t.
Neither of you complained.
Logan groaned against your lips like you were the first drop of rain in the midst of a drought. His hands buried themselves into your hair, pulling you closer until you settled onto his lap.
You found purchase on his broad shoulders, bringing your chests flush together. Your fingers tips brushed against the hairs on the nape of his neck, remembering what it felt like to tug on them.
As if he could read your thoughts, Logan pulled back enough to ask: “Please, baby, can I eat you out? I haven’t tasted you in so long.”
You must’ve looked pathetic when you nodded so quickly.
Logan pushed you to lay on your back. He lifted your shirt up enough so he could admire your bare chest. The sound that escaped him was even more pathetic than your eager consent.
His lips latched onto one of your nipples, flicking the bud and wetting it with fervor. His free hand kneaded your other breast with ample attention.
Your breath came out in shaky puffs. You closed your eyes and sighed, “Fuck, Logan.”
Your voice went straight to his groin. He switched to the other breast and showered it with the same affection.
You blinked down at him in a daze, weakly tugging at his top. He sat up immediately and pulled it off his frame, chucking it aside. Your eyes wandered over the bare expanse of his torso. His defined pecks and abdomen, the blooming bruises he earned from hockey slowly fading into yellow-green patches.
You didn’t have time to admire him in the way he deserved because Logan impatiently hooked his restless fingers under his boxers that you wore.
“Raise your hips for me, baby.”
You complied without hesitation. When your bottom half was left exposed, Logan sat back on his haunches and stared. His eyes glazed over with a subtle sheen and you almost worried that he’d start crying.
“You’re unfair,” he mumbled with softly arched brows. He reached down and propped your legs over his shoulders.
You cried out when his tongue slid between your folds in a tantalizingly slow glide. You weren’t sure if the sound you heard came out of your own mouth or Logan’s.
“Tastes better than I remember,” he said.
His lips left a small peck on your clit before he sucked on it. Your hips flinched upwards, but Logan’s strong arms held you down.
“Reactive, huh? Did you miss my mouth?”
You huffed, “Yes.”
He smirked. So smug.
“Yeah, I bet you did. I can tell.” His fingers swiped against you and gathered your slick.
“You’re so wet for me.”
“Don’t tease.”
Logan’s smile widened. He leaned forward so his face hovered over yours. “I can do whatever I want, baby. I earned it.”
Fuck was he right.
He devoured you. He left your legs shaking and heart racing. His tongue prodded your hole so skillfully, just the right amount of pressure that made you yank at his hair.
“Right there,” you gasped out.
Logan doubled down on his ministrations. His hands lifted your ass up so he could bury his face deeper between your thighs.
Your eyes rolled back, “Baby, I’m close.”
Baby.
Logan hadn’t heard that name of endearment from you in a year and it made him grind down on his erection to relieve some tension.
“You’re so pretty when you’re about to cum,” he said, admiring the view of you. He could always tell when you were close to finishing.
He dove back in, rapidly shaking his head from side to side, resulting in a crude squelching noise to echo in the air. You shrieked, arching up towards him.
“Let me have it, angel. I need it. I deserve it.”
His words were enough to send you over. When you came, you both let out a moan. Logan held you through it, working his tongue to ride out your wave of pleasure. You had to shakily push his head away when it became too much to bear.
Logan threw his head back and sat down. You both panted, forcing air back into your lungs, holding eye contact. When your gaze dragged downwards, you spotted the dark stain on the crotch of his sweatpants.
Your eyes widened.
Logan let out a small chuckle.
“It’s been a while,” is what he said.
“Since you ate a girl out?” You queried.
His adam’s apple bobbed, “Since I came.”
The room went quiet.
The thought of Logan being celibate since the two of you broke up did dangerous things to your heart. It weaved precarious hopes that you feared would blossom into something neither of you could promise.
Logan pulled one of your legs into his lap and started caressing your foot. He stared down at your skin, allowing the moment to settle. You watched him, biting your lip in thought.
“Let me take care of you,” you offered.
“It’ll take a while,” he said.
Your eyes automatically glanced between his legs.
Logan let out another amused laugh that faded into a deep sigh. His expression shifted into something more thoughtful as he looked at your face.
“Come back to me, baby.” He murmured.
Your heart ached at the pleading tone.
“We can live here,” he gestured around the apartment. “Sleep in our loft, have dinner on the kitchen island, make love on the couch, look out at Fenway Park at night…”
That was the life you wanted with Logan.
It was perfect.
He was perfect.
He did everything perfectly.
And you had let your fears ruin that.
But not anymore.
You reached for his hands and pulled him closer. Your foreheads rested against each other. He closed his eyes for a second before looking deep into yours.
“You’ll have to go to every Red Sox game with me,” you whispered.
Logan’s chuckle came out sounding like a breath of relief. He nodded slowly.
“Whatever you want,” he murmured.
You tilted your head, “You. I want you.”
Logan squeezed your hands, “You have me.”
And that was the easiest decision you ever made, too.
logan’s spotify wrapped the year you guys broke up included party 4 u by charlie xcx and back to me by the marías iktr
Your problem with John Logan is that not only he is very talented with his hands, but he also looks really fucking hot putting them to good use, even if it’s not how you imagined him to.
“It seems to be a compressor issue,” he says, wrist deep into your car’s engine as he inspects it, “Could be only electrical, but you should definitely check the clutch as well.”
You hum, slurping on a milkshake as you sit behind the wheel, “I think you mean you should check the clutch,” you say, a teasing bite in your tone that makes his lips curve in a subtle smile, “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can,” he says, reaching up to grab the car hood.
Logan keeps his hands up there, his undershirt riding up just enough for you to see his midriff skin. You can’t tell if it’s intentional, but if the smirk on his face is any indication, he knows what he’s doing, “It’s not like you to be the damsel in distress type.”
You drag your eyes up again, “Yeah, but I don’t even know what a clutch is, so.”
“Fair,” he says, slamming down the car hood. He barely cleans his hands before swiping them over his forehead, failing to get rid of the sweat, “Would you take it inside? I’ll drive it to the autoshop tomorrow, first thing in the morning— It’s just too fucking hot today.”
You shrug, putting the sweaty cup aside as you shut the car door closed, turning the key. The heatwave that has been terrorizing Massachusetts was the sole reason for you to beg Logan for him to check why your AC wasn’t working, and it’s making it impossible for anyone to be outside, especially doing handwork like he is. It’s only fair that you allow him the comfort of doing it later at the shop.
So you wait for him to open the door for you and back into the boy’s garage, a room big enough to fit a bunch of boxes, training equipment, a little sink where Logan now washes his hands and all four of their cars, though right now only Logan’s pickup truck is there.
“You’re home alone?”
Logan hums, “Dean’s in New York with Beau, Tuck and Garrett went to Boston for the weekend.”
“Oh, Boston’s so nice this time of year,” you say, “Very windy. Didn’t you want to go with them?”
“Hm, I– Couldn’t.” he clears his throat, opening the passenger door, “Turn the AC on for me? I wanna hear the noise.”
“Yes, sir.” You say, watching the left corner of his mouth twitches slightly, just enough for you to catch it.
It’s fun to flirt with Logan, you think. There’s a tension in the air between you two, always present. In your lingering touches under innocent hugs, sustained eye contact during casual conversations — always, always there, like fog surrounding your true intentions. But in moments like this, when you’re all alone and there’s no way around it, where you feel the hazyness clearing up and your feelings growing stronger, a pull from your guts in his direction.
You keep thinking he feels it too, wondering if the raggedy noise coming from the AC is the only reason why he’s sitting next to you on the passenger seat.
“Oh, that’s fucked,” he says, eyes widening in a way that makes you bite back a laugh. He turns the AC off again, “Yeah, I’ll definitely check the clutch tomorrow.”
You groan, head dropping onto the headrest. “This is awful.”
He chuckles, “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It's bad timing. Summer has just started— We have a new heatwave coming every other week.”
“And I’ll get it checked before Monday.” He says, his hand dropping on your shoulder, squeezing in a reassuring way, “Just chill, alright? I’ll fix that.”
You look up at him, eyes traveling up his arms until they find his face, his big eyes staring at you in all their glory, no hair falling on them since it’s all pulled back under a red bandana, a smear of grease right below it being the cherry on top.
You smile, your own hand moving to his face, thumb pressing on his forehead to smudge it clean. Your fingertips move down to his under his jaw, “You look nice in a stubble,” you mutter, “Frames your face.”
Logan relaxes under your touch, his eyes closing, “I was going to Boston too,” he says, voice barely there.
“Hm?”
“With Tuck and Garrett. I was going with them this morning,” he says, head moving so his chin rubs against your palm, a gentle tickling, “Then you called, and– Well.”
“Wait,” you feel your breath catching, “You stayed back just to help me?”
“Yeah.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing for him to do, because it might just be, “It’s you, y’know?”
Your thumb stops moving across his cheek, staying still as you process what he just said. It’s such a show of his attention towards you, that just like that, the fog that once hid your feelings has now lifted completely — you see Logan clearly in all his intentions, and you desperately want to kiss him.
Your other hand moves to grab his face too, pulling him to you.
Logan keeps his eyes shut, but he finds your mouth quite easily, like the image of you it’s printed on his memory. He bends over the console, pressing his lips to yours as his hand moves to the back of your head, keeping you close to him as you kiss, and kiss, and kiss, his mouth moving from your lips, across your cheek to your ear, “Baby,” he murmurs, “come here.”
His hands move to the small of your back, urging you to lift up from the driver’s seat and cross over the car center, your knees on the passenger’s seat astriding him.
Logan wraps his arms around you, moving up to get his mouth onto yours again, desperate.
“Been wanting this since forever,” he mutters against your lips, a line of open mouth kisses under your jaw and down to your neck. You throw your head back, mouth gaping as you let out a delicious groan. Logan smiles between kisses, “That good?”
“Shut up,” you answer through gritted teeth.
Your hands drop to the hem of your shirt, quickly pulling it up under Logan’s stare, his rough hands caressing your sides. Your fingers move to the back of his neck, lifting his head for him to look at your face, “Just keep kissing me?”
He nods, blown eyes watching your every expression as he takes his own shirt off, the loose bandana falling off his hair with it. You giggle at his urgency, your laugh turning into a gasp as Logan runs his tongue against your collarbone, pressing kisses on your cleavage.
Logan’s hands grab your waist, guiding your hips front and back, pressing you against his lap. He uses your jeans seams to his advantage, the friction nearly driving you insane, your moans driving him insane. “Fuck,” he murmurs, and you kiss him again, thrusting, “fuck, honey.”
“Logan,” you pant, “Logan, please.”
“Please what, baby?” He says, chin resting on your chest as he stares up, “Tell me what you need. I’ll give it to you, anything.”
You groan, his hips jumping up, “Logan, ah– Please, fuck me?”
His head drops to your shoulder, a warm breath hitting your skin as he huffs, “Fuck, yeah. Yeah, honey. Lift up for me?”
You hover over his lap, his talented fingers finally to good use. Not any tools, not your stupid car engine, but quickly undoing your jeans and pushing them down, just enough for him to fit his hand.
Logan moves his thumb over your panties until he finds your clit, rubbing in slow circles as your eyes flutter closed, a raggedy sound coming out of your mouth, “Logan, babe–”
He shushes you, a quick peck on your lips, “Let me have you like this for a second,”
he mutters, “Yeah? Just watch you for a moment.”
You nod, head dropping to his shoulder. Logan uses his pointer to pull your panties aside, middle finger finding your slit, “You’re soaked, baby,” he says, and you whine.
“You’re such a fucking tease, did you know that?”
