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Rich In Love | John Logan

Pairings: John Logan x Reader

Synopsis: an artist from a prominent family finds comfort in a quiet campus art studio, the one place where the suffocating expectations of her wealthy lineage fade away. there, she lets a protective hockey player into her orbit, finding a grounded peace that her high-society world could never provide. however, their sanctuary is shattered during a grand charity gala at her family's estate, what will happen then?

wc: 20.4k

Notes: this took me over a week to write lol thank god its summer break. before reading this is definitely patchwork plot but for the sake of this story we're j gonna pretend beau didnt… also i didnt read the books but i tried to make up for it through research so hopefully its not too ooc. this is definitely not proof read im also not american so sorry for any inaccuracies lol.

#icymi

Hi! I’m sorry to bother you but I really want to read your fic but I don’t want to interact with minors. Again, I’m sorry to bother you but I just wanted to check before interacting.

im 21 !! HAHA ive been too lazy to set up my navigation but let it be known im not a minor !!

#six.asks

Rich In Love | John Logan

Pairings: John Logan x Reader

wc: 20.4k

#six.writes #john logan x reader #off campus x reader #john logan #off campus #john logan fluff #john logan fanfic

puckmegirl

JEALOU$Y (ft. John Logan)

blurb: john logan claims that he doesn’t do jealousy. he thinks he’s above such petty feelings. but what happens when his girlfriend gets hit on at a house party?

warnings: fem!reader, suggestive, established relationship, alcohol

note: i lowk wanna make a smut pt. 2

“Cupcake?”

You turned around at the voice, meeting the face of a 6’2” football player you didn’t know personally but recognized from the Briar sports Instagram account.

He was staring at your headpiece; a frosting top with colorful sprinkles. You realized what he was trying to say.

“Oh, no. I’m chocolate,” you said.

#🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️#off campus x reader #john logan x reader

alierecss

Landslide | John Logan

summary: The thing about Logan is that he always knew what to say. He just kept finding reasons not to say it.

or: the five times Logan almost confessed and the one time he did.

notes: hii!! lazy sunday inspiration, this one is like sabrina short and sweet, hope you guys like it! enjoy your reading!!

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, happy ending.

word count: 4k

I've been afraid of changing because I've built my life around you

You had met Logan at a rink.

This was, in retrospect, the most inevitable thing about you, that two people who had built their entire lives around ice would find each other on it. You had been eleven, in the middle of a spin sequence that wasn't working, frustrated enough that you had stopped and put your hands on your hips and glared at the ice like it had personally wronged you. He had been eleven too, sitting in the penalty box with his helmet off, watching you with the focused attention of someone who had forgotten he was supposed to be somewhere else.

#SO GOOD #off campus x reader #john logan x reader

pinkfairydreamgirl

Come Under the Covers

part 1

pairing: john logan x f!reader

summary: You and John Logan are childhood best friends. You share the kind of emotional intimacy only two people who have seen each other grow up can have, but now you’re no longer kids, you’re college students and trying to navigate the complex time between childhood and adulthood. Before joining John at Briar U a year after him, you were convinced your silly crush had faded, but now that you’re back in his orbit, you’re no longer so sure. You try your best to remain just friends, but watching him turn from the boy down the street to the big man on campus is harder than you thought. And you’re not sure how much more you can take of watching him overlook you time and time again.

contains: friends to enemies (sort of) to lovers, unrequited love, talk of childhood trauma (abandonment, addiction), no use of y/n, Logan calls reader by nickname (Birdie), cursing, kissing, angst, logan being a dummy

author’s note: inspired by one of my favorite songs :) this was stupid long, i got kinda carried away but i love writing about nostalgia <3 this was just the intro so we’ll get into the actual plot/current day next chapter! also, this is gonna be a series :))) i’m not exactly sure how many parts yet, but i’ll keep u guys updated! lmk what you think 💕

You remember the exact day that John Logan moved in a few houses down.

It was a seemingly unremarkable afternoon on an uncharacteristically hot Monday in June. You were only about a week into summer vacation and had already grown bored of the monotonous routine of your day without school.

The windows were open and blowing a warm breeze onto your wet toenails where the white-out you had painted on was still drying. You had positioned yourself on the window bench seat in your bedroom to be able to see down the street to where the moving truck currently was and were watching while the new neighbors slowly moved things in.

Your older sister suddenly whirled into your shared bedroom and flopped onto her bed on the other side of your space with a huff, her swimsuit likely still wet from swim practice and making the comforter beneath damp.

“Are they still unpacking?” She asked without looking.

“Mhmm,” you hummed.

In your small community, it was rare when something happened that the whole neighborhood didn’t know about, and the new neighbors who would be moving into the beloved Kershaw house were a hot topic. Especially for your oldest sister who’d had her first kiss with the oldest Kershaw boy, Josh.

She’d been devastated when Josh told her they were moving to Florida, hence her being shut away in her room all day. Apparently it didn’t matter that she and Josh hadn’t hung out in quite some time, she had explained to you that she and Josh shared a connection that transcended time.

She threw a pillow at you when you laughed.

And then, when your mom told you to go knock on her door afterwards and check to see if she wanted lunch, you tentatively obeyed, knocking the softest you could, though the eldest of you still screamed to go away through the door like you had banged on it.

You could faintly hear her strumming her guitar behind the chipped, white wood, only minor chords ringing out as her soft voice sung some heartbroken melody. You were tempted to sit outside and listen, but you knew if she caught you, you’d likely get kicked in the face.

“Did you catch what they look like?” Your other sister was now leaning over you to get a look for herself, her wet hair flopping onto your shoulder and you swatted at her to get her chlorine soaked body away.

“You’re dripping on me,” you complained instead of answering, wiping the droplets of moisture off your arms.

“Sorry,” she muttered distractedly, still staring out the window. You bent down to gently touch your freshly painted nails to check if they were dry and cringed when the white out stuck to your finger like glue and created a gap where the white liquid previously was. “I don’t know why you do that,” your sister commented. “We have white nail