He chuckles, “I’ll stop,” he says, but god, you don’t want him to.
You feel a tightness building your underbelly, a fire that moves down your body growing stronger with every one of his touches, and it all feels so fucking good, you think you could melt with it.
Logan takes his hand out of your jeans, hand on your thighs to lift you again, “Gotta take these out, yeah?”
You hum, watching as he pulls your jeans and panties out, then moves to undo his pants as well, “You have a condom?”
“Uh,” he looks around, eyes widening, “In my wallet, but it’s inside the house, I think.”
You twist around to face the dashboard, opening the glove box. “I might have some.”
A surprised laugh escapes his mouth, “You keep condoms in your glovebox?”
“I keep hygiene utensils in my glovebox. It just happens that condoms are one too.” You answer, “What about a thank you instead?”
Logan presses his lips on your upperarm, “Thank you so fucking much, really,” he says, taking the condom out of your hands and ripping it open, “You sure you wanna do it?”
“Yes,” you sigh, “Yes, pl—”
He kisses you again, swallowing your plea. He won’t let you say it, there’s only so much teasing he can do. Logan presses into you, hands guiding you down slowly.
It’s like throwing gasoline into the fire in your pit. You moan against Logan’s lips, his mouth opening up to kiss you. You keep moving your hips while he helps you with your slow, steady pacing, until that won’t do anymore.
“Logan,” you whimper, “faster, please.”
His hands squeeze your sides, panting with you, “Oh, fuck, baby–”
“Faster?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, “Just— Fuck,”
Your hands go for his shoulders for balance, and you start moving faster and faster. Logan’s head drops as he lets out a moan, “Babe—”
“I know,” you say, lips pressing against his entire face in clumsy, wet kisses, “Please, I’m close too.”
He starts thrusting harder, arms wrapping around your waist to keep your bodies joined completely, nose pressed against your neck. You feel the warmth overtaking you, your legs faltering as you wail out Logan’s name, mouth sinking down on his, a deep kiss as he follows you down the fire.
It takes a more gentle touch from him to pull you from your blissed out state, “Baby,” he mutters against your skin, “You okay?”
You hum, cheek pressed to his shoulder, “Fucking great.”
“Yeah?” Logan’s half-moon eyes stare down at you. Laying down on the car seat, he maneuvers you to join him, pulling you in an improvised cuddle on such a limited space.
Logan brushes his fingers over your cheek, a peck here and there, “If you want to,” he starts, “We can go inside, maybe take a shower.”
“Yeah, well, you’re still greasy,” you answer, and Logan laughs, rubbing his face against your arms as if to pass it to you. You yelp, pushing him gently, then saying in a softer tone, “In a minute, yeah? I’d like to lay here for a minute longer.”
His lips turn into a smile, “Yeah. I’d like that too.” He says, resting his chin on your shoulder, “Stay the night too?”
“Yeah. Of course,” you say, pulling his hand for a kiss, “But we’re driving to the shop in the morning. Next time I want the AC on.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He mutters, then lifts his head a little, “Do you still have that milkshake lying around? I could use a sip.”
You giggle, thinking the poor thing’s probably all melted now. Not that you’re much different.
notes: thank you for reading! i'm still a bit stiff with writing smut so please be nice to me. requests are open, likes reblogs and thoughts are appreciated! <3
☄︎ Warnings: Oral (F!receiving and M!receiving). Missionary. Exhibitionism-ish. Calls u baby.
☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan
☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut.
☄︎ Words: 2330
☄︎ Summary: What was supposed to be a late-night rescue mission to collect Logan quickly turns into a locker room hookup
Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Logan Masterlist here.
The sudden vibration of your phone against your laptop made you jolt, pulling your attention from the movie you were half-watching on your laptop as sleep had slowly taken you over. Groaning at the interruption, you blindly reached for your phone, your eyes straining against the screen.
Garrett (21:03): Yo
Garrett (21:03): Logan’s still at the rink by the way
Your mind went blank for a minute as you took the meaning of Garrett’s words.
You (21:04): thought practice ended an hour ago??
Garrett (21:06): It did. He’s not left since.
Garrett (21:07): Figured I’d leave it before he tried to kill me for telling him to go home.
Garrett (21:15): Maybe he’ll listen to you.
A heavy sigh slipped past your lips. Logan was his own worst critic; hard on himself in ways you couldn’t even think of. When he played badly, or what he told himself was bad, he punished himself with extra drills until his muscles burned.
Tossing the duvet aside, you threw on a baggy top and grabbed the keys to your bike lock. One short cycle later, you at the arena, locking up your bike. The building was silent, save for the distant thwack of the puck echoing from the main arena.
You crept up the tunnel entrance. Out on the ice, illuminated by the stadium lights, was Logan. Even from this distance, you could see that his jersey was soaked with sweat.
You watched as he lined up a puck on the blue line. He took an aggressive shot, and then swore loudly when it hit the crossbar. He lined up another puck. Another miss. Another loud curse.
“Logan, sweetie,” you called out, unable to watch him anymore.
He froze, head snapping in your direction. The frustration on his face instantly softened when he recognised you. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“Garrett texted.” Was all you responded. It was all the explanation you needed to give.
A flash of annoyance crossed Logan’s face. He sighed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you. Come off the ice, Loge.”
He skated over, stopping just in front of you at the entrance to the rink. He pulled his helmet off; his hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, as he looked down at you. “I can barely hit an open net. I need to work harder, you should go.”
“No,” you replied firmly. “You know that’s not true.”
“You didn’t watch Saturday?”
Admittedly, Logan did have a poor game, it was like every missed shot only made him angrier, which made him lose his focus even more.
“I did,” you replied softly. You knew this would be a delicate subject for him, he had hardly spoken to you from since the game, and you had given him the space he needed.
“Then you know it is true.”
“Do you really believe that?” You asked, scared he’d respond that he actually did. That’d make your job much harder.
Logan looked down to his gloved hands. When he looked back up at you, his eyes were heavy with emotion. “Yes... well no, not really. I hate playing like that,” he admitted quietly.
“I know,” you responded, moving closer and reaching up so you could cup his cheek.
“I hate you seeing me play like that.”
“One game doesn’t define you; it doesn’t change that you’re the best right wing this university has ever seen.” Your voice was rising as you went on, thick with a desire to protect and defend him even from himself. “I could watch you miss a hundred shots and I wouldn’t give a shit. Now, the rink is closed. Let’s go home.”
You stepped back, pointing to the changing room at the end of the tunnel.
The frustration was still rolling off of him in waves, but it was morphing into something else, a slow smirk appearing on his lips. “You’re hot when you’re bossy.”
“I’m always hot,” you laughed. “Now go.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He took off his gloves and unlatched the small gate. “Give me five minutes to strip off the pads.”
You followed him down the corridor and into the Hawks’ locker room. Because it was so late, the main lights were dimmed, it almost felt intimate in a spooky way.
Logan dropped onto the bench of his stall, letting his stick clatter to the floor. He tossed his gloves and helmet to the side, before pulling off his skates. He was breathing hard, as if every movement took it out of him. He paused for a moment, his head hanging low.
“You still mad?” you asked, stepping between his spread legs.
“Not mad,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. His head rested on your stomach, his grip tight, almost desperate. “I’m frustrated and just got a shitload of energy and nowhere to put it. I thought being on the ice would help.”
That was something you could work with.
“I can think of a few places,” you whispered.
He pulled you back to look up at you. “Here?”
“Why not.” You made a point of looking around the locker room. “Nobody’s around.”
You took a step back from him and pulled your oversized top over your head and threw it to the ground. He watched as you slowly pulled off your bralette, letting your tits fall however. The second you shivered slightly in the coldness of the room, Logan stood up so fast his head spun. His hands were immediately on your chest, kneading your breasts.
As cold as the room was, his hands were colder from being out on the ice.
“Cold,” you muttered, subconsciously pulling back.
“Warm ‘em up for me,” he replied, keeping his grip on your breasts.
His eyes widened in fascination as he played with them, as if this wasn’t a regular occurrence. His thumb flicked over your erect nipple before he replaced it with his warm, wet, mouth.
You groaned, your fingers instantly tangling into his still damp from sweat hair, pulling him closer. At the same time, your head fell back as you pushed your chest into his face.
His tongue on your right nipple matched the movements of his thumb over your left nipple. For every flick of his tongue on your nipple, his thumb flicked over your other nipple. For every time he sucked your nipple into his mouth, he’d pinch your nipple between his fingers.
“Can I eat you out?” He suddenly asked around your nipple.
“As if you have to ask,” you said breathily, though, it was hot he still asked permission even after all of the things you’d done together.
“One sec,” Logan grinned as he pulled off his jersey. He quickly laid it across the carpeted floor. Grabbing your discarded top, he laid that on the floor too, just under his.
“Only the finest for my queen,” he teased as he guided you to lay down on the makeshift bed.
You snorted. “Logan, as if your sweat-soaked jersey is that much more hygienic than the locker room floor.”
“Is it not an upgrade?” He asked as he settled between your legs, pulling down your shorts.
“I guess it issss.”
Your words died on a moan as you felt Logan wipe a flat stipe across your folds. He was usually slower; he’d start on your inner thigh, sometimes even your ankle, and work his way up to your pussy. You’d say he was a tease, but he’d call it worshipping you. there was none of that today. today, he was on a mission.
Resting your ankles over his shoulders, your hand slipped back into his hair as your nails dug into his scalp. He laid flat on the floor, his tongue lapping up your juices.
One of his hands pressed down on your lower stomach as he used the other to spread your lips wider to him. He was instantly back on your clit, his teeth lightly grazing it before he sucked it into his mouth. your hands curled tightly into his hair and you weren’t gentle about pulling at the stands, earning a moan from him.
“Feels good, baby?” He mumbled around you.
You looked down to see him looking up at you from between your legs. “Feels fucking fantastic,” you purred as your hips jerked into his mouth.
His thumb came to replace where his mouth was as he licked around your fluttering hole. He tongue circled your hole a few more times before he delved in, thrusting his tongue inside you.
In that moment, you completely forgot you were on the floor in a men’s locker room, you whined loudly, throwing out praises and pleas for more. The thrill of it all had the pleasure rising within you much quicker than usual.
“How do you want to cum, baby?” Logan asked, noticing you were getting close. “On my tongue or my fingers?”
“Your fingers,” you panted, tugging at his hair so he understood you wanted his mouth back on your clit.
“Yes, ma’am!”
Logan got to work immediately, sucking on your clit as he used your arousal to coat his finger, before easing it into you.
“Not enough,” you whined.
“I know, baby, patience,” he chastised around your clit, even as he slid another finger into you.
He pushed his fingers deep enough that when he curved them, they pressed against your sweet spot.
“Loge~,” you moaned, withering under his touch as the pleasure built rapidly.
Fucking you with his fingers, he curled and scissored them relentlessly as his tongue flicked side-to-side over your clit.
“Fuck~.” You screamed as you came on his face. As usual, he kept his mouth on you through it, gently sucking on your clit as you clenched around his fingers.
All the while, he’d been grinding against the floor, body high on the taste and sound of you. He was rock hard now, straining against the constraints of his uniform.
Logan stood up, fingers trembling as he rushed to undo the padding on his top half. Once he got to his lower half, he grunted with frustration, ripping off layer after layer as fast as he could.
“Who now needs patience?” You teased. You got up on shaky legs to your knees, moving to assist him in taking off his gear.
His sighed in relief when, finally, his shorts were being peeled down his legs. You were on your knees in front of him, eye level with his leaking erection.
Licking your lips, you leant forward, wrapping your lips around the tip. Logan’s hips jerked into your warm mouth as you licked up his precum. He tasted like salt and sweat, which turned you on more than anything.
You wrapped your hand around his erection, taking him as deep into your mouth as you could and using your hand to cover the rest.
“Wait, baby, I’m gonna cum.” He pushed gently at your shoulders.
You pulled off him with a lewd POP. “Already?”
“Mean,” he said, though his voice had no heat behind it. “Lie back.”
You did so immediately, laying back over his jersey. You spread your legs for him, hooking your arms under your thighs to pull them towards your chest.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, staring down at your slick pussy.
He stood there for a moment, entranced in the way your pussy clenched without him even touching you and how the low light caught your arousal. He thought he might cum by just looking at you.
“Are you going to fuck me or are you going to keep staring?” You asked, pulling him out of his daze.
“You’re so bossy,” he whined as he crawled back between your legs.
“Whatever. You like it when I’m bossy.”
“No.” Logan dragged his erection through your folds, letting it catch on your entrance. “I love when you’re bossy.”
He punctuated that with a thrust into you. A ragged gasp escaped your throat as you felt your walls mould itself around him, so deliciously full. like before, Logan didn’t take his time, though his hips moved gently before the pace increased into a fierce rhythm. He pulled out, leaving just the tip in before slamming back into you.
A fresh layer of sweat began dripping down Logan’s neck as his exhausted body tried to keep pace with what his mind wanted. His sweat rolled onto you as he fell forward, burying his face into your shoulder. his arms were on either side of you, breath hitching as he murmured praises against your skin as he kept rolling his hips into you.
You were so consumed with the feeling of him all around you, with the smell of his natural musk and sweat, that you didn’t notice when the door to the locker room swung open.
“Yo, Lo, You still alive in here? I didn’t get a text back so–.”
Garrett rounded the corner into the main stall, his phone in his hand. He stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the sight in front of him.
Logan looked up at Garrett, acknowledging that he knew Garrett was there but didn’t care. He kept his pace but pressed himself closer to you, shielding your bare top from Garrett’s eye.
“Kind of busy here,” he grunted.
“I can see that–.”
Garrett’s words were interrupted by your moan as Logan hit that spot within you, leaving your toes curling.
“Can you stop fucking while I’m talking?”
You almost laughed at the audacity of Garrett.
“How about you stop talking while we’re fucking?” Logan retorted.
“He’s all good, Garrett. I’ve got this,” you said between moans.
Another hard thrust. Another moan.
“She means get the fuck out, Graham.”
Garrett promptly turned on his heel as he mumbled, “Well fuck me for caring about you, Lo.”
Neither of you watched to see if Garrett left, nor did either of you particularly care. He was already a distant memory as Logan drove into you again.
💭: if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc, it means a lot xx
gif by @buyeons - seriously, they have the best gifs.
warnings: 18+ ONLY, MDNI !! -- boyfriend!Logan x f!reader, smut, shhh, making out, teasing, dry humping, no seriously, he's big time into secret sex, shhhh, fingering, oral sex, praise kink, logan most definitely talks you through it.
words: 2.7k
"Shit," you gasp out gently into the palm of your hand as you feel your boyfriend's fingers curl up in the perfect angle. Your shoulders lift up slightly from the mattress and he stops what he's doing to look up at you with an admonishing look on his face.
"Shhh," he whispers against your neck as he sinks his teeth in, a punishment for being too loud. "Everybody's here," he reminds you gently as his hand falls back into it's previous pace under the covers. His scruff tickles at your pulse point and you suck in a deep breath as your orgasm builds again.
He watches you intently as you inch closer to falling apart underneath his touch and grins. His thumb reaches up and starts to rub little tiny circles against your clit and he watches your eyes flutter shut.
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and he slows his pace as he watches you, "Do you need a pillow?" he teases, "I'll let you come," he tells you nonchalantly as his thumb continues it's mission. "But you have to promise me that you'll be a good girl and you'll be quiet," he says softly. "Otherwise, the entire night of me having you all to myself is up in smoke…"
And you know that he's right as you lift your hips off the mattress slightly in hopes to get him back in his rhythm but he stays still.
"Promise me, baby," he says again, this time a little more firm.
You inhale slowly and nod your head, "I promise," you say shakily, feeling the bubbling in your core and he smiles gently.
"Good girl," he nods, slowly pumping his fingers in and out again. His eyes are locked on yours and you whimper gently and he gives a warning look at you.
As your breathing grows more ragged, there's a knock at the door and his head snaps up. He blinks once, still allowing his fingers to move as he calls out over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Hey, Log? I was wondering if you think you could help me with the assignment from Econ with me before we turn it in? I think I've got the concept, but I just wanna make sure I'm not completely off base…"
It's Garrett and from the sounds of things, he's right at the door and you swallow any noise that you had building in your throat in hopes that you're not caught. You gasp softly as his thumb presses harder against your clit in a warning and he speaks again.
"Yeah, dude, I can help you after I get a nap," he covers smoothly. "I've been dragging ass today, I need a rest," he lies and trails his lips down your jawline before capturing your lips.
Your thighs quiver underneath him and he knew exactly what he was doing by kissing you at this moment because you moan into the kiss and his fingers slow down after a moment and he nods his head against your forehead and pushes you back down against the mattress gently.
"Sick, thanks Logan," Garrett says and you hear his heavy footsteps as he walks off. You glare up at Logan and swat his chest gently.
"That wasn't funny," you state firmly and prop yourself up on your elbows as he readjusts himself between your thighs.
"I dunno, I thought it was pretty funny," he smirks cockily as he falls back beside you on the bed.
"You would, it wasn't your—" there's another knock and you roll your eyes and groan into the pillow behind your face as you roll over.
He smirks gently and calls out again, "Yo!"
"You two staying for dinner tonight?" Tucker's voice calls out from the other side of the door. "I need a head count, I'm doing pot stickers," he informs proudly and Logan glances over at you as you give a thumbs up from your position face down.
"Yeah, we'll stay for dinner tonight," Logan nods affirmatively. "Put us down for two," he nods and after a moment of silence, he can only assume you two are alone again.
"This place is a zoo," you grumble from your spot and he chuckles.
His large hand comes up to your ass and gives a small spank before shrugging, "I told you we could meet at your place but nooo," he says simply.
"Hannah and Allie have heard enough of us to last them an entire lifetime," you reason gently and Logan scoffs.
"And I've heard them!" he states quickly, a little too defensive and he takes a deep breath. "It's fine, you're good at being quiet for the most part," he tells you as he gazes down.
Now it's your time to scoff and you sit up, "I am great at being quiet."
"Prove it," he states simply. "Come and sit on this dick and make sure you're quiet about it," he smirks gently as he removes the covers from his waist and reveals his boxer briefs that are already tented.
You watch him as he leans over and slips a condom over himself and he pumps his cock once as he glances over at you with hooded eyes.
"Well, c'mon then," he challenges and you're crawling over to him before your brain can tell you not to. You slip into his lap and slowly grind your hips against him and he sighs longingly.
His hands grasp your hips and his fingertips dig in, guiding you along and groaning as he feels your wetness sliding against him at a painstaking pace. He hisses softly as you pop the head of his dick in for a second only to lift your hips away and grind once again.
"Shhh," you remind him with a sly smirk painted across your lips. "Everyone's here," you whisper into his ear and bite at his ear lobe and he exhales. You angle your hips just right as you slip your hips back against him and you let him sink inside of you.
Your knees sink into the mattress on either side of him as you slowly start to roll your hips against him.
Logan grunts, bucking his hips up and grunts when he hears your phone ringing.
"I swear to fucking God, if you answer that phone," he warns you through gritted teeth as he rocks up against each of your thrusts.
You glance at the screen as you try to ignore the ringtone buzzing from your jeans on the floor in the corner. And after about fifteen seconds of Freddie Mercury's voice singing Bohemian Rhapsody, you two are in silence again.
He knows he's got a few moments time before your mom calls again — this time on Facetime so he acts fast. The game of being quiet is over now as he flips you two back over so that your back is against the mattress again.
Logan's hand wraps around your thigh and places it firmly around his waist. His other hand reaches up to your hip and he gives a sharp tug, pulling you onto his cock even more. Your eyes roll back slightly as the head of his dick grazes your g-spot and you sigh longingly. He notices and takes your other leg and throws it up over his shoulder.
He starts to sink back into you and the new positioning of your hips is enough to drive you up a wall.
Mama, just killed a man… put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he's dead…
At the time, setting your mother's ringtone to the opening verse of Bohemian Rhapsody was the greatest comedic bit you'd ever come up with to date. Now, as your boyfriend is balls deep in you and you're trying desperately to come with him - not so much.
"Aht," he states firmly as your head turns to glance at the phone and he shakes his head. He forces you to look into his eyes, "No, no," he tells you. "You're busy."
You frown softly, "It could be an em-"
Logan gives you a look.
You both know it's not an emergency, your mom was bored and hated having an empty nest now that you were away at Briar. It would be just another call, one of her several throughout the day just wondering what you were up to.
"Answer it then," he smirks as he reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb again. "Let her see you," and his other hand runs through your hair, tugging you up into a rough kiss.
He has a point and you roll your eyes as you block out the music that's echoing through his room again.
"C'mon, Princess," he tells you as the ringtone dies out and you're left with the noises that are coming from your two bodies. "Come for me," he demands and rolls his hips. "You can do it," he nods.
You squirm underneath him and whimper softly.
"I know," he says in a low tone — still careful that nobody really can hear unless they knew what they were listening for. "I know it, baby. It's right there, isn't it," he nods. "Get it," he eggs you on and you start to moan.
"So close," he whispers as he presses harder against your clit and he bucks his hips harder and you see stars.
Your hands reach up and paw at his shoulder blades and he grins at the noise that comes out of your mouth. He pumps his hips a few more times into your warmth and wetness before he grunts gently and then still after a moment.
Logan gently kisses your forehead, then your temple and then your lips.
You lean up into the kiss and he falls back onto the bed beside you, pulling away from you and exhaling happily. He reaches over and wraps his arm lazily around your waist and tugs you into his side.
"I could stay like this all day," Logan confesses gently as he nuzzles into your neck. This was the type of thing that you two thrived in. Quiet comfort, some casual chaos and mind blowing sex.
You're about to speak when you hear, for a third time in five minutes:
Mama, just killed a man…
You groan aloud and roll away from his body, crawling out of bed and trying to piece together your outfit from earlier. A gray hoodie, a pair of jeans and pair of socks — and you quickly change back into a presentable look.
"Your hair," Logan hisses just as your thumb is about to swipe to accept the call and he lunges, flattening a few strands that had been rustled up earlier against the bed. He nods approvingly and gives two thumbs up and leans back against the headboard as you answer the phone quietly.
"Hey, mom! Sorry, I left my phone upstairs," you lie through your teeth with ease and Logan nods sarcastically behind the camera at you.
Logan watches you as you try to avoid any conversations that are too deep in front of him and your mom asks about him, trying to be sly.
"He's great," you nod and you can't help but notice the blush that crawls up your cheeks as you speak.
Your mom grins on the other end of the line, leaning in excitedly. "Do you love him?" she asks and you can only assume that your father is in the next room.
Logan, who has been mindlessly scrolling on his phone pauses and looks up at you.
You two haven't said the words yet, but you know that the feeling is there. He's the last thing you think of when you go to bed and the very first thing on your mind as soon as you woke up. He was a gentleman, took you on real dates often and surprised you with flowers whenever you had a rough day.
You swallow quietly and make a face, "I mean—" you hesitate and Logan raises an eyebrow at you.
You try to find words but fail and when he sees you floundering mid-conversation, he hooks his thumbs into his boxer briefs and pulls them up — then finds his jeans and pretends to walk into the room.
"Hey babe, you ready?" he asks quietly and you look up and Mom smiles at the sound of Logan's voice joining you.
You know what he's doing. He's creating a distraction, something he does on the ice every game. You smirk gently and nod slowly, "Yeah, yeah, I'm ready," you nod gently.
"You guys going out?" Mom asks, trying to live vicariously through you as she sits in her sun room back home.
Logan's put his shirt back on and he comes into frame and offers that million dollar smile that he's been known to flash to get what he wants from time to time.
"I'm taking her to Malone's with the boys," he lies, nodding simply. "How are you, lovely?" he asks sincerely to her and she tries not to blush. Like mother, like daughter.
Mom and Logan exchange pleasantries for a moment longer before Mom speaks up again.
"Well, don't let me keep you two. You have fun and be safe, don't do anything stupid," she rattles off and you smirk gently. Logan shakes his head and waves at her and you tell her that you love her and you'll call her later before hanging up.
You huff gently. "Thanks for that," you say quietly.
Logan shrugs his shoulders, "Hey, it's all good," he states. "She's innocent enough," he reminds you.
You smirk, "Yeah, well, she's frustrating sometimes," you lean against him and he wraps an arm around you.
You two fall into a comfortable silence for a moment.
"You uh, you know that I love you, right?" he asks bluntly.
You blink a few times up at him, "Y-you do?"
Logan chuckles and shakes his head, "Jesus Christ, do you think I'm facetiming any other mothers?" he asks. "Or letting them stay for Tucker's cooking?"
You think about it for a moment.
"You didn't say it when your mom asked," he starts quietly. "That's fine," he nods, "I'm not expecting you to say it right back but I just wanted you to know where I stand," Logan tells you.
Deep down inside, you know that you loved Logan. It was scary to admit because you two had been together for six and a half weeks, tops. It felt rushed, chaotic and bottom line: crazy. And yet, you don't find yourself running away from the conversation. You reach out and let your hand rest on the side of his cheek.
"I never said that I didn't," you tell him gently. "If I told my mom 'yes', she would have started planning the wedding already," and you roll your eyes. "She doesn't do subtle well.."
He smirks, "No, really?" he asks sarcastically. Logan looks at his hands quietly before speaking again in a soft tone, "Do you love me?" he asks hopefully.
This time, you don't hesitate and you don't make a face.
"Of course I do," you nod firmly.
Logan's lips crack into a grin and he rests his forehead against yours softly.
"Thank fuck," he exhales shakily. "I got nervous when you got quiet on the phone," he confesses and pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. Logan laughs softly, "I love you," he tells you again. Like it sounds better now that he knows you feel the same way.
You laugh and shake your head, "Sorry, sorry," you tell him. "I'll tell her at some point," you say. It's inevitable, Mom finding out. You and Logan certainly aren't slowing down anytime soon and you know that at some point, Mom's going to call you on the fact that usually you've 'loved them and left them' by now.
"I gotta help Garrett with some homework," he tells you quietly and you're already up and walking downstairs like you live here because you practically did. Since you two started dating, you were over here pretty frequently.
And you plop onto the couch as he grabs Garrett's notebook from him and starts to go over what Graham wrote down in the lecture. You can hear the sizzling of the frying pan inside the kitchen and Tucker's humming some 90's country ballad. Dean and Allie are snuggled up on the couch watching some rerun of the Office and you can't help but feel like this was everything you could have ever wanted college to be.
blurb: after a drunken confession gets misunderstood, tucker spends the next morning thinking he lost his chance before realizing you meant him all along.
warnings: 18+ mdni, fluff, drinking/intoxicated confession, misunderstanding, jealousy, lowkey possessive Tucker, explicit sexual content, oral sex, protected sex, praise, teasing, slight public-risk element because the boys are downstairs, language.
꒰১Taglist໒꒱ @littlemissclairebiggs
The problem with being drunk was that you had never been very good at lying when you were sober.
A few drinks only made it worse.
By the time the party had spilled from the living room into the kitchen and halfway down the hall, you were warm all over, curled into one corner of the couch with your legs tucked underneath you, laughing at something Dean had said that probably wasn’t as funny as he thought it was. He knew it, too. That was the problem with Dean. He didn’t need anyone to laugh at his jokes. He already found himself entertaining enough.
Hannah was beside you, shoulder bumping yours, her cheeks pink from the heat in the room. Allie stood near the arm of the couch with a red cup in her hand, watching Dean argue with Garrett over which one of them had worse taste in music.
“You can’t insult my playlist when you listen to old man rock during workouts,” Garrett said.
Dean looked offended. “Old man rock?”
“Your entire Spotify sounds like someone’s divorced uncle buying a motorcycle.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and Dean pointed at you like he had just won something.
“See? She gets it.”
“I’m not getting involved,” you said, even as you kept smiling.
“You already did.” Dean dropped onto the coffee table in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His attention shifting onto you was always dangerous. Dean with a target was impossible. “Actually, since you’re feeling honest tonight.”
“No.”
“I didn’t even ask yet.”
“That’s why I’m saying no early.”
Allie grinned. “Smart girl.”
Dean ignored her. “Out of everyone in this house, who would you hook up with?”
Garrett groaned from the kitchen doorway. “Don’t start.”
“I’m curious.”
“You’re nosy,” Hannah corrected.
“I contain multitudes.”
You pressed your cup to your mouth to hide your smile, but that only made Dean’s eyes narrow with interest. He knew weakness when he saw it. Worse, he could smell embarrassment from across a room.
“Oh, you have an answer.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.” He leaned closer. “Look at her face.”
“My face is normal.”
“Your face is guilty.”
“It is not.”
“It’s very guilty,” Allie said, not helping at all.
You gave her a betrayed look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am. I just also want to know.”
From the kitchen, Tucker moved quietly around the counter, gathering empty bottles and tossing them into a trash bag because, of course, he was cleaning during a party he didn’t even throw alone. That was Tucker. He did things without announcing them, without waiting for praise. He remembered who liked what, who needed water, who had left their jacket upstairs, who needed to be walked home before they got too drunk to text properly.
He was wearing a faded Briar T-shirt and jeans, hair a little mussed, mouth tipped in that quiet half smile he got when everyone else was being ridiculous. He looked over when your laughter rose, and for one second, his eyes caught yours.
Your stomach flipped, and you looked away too fast, fast enough that Dean noticed it, too.
“Oh,” he said.
You pointed at him. “No.”
“Oh, this is good.”
“Dean.”
“You looked at someone.”
“I looked at the room. That’s how eyes work.”
Garrett appeared behind him, instantly interested now that someone else was suffering. “Who did she look at?”
“No one,” you said.
Dean’s grin widened. “She has a crush.”
“I have patience,” you said. “And you’re testing it.”
That only made them laugh. Your face felt hot. The room felt even hotter, or maybe that was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that Tucker was still in the kitchen, close enough to hear pieces if he wanted to.
The worst part was that you did have a crush.
A soft, stupid, inconvenient crush on John Tucker that had started slowly and then gotten completely out of hand before you knew what to do with it. It was the way he listened. The way he made space for people without making them feel like a burden. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he was catching details no one else cared enough to notice.
The way he called you sweetheart in that warm voice and ruined your ability to think like a normal person.
Dean tapped your knee with two fingers. “Come on. We’ll be mature.”
Garrett snorted.
“We will not tell a soul,” Dean added.
“You’re literally asking in a living room full of people.”
“Fine. We’ll only tell a few souls.”
You should have kept your mouth shut. You really should have. But you were tipsy, and warm, and tired of pretending you didn’t glance toward the kitchen every time Tucker moved.
So you sank lower into the couch, smiled into your cup, and said, “John. Obviously.”
The reaction was immediate.
Dean sat up straight. Garrett made a noise like someone had handed him a gift. Allie’s brows shot up. Hannah blinked, then turned toward the kitchen, then back to you like she was putting something together too late.
And from somewhere near the hall, Logan looked over.
“Me?” he asked.
Your smile faltered.
Dean burst out laughing. “Logan?”
Garrett pointed at him. “Did not see that coming.”
Logan looked delighted and confused at the same time. “I mean, I’m flattered.”
You stared at him, trying to make the room slow down enough for your brain to catch up. “What?”
“You said John,” Dean said, like this explained everything.
“There are two Johns,” Hannah said carefully.
Dean waved that off. “Yeah, but nobody calls Tucker John.”
Your eyes shot to the kitchen.
Tucker had gone still with a bottle in his hand. Not dramatically. He didn’t freeze in the middle of the room or make some big scene. His posture barely changed, but you saw it because you were always looking at him more than you should have been. His shoulders set a little tighter. His mouth softened out of its smile.
Then he dropped the bottle into the trash bag and looked away.
Your stomach twisted.
“No,” you said, but it came out too soft under all the noise.
Logan raised both hands, grinning. “Hey, I’m not complaining.”
“You should be,” Garrett said. “This is the first time anyone’s ever chosen you while drunk and meant it.”
“Rude.”
Dean leaned back, laughing. “Well, this changes everything.”
“It changes nothing,” you said.
“Sounds like something a woman with a Logan crush would say.”
“I don’t have a Logan crush.”
Logan placed a hand over his chest. “Now that hurt.”
The room kept moving around you, loud and amused, everyone turning the moment into a joke before you could untangle it. You looked toward Tucker again, but he was already turning toward the fridge, pulling out a water bottle.
A minute later, he crossed the living room and handed it to you.
“Here,” he said.
Your fingers brushed his.
Even tipsy, even embarrassed, you could tell he was pulling himself back from you. Tucker was still being kind. Still careful. But there was distance in his expression now, a quietness that hadn’t been there before.
You held the bottle with both hands. “You’re mad at me.”
His gaze flicked over your face. “No, sweetheart.”
“You are.”
“I’m not mad.” His voice stayed gentle, which somehow made it worse. “Drink some water for me, all right?”
For me.
You wanted to grab onto the words and make them mean what you wanted. Instead, you twisted the cap off and took a sip.
Dean was still laughing with Garrett. Logan was still pretending to be smug. No one else noticed the way Tucker’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
You noticed.
Of course you noticed.
Later, when the party thinned and the floor felt a little less steady beneath your feet, Tucker was the one who found your jacket. He was the one who tugged it around your shoulders when you kept missing the sleeve. He was the one who crouched in front of you by the entryway, holding your shoe steady so you could slip your foot inside without tipping over.
“You don’t have to do all this,” you mumbled.
“I know.”
“You always do that.”
His hands paused at the laces. “Do what?”
“Take care of everybody.”
He tied the knot, then sat back on his heels and looked up at you. His face was softer from that angle, the party lights warm on his skin.
“Somebody’s gotta do it.”
You wanted to tell him that wasn’t why he did it. You wanted to tell him he took care of people because it was built into him, quiet and stubborn and good. You wanted to tell him you said John because you meant the one in front of you.
Instead, you touched his shoulder lightly and said, “I said John.”
Something shifted in his face.
“I know,” he said.
But he didn’t know. Not really.
And before you could make your mouth explain it properly, Hannah came over with your bag, and Tucker stood, and the moment slipped away into the cold night air.
He walked you home because he insisted, keeping his hands to himself except when you stumbled on the curb and he caught your elbow.
At your door, you looked up at him, still fuzzy and frustrated and aching with something you didn’t know how to name.
“Tuck.”
His eyes moved over your face.
“Get some sleep,” he said softly. “We’ll talk when you’re sober.”
Then he waited until you were inside before he left.
By morning, you had a headache, a dry mouth, and a terrible feeling that something had gone very wrong.
The Advil on your nightstand helped with the first two.
The third got worse when you checked your phone and found a text from Hannah.
hannah: before you panic, you didn’t do anything bad
hannah: but you may need to clarify something
you: oh god
hannah: yeah
You stared at the screen for a full minute, slowly remembering flashes of the night before. Dean being nosy. Allie laughing. Logan looking over.
John.
Obviously.
Your eyes closed.
“Oh no.”
By the time you made it back to the hockey house later that afternoon, your stomach was tied in knots. You had planned to talk to Tucker privately. That was the mature thing. The adult thing. The thing you were absolutely going to do as soon as you stopped wanting to walk into traffic.
Unfortunately, Dean opened the door.
His grin started before he even said hello.
“Well, well, well.”
“Don’t.”
He stepped aside to let you in. “Our girl returns.”
“I’m not your girl.”
“Logan’s girl, apparently.”
You stopped in the entryway. “I am going to kill everyone in this house.”
From the living room, Logan called, “Not me, I’m the victim.”
“You are not the victim.”
He appeared over the back of the couch, all lazy grin and bright eyes. “I had a beautiful woman confess her feelings and then immediately take it back. I’m wounded.”
“I didn’t confess my feelings to you.”
Garrett walked in from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal. “That’s not what we heard.”
You looked around, heat crawling up your neck. “Where’s Tucker?”
The room went a little too quiet.
That was when you realized he was standing at the far end of the hall, one hand on the laundry room door, his gaze fixed on you.
He had heard you.
Of course he had.
Dean, sensing blood in the water, leaned against the wall. “Why do you need Tucker? Thought you were here for your man John.”
“I was,” you snapped, then immediately wanted to disappear.
Logan’s grin dropped into open delight. Garrett choked on his cereal.
Tucker did not move.
Dean blinked. “Wait.”
You pressed your hands over your face. “I meant Tucker.”
Silence.
Then Logan said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“I meant Tucker,” you repeated, quieter this time, but clear enough that no one missed it. “Last night. When I said John. I meant John Tucker.”
Garrett started laughing first. Dean followed a second later, so loud and delighted you wanted to throw something at his head. Logan looked between you and Tucker, offended in the most dramatic way possible.
“So I was collateral damage?” Logan asked.
“Yes,” you said.
Dean clapped a hand over his mouth like he was trying and failing to control himself. “The wrong John got the ego boost.”
You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.
Tucker still hadn’t said anything.
His expression was unreadable in that quiet Tucker way, but his eyes were locked on you now. Not distant like last night. Not hurt. Careful, maybe. Like he was trying to decide whether he could believe what he had just heard.
The laughter around you faded into a dull buzz.
Then Tucker nodded once toward the hall.
“Come here a second?”
Your heart climbed into your throat.
Dean made a low, obnoxious sound, and Garrett slapped his arm.
“Shut up,” Garrett said, still smiling.
You walked past them without looking back.
Tucker led you down the hall, not touching you, and stopped just outside his room. The door was open behind him. You could see the navy comforter on his bed, a folded hoodie on the desk chair, a pair of sneakers lined neatly near the closet. Everything about it was so Tucker that your chest hurt.
He turned to face you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you said, “I’m sorry.”
His brows pulled together. “What are you sorry for?”
“For last night. For making it weird.”
“You didn’t make it weird.”
“Tucker.”
“All right,” he said, mouth twitching faintly. “Maybe a little weird.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. It came out nervous.
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” you said. “I thought it was obvious.”
“That you meant Logan?”
Your eyes widened. “No.”
“Because it sounded pretty obvious to everyone else.”
“That’s because everyone else is stupid.”
His smile showed for half a second, then faded into something softer. “You said John.”
“Your name is John.”
“Nobody calls me John.”
“I know.” You rubbed your palms against your jeans, hating how shy you suddenly felt. “That’s why I thought it would be obvious.”
Tucker stared at you.
Then he huffed a quiet laugh and looked down, shaking his head. “You’ve had a crush on me long enough to start using my government name?”
Your face went hot. “Don’t say it like that.”
“How should I say it?”
“You shouldn’t.”
He stepped a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough that you noticed. You noticed everything when it came to him.
“Were you serious?” he asked.
The teasing was gone now.
You swallowed. “Yes.”
His gaze searched yours. “You were pretty drunk.”
“I was tipsy.”
“You were drunk enough that Dean almost made sense.”
“That is not fair.”
“It’s a little fair.”
You smiled, but Tucker didn’t. Not really. His eyes stayed steady on your face, gentle and cautious in a way that made your heart squeeze.
“I’m not gonna do anything because of something you said last night,” he said. “Not unless I know you mean it now.”
Your breath caught.
Sweet, decent Tucker, making sure there was solid ground beneath both of you before he took a single step.
You looked at him and felt every bit of your embarrassment settle into something warmer.
“I mean it,” you said.
His jaw flexed.
“You sure?”
“I’m sober. I’m humiliated, but I’m sober.”
That got you another almost-smile.
“And you meant me?” he asked.
You tried to roll your eyes, but your voice came out softer than you wanted. “I said John.”
“There are two of us, sweetheart.”
“Yeah.” You held his gaze. “But there’s only one I wanted.”
The air between you changed.
It wasn’t loud or sudden. There was no dramatic shift, no big movement. Tucker just went very still, and for the first time since you had known him, you saw the restraint in him crack.
He stepped closer.
Not touching yet. Not quite.
“How long?” he asked.
You blinked. “What?”
“How long have you wanted me?”
You looked past him into his room, then back at his face. “A while.”
His eyes dipped to your mouth.
“I’ve been trying to be decent about it,” he said. “Thought I was doing a pretty good job until last night.”
“What happened last night?”
His mouth tilted, but there was still something bruised underneath it. “I had to listen to you say his name and pretend it didn’t bother me.”
You shook your head. “I said yours.”
Tucker’s hand lifted slowly, giving you time to move away. You didn’t. His fingers touched your jaw, warm and careful, his thumb brushing just beneath your cheek.
“Say it again.”
Your breath came in a little unsteady. “I meant you.”
His eyes held yours.
“Good,” he murmured.
Then he kissed you.
The first kiss was soft. Almost too soft. His mouth moved over yours like he was still asking, like he was giving you every chance to decide this wasn’t what you wanted after all.
You answered by fisting your hand in his shirt and pulling him closer.
The second kiss broke whatever careful thing he had been holding onto.
Tucker made a low sound against your mouth, one hand sliding to your waist as he stepped into you. Your back touched the doorframe. His body was warm and solid in front of yours, and the shock of finally having him this close went straight through you.
He kissed like he did everything else, steady until he wasn’t. Patient until he had a reason not to be. His hand held your waist, thumb pressing lightly through the fabric of your shirt, while the other tilted your face up for him.
When his mouth left yours, it only went as far as your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive place just below your ear.
“Tuck,” you breathed.
He paused.
The sound of his name seemed to do something to him. His fingers tightened at your waist, and his breath brushed hot against your skin.
“One more time,” he said.
You closed your eyes. “Tucker.”
He kissed your neck, slower now, open-mouthed and warm. Your knees weakened, and he noticed, of course he noticed, because his arm slid more firmly around you.
Behind you, the living room erupted in laughter over something completely unrelated, muffled by the hallway and the blood rushing in your ears.
Tucker lifted his head. His eyes had darkened, but his voice stayed low. “You want to stop?”
“No.”
“You want to go in?”
You nodded, then remembered he needed words. “Yes.”
His gaze softened for one brief second.
Then he reached past you, pushed his bedroom door open wider, and walked you backward inside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The sound was small, but it made your stomach tighten.
Tucker turned the lock, then faced you again. For a second, he just looked at you, like he was memorizing the sight of you standing in his room with kiss-swollen lips and nervous hands.
Then his eyes dropped to your mouth.
For a moment, he did not say anything. He just stood there with his hand still near the lock, jaw tight, chest rising a little too slow, like he was trying to decide how much restraint he had left.
Then he crossed the room.
You barely had time to breathe before his hands were on your waist and his mouth was on yours.
The kiss was not soft this time. It was deep, certain, his fingers pressing into your sides as he walked you backward toward the bed. You went with him, hands catching at his shoulders, your stomach flipping at the difference in him.
Tucker was always careful. Always steady.
Now he was steady in a way that felt dangerous.
Your legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he pulled back just enough to look at you.
“You meant me,” he said.
It was not really a question.
You swallowed. “Yes.”
His eyes moved over your face, then down to your mouth again.
“Good.”
Then he kissed you again.
His hands slid beneath your shirt, warm palms dragging up your bare skin. You shivered, and he noticed, but he did not stop to ask if you were cold. His mouth stayed on yours while his fingers curled into the hem.
“Arms up,” he murmured.
You obeyed before you could think better of it.
He pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion and tossed it aside. His eyes dropped to your chest, still covered by your bra, and the way he looked at you made your face warm.
Not because he looked shocked.
Because he looked focused.
Like every second of holding back had led him here.
“Tucker,” you whispered.
His gaze came back to yours. “Don’t get shy on me now.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” His thumb brushed over your ribs, just beneath the band of your bra. “But you don’t have to be.”
He reached behind you and unclasped it. The straps slipped down your arms, and he pulled it away slowly, adding it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.
You were bare from the waist up now, standing in front of him in only your jeans, and Tucker went quiet again.
“You’re staring,” you said, but your voice came out weaker than you wanted.
“I know.”
Your breath caught.
His mouth came back to your neck, then lower, open and warm over your collarbone. His hands held your waist as he kissed down your chest, taking his time with you in a way that made your knees feel unreliable.
You gripped his shoulders.
He smiled against your skin. “You wanted me quiet and sweet?”
“No.”
His mouth brushed over your breast, and your answer broke into a gasp.
“No?” he repeated.
You shook your head, fingers tightening in his shirt. “No.”
“Good.” He lifted his head. “Because I’m not feeling very sweet right now.”
The words sent heat straight through you.
You reached for his shirt, impatient now, tugging at the fabric. Tucker let you pull it up, then took over when your hands got clumsy. His shirt came off and landed somewhere near yours.
For one second, you forgot how to move.
He was all warm skin and hard muscle beneath your hands, his stomach tightening when your fingers dragged down the center of his chest. You had seen him shirtless before. Everyone had. But not like this. Not with his mouth still swollen from kissing you and his eyes fixed on yours like he wanted to watch you realize exactly what you had asked for.
Your hands went to his belt.
He caught your wrist before you could open it.
“Not yet.”
Your pulse jumped.
He sat you down on the edge of the bed, then dropped to his knees in front of you. His hands moved to the button of your jeans.
He opened them, dragged the zipper down, and pulled the denim over your hips. You lifted yourself enough to help, and he slid them down your legs. He pulled off one shoe, then the other, then removed your jeans completely and dropped them beside the bed.
You were left in your underwear.
Tucker’s hands settled on your knees.
He spread them apart slowly.
Your stomach tightened at the look on his face.
“There,” he said, voice low. “That’s better.”
Your fingers twisted in the comforter. “You’re being very smug.”
His hand slid up your thigh, his thumb pressing into the soft skin there.
“I spent too long pretending I didn’t want this,” he said. “I’m not pretending anymore.”
You reached for him, but he pushed your hand gently back to the mattress.
“Tuck.”
His eyes lifted.
“Say it again.”
You knew what he meant.
“Tucker.”
The tension in his face shifted into something darker.
He leaned in and kissed the inside of your thigh.
“Again.”
“Tucker.”
His mouth moved higher.
You sucked in a breath when his fingers hooked into your underwear.
He pulled them down slowly, eyes on yours until they passed your knees. Then he took them off completely and tossed them onto the floor with the rest of your clothes.
Now you were naked on the edge of his bed, and he was still kneeling in front of you in only his jeans.
The imbalance of it made your whole body burn.
Tucker noticed.
Of course he did.
His hands slid up your thighs, firm and warm, spreading you open again when your legs tried to close.
“Don’t hide.”
The words were quiet, but there was no uncertainty in them.
You let your knees fall apart.
His eyes dropped.
A rough breath left him.
Then he leaned in and put his mouth on you.
Your back arched instantly, one hand flying to his hair, the other gripping the sheets. Tucker’s hands locked around your thighs, holding you open as he licked into you with none of the hesitation he’d shown at the door. He was still controlled, still Tucker, but this was a different kind of control. The kind that let him take his time because he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Tucker,” you gasped.
He hummed against you, and the vibration made your hips jerk.
His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you where he wanted you.
“That’s it,” he murmured, mouth brushing against you. “That’s what I want to hear.”
You barely had time to process the words before his mouth returned.
He figured you out fast. What made your legs tremble, what stole your breath, what had you clutching his hair and murmuring his name like nothing else mattered.
When you tried to muffle yourself with your hand, he stopped just long enough to reach up and pull it away.
“No.”
You blinked down at him, dizzy. “They’ll hear.”
His thumb stroked over your wrist once before he pinned your hand gently to the mattress.
“Then they’ll know.”
Your body reacted before you could stop it, clenching around nothing, and Tucker saw it. His eyes darkened, mouth curving slightly before he lowered his head again.
This time, he added his fingers.
You cried out before you could catch it.
“There,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction.
He worked you with his mouth and hand until the room blurred at the edges, until the noise downstairs faded into nothing but a distant hum. He did not need to keep bringing up the mistake. The possessiveness was in the way he held you open, in the way he dragged your sounds out of you, in the way his eyes lifted every time you said his name.
You were close too quickly.
Tucker knew that too.
He curled his fingers, and your whole body tightened.
“Tuck,” you gasped.
He looked up at you.
“Come for me.”
You did.
It hit hard, rushing through you in a wave that made your thighs tremble around his shoulders. Tucker did not stop until you were shaking, until your hand had gone loose in his hair and your breathing had turned uneven.
Only then did he ease back.
He kissed your thigh once, slower now, almost gentle.
Then he stood.
You watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and the sight made heat bloom in you all over again.
His eyes stayed on yours as he undid his belt.
The buckle opened. Then the button. Then the zipper.
He pushed his jeans down his hips, taking his boxers with them, and kicked both aside. Now there was nothing between you except the few inches of space he crossed when he leaned over you again.
You reached for him, wrapping a hand around him, and Tucker’s breath caught hard.
His head dipped, mouth brushing your shoulder.
“Easy,” he said, voice strained.
You moved your hand again, slower this time, learning the weight and heat of him.
His hips pressed forward into your touch before he caught himself.
“Sweetheart.”
You liked how wrecked he sounded.
You did it again.
This time, his hand covered yours, stilling you.
“Condom,” he said, rough and breathless.
Even now, worked up and possessive and looking at you like he wanted to forget the rest of the house existed, Tucker remembered.
He reached over to the nightstand, yanked the drawer open, and pulled one out. The wrapper tore between his fingers, and you watched him roll it on, your mouth dry, your whole body aching.
When he looked back at you, something in his expression softened for half a second.
Then he moved over you.
He guided you farther up the mattress, settling between your thighs as you lay back beneath him. His body covered yours, warm and solid, one hand braced beside your head while the other hooked under your knee and pulled your leg higher around his waist.
The first press of him against you made you gasp.
Tucker’s eyes stayed on yours.
“You still want me?” he asked, quiet but direct.
“Yes.”
“Say my name.”
“Tucker.”
He pushed into you slowly.
Your mouth fell open, and no sound came out at first. The stretch was full and deep, enough that your fingers dug into his shoulders. Tucker moved inch by inch, jaw clenched, his breathing rough against your cheek.
When he was finally inside you completely, he stopped.
The pause made everything sharper. The weight of him. The feel of him. The way his hand held your thigh up against his side.
You wrapped your other leg around his waist.
“Move.”
His eyes flashed.
The first thrust was slow, deep, dragging the breath from your lungs. The second was firmer. By the third, your nails were in his back and his mouth was against your neck, breathing hard as he found a rhythm that made your thoughts scatter.
This was not soft, not exactly.
It was intimate because it was Tucker. Because he watched you. Because his hand slid under your back to hold you closer. Because every time your breathing changed, he noticed.
But it was rougher than you expected from him. More possessive. His hips drove into yours with a steady, controlled force, his hand firm on your thigh, keeping you open for him. His mouth moved against your jaw, your throat, your lips, like he could not decide where he wanted to claim you most.
“You feel that?” he murmured, voice low against your ear. “That’s what you do to me.”
You moaned, and his pace deepened.
His hand came to your jaw when you turned your face into his shoulder, guiding you back to him.
“No hiding from me.”
“They’ll hear.”
His eyes held yours.
“Let them.”
Your body clenched around him.
A rough sound left his throat, his forehead dropping near yours.
“You liked that,” he breathed.
You could not deny it. Not with him still inside you. Not with his hand on your face and his hips pressed tight to yours.
So you whispered, “Maybe.”
His mouth curved.
Then he moved again, slower this time, deeper, making your back arch.
“Good,” he said. “Then let me hear you.”
His name slipped out louder this time, and Tucker rewarded it with a thrust that made your legs tighten around him. He kept that rhythm, deep and deliberate, his hand sliding between your bodies to touch you where you were still sensitive from his mouth.
The pleasure sparked fast.
“Tuck.”
“I’ve got you.”
His fingers moved in time with his hips, and suddenly you were right there again, clinging to him, breathing his name against his mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Come on, sweetheart.”
You came hard, your whole body tightening around him, a broken sound leaving you as he held you through it. Tucker cursed softly, his rhythm faltering, his face burying against your neck.
A few thrusts later, he followed, pressing deep as his body went tense over yours.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
You could feel his heartbeat against your chest. His breathing was uneven, his hand still curled around your thigh, but the roughness in him had gone quiet.
He kissed your shoulder, then your cheek.
“You okay?” he asked, softer now.
You opened your eyes and found him watching you, warm and serious beneath the mess of his hair.
“Very okay.”
“Good.”
He kissed you once, slow and careful, then eased out of you. He disappeared only long enough to take care of the condom, then came back with tissues, a bottle of water, and one of his shirts.
You sat up, still unsteady, and he helped clean you up without making a big deal of it. Then he slipped the shirt over your head, pulling it down around your thighs.
From downstairs, Logan’s voice carried faintly through the floor.
“Tell her I forgive her!”
You covered your face. “Oh my god.”
Tucker laughed quietly and pulled you into his side.
“Don’t worry,” he said, kissing your hair. “I’ll handle him.”
Content: Smut, Oral Fem Receiving, Pussy Drunk, Hockey Celebration, Graham Has A Thing For Eating Pussy, Spit Play, Praises, Really That Song Again?
The bass thumped through the crowded frat house like a second heartbeat, the air thick with beer, sweat, and pure triumph. Briar had just crushed Atlanta in the final, and Garrett Graham had been the fucking king of the ice. Everyone knew it. He’d scored the game-winner in overtime, and now the entire campus seemed crammed into this one house to celebrate him.
You were buzzing half from the shots Allie kept handing you, half from the overwhelming pride swelling in your chest. Your boyfriend had done that. Your Garrett. The man who still looked at you like you hung the damn moon even after two years together.
“C’mon, get up there!” Allie laughed, already half-drunk and hyped as hell. She laced her fingers together to give you a boost.
The wooden table in the middle of the living room groaned under the weight of empty cups as you climbed up with her help, your short black dress riding dangerously high on your thighs. The crowd cheered at the sight of you up there, but you raised both arms, demanding their full attention.
“LISTEN UP, YOU DRUNKEN BASTARDS!” you shouted, voice carrying over the music. People turned, phones already coming out. “MY BOYFRIEND FUCKED THOSE ATLANTA BITCHES ON THE ICE TONIGHT… AND HE’S GONNA FUCK ME NEXT! SO GIVE ME A FUCKING OVATION FOR GARRETT GRAHAM!”
The room exploded. Cheers, whistles, and roars shook the walls. Someone started chanting Garrett’s name. Cups raised in the air. The energy was electric, wild, and completely his just how you liked it.
From across the room, Garrett watched you with that slow, devastating smile, hazel eyes locked on you like you were the only person in the universe. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower he’d taken after the game, and the tight black t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders did nothing to hide how fucking good he looked.
He didn’t look embarrassed. He looked proud. Hungry. In love.
Dean, standing right beside him with a beer in hand, barked out a laugh. “Bro, if that was Allie up there I’d already have her ass over my shoulder and halfway to a bedroom. You’re really just gonna let her—”
“Yeah,” Garrett cut him off, voice low and warm, eyes never leaving you. “Let her have this. Look how happy she is. She’s proud of me. That’s my girl up there screaming my name like that… she’s the whole reason I played like my life depended on it tonight.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, but his gaze was pure heat. The kind that promised he’d absolutely deliver on every filthy word you’d just yelled.
You caught his stare from the table and grinned, cheeks flushed, heart racing.
The crowd was still losing their minds around you, but all you could focus on was the way Garrett was looking at you like he was already imagining exactly how he was going to ruin you later.
Allie tugged at your leg, laughing. “Babe, you’re insane and I love you. Get down before you break your neck!”
You let her help you off the table, legs a little shaky from adrenaline and alcohol you barely had both feet on the ground before the crowd parted and Garrett was right there. Strong hands caught your waist, steadying you as the adrenaline made your legs feel like jelly.
Before you could say anything, he pulled you flush against his chest and kissed you like he’d been starving for it. Deep, hungry, tongue sliding against yours in front of half the fucking party. His fingers dug into your hips, possessive and warm, and you melted into him instantly.
When he finally let you breathe, you grinned up at him, cheeks burning, heart hammering.
“I love you so fucking much,” you breathed against his mouth, “and I’m so fucking proud of you, baby. You were incredible tonight.”
Garrett’s eyes darkened with heat and something softer, deeper. He cupped your face with one big hand, thumb brushing your bottom lip, and kissed you again slower this time, but no less filthy. A slow glide of tongues that had your toes curling in your shoes. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Fuck, I love you too,” he murmured, voice rough and low just for you. “Hearing you scream that up there… telling everyone I’m gonna fuck you next?” He let out a dark little chuckle that sent heat straight between your legs. “You’re insane. And you’re all mine.”
His hands slid down to squeeze your ass shamelessly, not caring who saw. You could feel him already half-hard against your stomach, the thick outline pressing through his jeans.
“You’ve been hyping me up all season, wearing my jersey, screaming louder than anyone in the stands,” he continued, lips brushing your ear. “You deserve to feel so fucking good tonight, baby. Let me take you upstairs. Let me thank you properly… with my mouth or my cock whatever you choose. I want to taste how proud you are of me.”
He nipped your earlobe, then soothed it with his tongue, voice dropping even lower.
“Say yes and I’ll eat this pretty pussy until you’re shaking. I’ve been thinking about burying my face between your thighs since the final buzzer.”
Your core clenched at his words. Garrett had always been vocal, but tonight he was extra filthy—fueled by victory, pride, and pure need for you.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes blazing with that intense focus he usually saved for the ice. Waiting. Patient, but clearly ready to drag you upstairs the second you gave the word.
You bit your lip, looking up at him with that mischievous, horny little smile he loved so much. The music pulsed around you, but the rest of the party had faded into background noise. All you could feel was the heat of his body and the way his eyes devoured you.
“What do you think?” you whispered, voice sweet but dripping with challenge. You grabbed his wrist and slowly guided his big hand under the hem of your short dress, right there in the middle of the crowded room.
Garrett’s breath hitched the second his fingers brushed your bare, soaked pussy. No panties. Just slick, warm, dripping arousal coating his fingertips as he cupped you possessively.
“Fuck, baby…” he groaned low in his throat, eyes flashing with raw hunger. Two thick fingers slid through your folds, teasing your entrance before circling your swollen clit. “You’re fucking drenched. Walking around my victory party with this pretty cunt bare and dripping for me? You really are trying to kill me tonight.”
You whimpered softly as he pressed one finger just inside you, enough to make your thighs tremble. He curled it slowly, perfectly, like he already knew exactly how to make you fall apart.
Garrett pulled his hand free, brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, and sucked them clean with a filthy moan that sent another rush of wetness down your thighs.
That was it.
Without another word, he bent down, grabbed you like you weighed nothing, and tossed you over his broad shoulder. One strong arm locked around the backs of your thighs, your dress riding up so high your bare ass was practically on display for anyone looking.
You let out a surprised laugh that quickly turned into a needy moan when his free hand boldly palmed your exposed cheek and squeezed hard. “Garrett!” you squealed, half-laughing, half-turned on beyond belief as he started carrying you through the crowd toward the stairs.
People whistled and cheered as you passed. Dean shouted something like “Fucking finally!” but Garrett didn’t even glance at them. His focus was locked on you on the way your soaked pussy was inches from his face, on how you squirmed over his shoulder, on the little whimpers you couldn’t hold back.
He took the stairs two at a time, one hand still gripping your ass, fingers dangerously close to where you needed him most.
“You’re gonna be screaming my name all night, baby,” he promised, voice dark and rough as he kicked open the door to an empty bedroom at the end of the hall. “I’m not stopping until this pussy is ruined and you can’t walk straight tomorrow.”
The second the door clicked shut, Garrett spun you off his shoulder and kissed you like he was dying of hunger.
It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate, messy, and filthy. His mouth claimed yours, tongue fucking into you deep while his hands roamed everywhere squeezing your ass, sliding up your dress, gripping your waist like he couldn’t decide which part of you he wanted to devour first. You moaned into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair, tugging hard the way he liked.
He walked you backwards until your knees hit the bed, then tossed you onto it with zero effort. You bounced once on the mattress, dress bunched up around your hips, legs spread, pussy completely exposed and glistening. Garrett stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like you were his favorite meal.
“Wait, wait—” he said suddenly, voice rough with lust. He held up one finger, that cocky little smirk tugging at his lips. “Let me put on some music to get inspired.”
You watched, breathless and amused, as he grabbed his phone, scrolled for a second, and hit play. The opening guitar riff of Cherry Pie by Warrant blasted through the room.
You let out a surprised laugh. “Again? That song?”
Garrett chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating straight to your core. He tossed the phone onto the dresser and crawled onto the bed, hovering over you with that devastating blue-eyed smirk.
“What can I say?” He leaned down, brushing his nose along your jaw. “It keeps me inspired. Every time I hear it I think about spreading your legs and burying my face in that sweet pussy until you’re dripping down my chin.”
He kissed you again, slower this time but no less hungry, swallowing the moan that escaped your throat. His hand slid up your inner thigh, fingers teasingly close to where you were aching for him, but not quite touching yet.
“You looked so fucking hot on that table tonight,” he murmured against your lips between kisses, “yelling that I was gonna fuck you. Got me so hard I could barely think straight.” He nipped your bottom lip. “Now I’m gonna make good on that promise, baby.”
His kisses trailed down your neck as the guitar solo kicked in, his big body pressing you deeper into the mattress. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, thick and insistent against your bare thigh.
He kissed, licked, and sucked along your throat with filthy hunger, teeth grazing that sensitive spot that always made you shiver. One of his hands pinned your wrist above your head while the other tugged the straps of your dress down your shoulders, exposing your tits.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice thick. He kissed lower, lips brushing over your collarbone before latching onto one of your nipples. He sucked hard, tongue flicking and swirling, while his hand kneaded the other breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers until you were arching off the bed with a broken moan.
“Garrett…” you whimpered, already impatient. Your free hand fisted in his hair, trying to push him lower. Your pussy was throbbing, dripping onto the sheets, aching for his mouth. “Please… stop teasing. I need you.”
He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending sparks straight to your core. Instead of moving faster, he took his time on your other nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth with obscene wet sounds while his hand slid down your stomach, fingertips brushing just above your clit before pulling away again.
“You’re so fucking impatient tonight, baby,” he murmured, kissing down the valley between your breasts. “I just won the championship and my girl screamed to the whole party that I’m gonna fuck her… You really think I’m rushing this?”
He looked up at you, eyes dark with lust, lips shiny. “I’ve been dreaming about eating this pussy all night. I’m gonna take my time.”
Still, he kept moving lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, tongue dipping into your belly button for a second just to make you squirm. Your hips kept bucking up, desperate for friction, but he held you down with one strong hand on your hip, keeping you right where he wanted you.
“Garrett, please,” you begged, voice shaky. “I’m so wet it hurts.”
He groaned at your words, finally settling between your spread thighs. His broad shoulders pushed your legs wider apart as he stared at your dripping pussy like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.
“Jesus Christ, baby…” He licked his lips. “Look how fucking pretty and sloppy you are for me.”
Garrett’s breath ghosted over your soaked pussy as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss right on your mound, right above your clit.
Then another. And another. Teasing you mercilessly while the guitar riffs kept playing in the background.
He moved lower, kissing along the crease of your thigh, then the other, before finally pressing his lips to your slick outer folds. Soft, reverent kisses at first almost worshipful like he was savoring the moment. Then he inhaled deeply, nose brushing against your wetness as he breathed you in.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “You smell so fucking good. Sweet and horny… all for me.”
The sound that left your throat was pure need. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling hard as you tried to grind against his face. Garrett let out a low, filthy chuckle that vibrated against your pussy.
“Easy, greedy girl,” he murmured, lips brushing your folds with every word. “I’ve got you.”
He kissed your pussy again, slower this time, dragging his lips up and down your slit, coating them in your slick. He licked once, long and flat from your entrance all the way to your clit, then pulled back just to look at how wet you were, eyes half-lidded with pure lust.
You yanked his hair harder, hips rolling desperately. “Garrett, please stop fucking teasing me.”
He moaned at the sharp tug on his hair, clearly loving the way you were manhandling him. Without warning he dove in, mouth latching onto your pussy with hungry, filthy enthusiasm. His tongue licked broad stripes through your folds, savoring every drop of your arousal like it was his favorite flavor in the world.
“Mmhh— fuck, you taste even better than you smell,” he growled between long, messy licks. “So fucking wet… dripping all over my tongue.”
Your back arched off the bed as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking fast and perfect while two thick fingers teased your entrance. You pulled his hair even tighter, thighs shaking around his head, and Garrett groaned loudly against your cunt, the vibration making you cry out.
“No,” you gasped, yanking his head up just enough to meet his eyes. “No fingers. Just your tongue, Garrett. Please.”
A slow, wicked smirk spread across his shiny, slick-covered mouth. His eyes were dark with pure lust as he looked up at you from between your thighs.“Your wish, my command, dollie,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
Then he dove back in like a man on a mission.
Garrett flattened his tongue and licked a long, slow stripe up your entire pussy, collecting every drop of your slick before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit. He sucked it into his mouth like it was his favorite piece of candy gentle at first, then harder, rhythmic pulses that had your eyes rolling back.
“Fuck— yes, just like that,” you moaned, hips bucking against his face.
He groaned loudly against your cunt, the sound vibrating straight through your clit as he sucked and licked with messy enthusiasm. His hands gripped your thighs hard, spreading you wider so he could bury his face deeper. He was making obscene, wet sounds slurping, sucking, humming with pleasure like he couldn’t get enough of your taste.
Every time you pulled his hair, he sucked your clit harder, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue before sucking it again, over and over, until your legs started shaking uncontrollably around his head.
“You’re so fucking sweet,” he panted between long, hungry licks, his voice muffled against your dripping pussy. “Keep dripping for me, baby. I could eat this pretty cunt for hours.”
He sealed his mouth around your clit again, sucking with perfect pressure while his tongue worked you relentlessly. Your slick was all over his chin, his lips, even the tip of his nose, but Garrett didn’t care. If anything, it seemed to make him hungrier. He moaned into you like a starving man finally getting fed, completely lost in the taste and feel of you.
His tongue licked you everywhere: long, messy strokes through your dripping folds, circling your clit, dipping inside your tight hole to fuck you with it, then dragging back up to lap at every drop of slick that kept pouring out of you.
You were a moaning, trembling mess beneath him, hips grinding against his face as Cherry Pie played on repeat in the background.
“You really enjoy eating pussy, don’t you?” you gasped between broken moans, fingers yanking hard at his hair.
Garrett pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips swollen and glistening, chin shiny with your juices. His eyes were glazed with pure lust.
“It’s my favorite meal,” he growled, voice hoarse and dripping with hunger. “And yours is the best I’ve ever had, baby.”
Without warning, he gathered saliva in his mouth and spit directly onto your swollen clit. The wet sound was filthy and hot as hell. You cried out, thighs twitching, but before you could even process it, Garrett dove back in like a man possessed.
He devoured you with renewed intensity sucking your clit hard, licking up his own spit mixed with your slick, then spitting on you again just to watch it drip down your folds before he licked it all up.
The obscene, wet sounds of him eating you filled the room louder than the music. He was moaning continuously into your pussy, completely addicted, tongue working faster and sloppier as he chased your pleasure like it was his own.
“Fuck— Garrett!” you whimpered, back arching sharply off the bed.
He gripped your ass with both hands, tilting your hips up so he could bury his tongue even deeper, fucking you with it while his nose rubbed perfectly against your clit.
He was drunk on you messy, greedy, and so fucking good at it that your vision was starting to blur.
Garrett let out a deep, needy groan against your pussy and doubled down. He didn’t slow down. If anything, he got more eager, more desperate, like your pleasure was feeding him. His tongue kept working your clit in fast, perfect circles while he sucked rhythmically, messy and loud, his hands gripping your ass so tightly you knew you’d have marks tomorrow.
“That’s it, baby,” he growled against your clit, barely pulling away long enough to speak. “Cum on my tongue. Let me taste it. I want every fucking drop.”
You were shaking, thighs clamped around his head, fingers yanking his hair so hard it had to hurt, but Garrett loved it. He moaned even louder, the vibration pushing you right to the edge. He kept licking and sucking without mercy, tongue flicking relentlessly over your swollen clit while he buried two fingers deep inside you this time, curling them perfectly against that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.
You tried to warn him again, but all that came out was a broken cry.
“I’m— fuck, I’m cumming—!”
Your orgasm crashed over you hard. Your whole body tensed, back arching violently off the bed as you came with a loud, shameless moan of his name. Garrett didn’t stop for a second. He kept licking and sucking through every pulse, every tremble, drinking down everything you gave him with filthy, satisfied groans.
He looked wrecked face shiny with your cum, eyes dark with lust but he still kept going, gentler now but no less hungry, licking you through the aftershocks like he couldn’t bear to pull away.
“Oh fuck, Garrett… you’re so fucking good.”
He hummed happily against your oversensitive pussy, clearly pleased with the praise. Instead of pulling away, he kept licking you slowly, gently, cleaning up every trace of your orgasm with long, lazy strokes of his tongue. Soft, thorough licks that sent little aftershocks through your body.
“Mmm, that’s my good girl,” he murmured, voice low and warm, lips brushing against your slick folds as he spoke. “You came so fucking hard for me. Tasted so sweet, baby. I could live between these thighs.”
He gave your clit a soft, affectionate suck, then licked lower, pushing his tongue inside you to drink up the rest of your release. Every slow pass of his tongue was accompanied by more praise, murmured right against your soaked skin.
“Look at this pretty pussy… still dripping for me even after you came.”
Another long lick.
“So fucking wet. So perfect.”
A gentle kiss to your swollen clit.
“My favorite fucking meal. You did so good, dollie. Let me clean you up nice and slow.”
You whimpered, oversensitive but too blissed out to stop him. Your fingers loosened in his hair, now stroking through the messy strands as he continued his gentle worship. Garrett took his time, licking and kissing every inch of your pussy like he was savoring the taste of your orgasm. His big hands caressed your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles while his mouth stayed busy.
He looked up at you between your legs, hazel eyes dark and full of adoration, chin and lips still shiny with you.
“You have no idea how much I love this,” he said softly, pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to your clit. “Eating you, making you fall apart… best part of my night. Every night.”
god, it’s brutal out here — a garrett graham x f!reader request
a/n: my first GG fic — I hope I did him justice and this is what you were hoping for.
warnings; the boys being little shits, cursing, name calling, G being G and defending you, fluffy.
You and Garrett have been secretly dating for three months. And those three months had been fucking perfect. You had made him promise you that you could keep it quiet until you knew for sure if this was something that you were willing to blow up the entire friend group over. You and Allie had been best friends since day one of freshman year when you met in the campus production of 'Beetlejuice' and Garrett was Dean's best friend.
Allie and Dean were going on eleven months together, exclusively. Loud and proud. Which made things a little messy for you two — ergo, the promise that you had made Garrett swear to one night before he kissed you for the first time.
"We are low key until we know for sure," and Garrett had agreed immediately: willing to do anything and everything if it meant being able to call you his.
That was a while ago and it was starting to wear on you, all of this sneaking around.
When the hockey team were around, which was often, nothing was different between you two. You would make sarcastic cracks about his hair, he'd roll his eyes and quip something back about your lonely dating life and your eyes would narrow even though you both knew the truth.
Late at night, when your roommates were asleep, you took turns sneaking into each other's rooms and spending the night. You'd play music on your laptop and you'd lay in his bed beside him and you two would just exist.
Together.
The boys had noticed you spending more and more time around the house during daylight hours and had voiced their suspicions.
Dean straight up knew you two were 'at the very least fucking', he had said confidently one day in the library.
Someone hushed him and he makes a face in the direction of the sound before John Logan joins in.
"Garrett's not that stupid to get involved in that craziness," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Last thing he needs is a distraction like Y/F/L/N."
"She's stuck the fuck up," Dean groans gently. "Up tight, like shove a lump of coal up her ass and in two weeks you'd have a god damn diamond," he smirks.
This solicits a laugh from the group and your knee starts to bounce up and down nervously under the table you're sitting at.
The entire campus knew that you had come from old money. Your great grandfather was a hotel tycoon and you were poised to inherit the chain of international hotels with your family's name when you were 'ready'. But that wasn't all.
You were the youngest of three girls — your sisters had gone the socialite route and ditched school to become famous for just being rich. It gave you a shadow that you desperately tried to crawl out of. And a destiny that you weren't ready for nor wanted.
On campus, you're the icy heiress who cuts down anybody and everybody who dares speak to her. You're poised, confident in your skill set and are aware of what you want - some could even call you a bitch.
The only person who seemed to see through all of the bullshit and right down to who you truly were was Garrett.
He understood what it was like to be expected to do great things from a young age. He knew what it was like to have a family member who stole the spotlight and occasionally would drop the act and act like their fucking family again.
He saw the girl who liked to snuggle up and watch romantic comedies until she passed out in his arms. The girl who cries over her sisters' problematic headlines but doesn't bat an eye when she herself goes viral on Fifth Line for showing up to a game.
And if he were hearing this right now…
Beau Maxwell speaks up now and your stomach starts to churn as you know damn well who they're talking about.
"She just seems so uptight, I've never seen her actually relax," he points out in a hushed tone and you chew on your bottom lip.
It's not like the hockey team had been exactly welcoming, either.
After Garrett and Hannah's messy breakup after the St. A's game, things had definitely changed in the Hawks' house. The boys were now extra protective of Garrett and his feelings, something they could've cared less about before. But now that he was seemingly wounded, they had to watch out for their boy.
But Garrett wasn't wounded. If anything, Hannah was in the past and Y/N was the future.
Which was why he was so god damn frustrated with the arrangement that he'd agreed to in such a hurry that night.
Yes, for all intents and purposes, officially you were his girlfriend. The thought made his heart skip a beat. You understood hockey, you knew what it was like to have such pressure upon you and you knew what fame felt like and what was expected of you.
But he couldn't kiss you before he drops you off for class. He can't wrap his arms around your waist and kiss your neck like he wants to after a long practice where Coach was up his ass the entire time. And he sure as hell can't call you 'baby' without being looked at like he had three heads and having to explain everything before you were ready to.
So he bites his tongue and he clenches his jaw when he wants to kiss you. He digs his fingernails into his palms when he wants to nuzzle your neck and he kicks his own ass mentally whenever he feels the urge to call you anything out of your name.
And when you're alone, his hands are in your hair, lips anywhere he can get them. He's whispering how much he loves you and how much he longs for the day that he can show you off. And you fucking eat it up with a spoon.
"Totally wrong for G," Dean mumbles with a shake of his head. "And she's completely stuck up for someone who doesn't know the first thing about decorum," and you scoff softly before covering your mouth immediately. That's fucking rich coming from Dean of all people. Before Allie, he threw his dick at anybody who had a pulse and batted their long eyelashes up at him.
You'd grown up in the same circles at Dean, so hearing his judgment on you wasn't new. You'd heard it throughout high school in New York City with him — a private establishment on the Upper East Side where only the most elite of celebrity children and rich kids got to go.
But to hear John Tucker's voice - that was the final nail in the coffin.
"She's kind of a bitch," he states simply and the boys all nod in agreement and you inhale slowly.
Your shaking hands close your textbook and you slowly slide them into your backpack and stand. You can feel the corners of your eyes burning and your eyes are watering. You walk out of the library and shoulder your bag quickly as you hasten your feet and storm off.
Your thumb brings up Garrett's contact and you see his location: the gym. While his team is trashing you in public, he's clueless across campus putting in the work. And you make your way towards the gym, heart racing.
The ten minute walk does nothing to calm you down and your arrival is announced by the heavy metal door swinging open and hitting the cinder block wall behind it. Garrett jumps slightly and looks over his broad shoulder at the interruption and softens immediately when he sees you.
"Hey," he says with a gentle smile, confused yet pleased with your sudden appearance. He racks his weights and smirks, "What are you doing here, I thought you were studying for finals?" he asks, reaching up and stroking your cheek.
Garrett senses something is off with you and he scans your face for any sign or clue. When that doesn't help, he just flat out asks, "What's up, baby?"
You fall apart and blurt everything out, how Dean was orchestrating a 'Fuck Y/N' club meeting in the library this afternoon and how the entire time had joined in on ragging on you. You sniffle and gasp for air, trying to calm yourself down and his jaw tenses.
"They said all that?" he asks evenly, eyes flickering over your shoulder before back on you.
You wipe your face and shake your head, "It's whatever, G," you sigh. "They don't have to like me," you mumble.
Garrett stiffens and shakes his head before he grabs your chin and forces you to look up into his eyes.
"No," he says with a halfhearted shrug, "But they do have to respect you," he tells you. And the same hand that was under your chin drops, grabbing your hand and walking out of the gym quietly.
With his free hand, Garrett checks his phone and nods once and sets course towards the house. He's walking faster than usual, like he's got a purpose and he hasn't let go of your hand yet.
You walk across campus, hand in hand with your boyfriend and while that may seem so trivial to some people; right now, you're on cloud nine even though his entire team despises you.
He walks up the steps to the Hawks house a few minutes later and opens the door with a forceful shoulder, letting you step in first.
Dean, Logan, Tucker and Beau are all sitting on the couch with beers, playing NHL 2K26 and only Dean looks over to see who's joined them. He smiles at Garrett and his face falls slightly when he sees you standing with Garrett, fingers entwined.
"Pause the game," Garrett says in a low voice.
Logan laughs, "In a second, I'm about to score."
"Yeah right," Tucker counters, "G, grab a beer my-"
"Pause the fucking game!" Garrett repeats, this time in a dangerous tone and Logan instantly gnashes his thumb into the pause button and the boys all turn their attention to Garrett.
His jaw is clenched and he squeezes your hand gently before lifting your hands up and pointing at them.
"You see this? This—" he pulls you into his side by your waist and shakes his head, "Is my girlfriend," he snaps, "Her name is Y/N," he says in a tone that one would use with toddlers.
Tuck sits, dumbfounded, "We know her name," he says simply, waving a hand at Garrett.
"So then tell me why she's telling me she's hearing you calling her a bitch?" he glares at his teammate who turns a deep shade of red and leans back in his seat as he handles his shame.
"And you—" Garrett turns at Logan. "I don't want crazy? I fucking live crazy, that's all I fucking know and she's the only person that knows what that feels like… truly feels like, being a kid in this fucking life," and he's not just talking about fame anymore.
Dean sits up as if he's going to leave before Garrett rounds on him and glares.
"You don't know what's good for me," Garrett tells him simply.
"I do," Dean scoffs gently as if it's the most absurd thing he's ever been accused of.
"You fucking don't because if you did, you'd have noticed I've been the happiest I've been since Hannah—" he motions to you who's simply taking this scene all in, still holding onto him. "Cause of her."
His arm is still around your waist like you're holding him back from doing something really stupid.
"You don't have to like that I'm dating her but you're gonna show her a little bit more fucking respect. No more digs, you say hello to her when you see her—"
The boys bow their heads as if they're getting scolded by Jensen and Garrett shakes his head.
"Fucking Neanderthals, all of you," he states.
Tucker's the one who breaks the silence after a few moments of awkwardness and he sighs.
"Sorry, Y/N," he says simply, "It won't happen again," he tells you seriously as he stands up and walks out of the living room and upstairs.
Logan exhales and rubs his knees gently. "Yeah," he says softly with a shake of his head. "If you make G happy who the fuck am I, right?" he asks softly.
Dean stays quiet, gritting his teeth.
It's clear you're not going to get an apology from Dean but the look on his face offers up some sort of treaty. His pride is too strong to say the words 'I'm sorry' to anybody other than Allie Hayes and you can respect that. Even though you knew you'd get payback one day.
Garrett rolls his eyes at Dean and scoffs, mumbling something under his breath and he looks at you sighing.
"C'mon," he says softly, tugging you towards the front door and leaving Dean and Logan in silence. "Let's go get dinner," he offers. "My treat, our first date," he smirks as he moves his arm from your waist up to your shoulders and he pulls you into him, kissing your temple. Like he hadn't just lit up his entire team for talking about you.
"You're fucking insane," you smirk as he pulls his keys out and opens your door to the passenger side of his Jeep.
Garrett grins down at you and shrugs, "You love it," he reminds you.
"I do," you agree with zero fight, shaking your head. You know it's futile. There's no use in lying to him, he knows you better than that.
"Good," he says. "So," he exhales and reaches over and grabs your hand. He rests it on his thigh and smiles happily. "Malones?"
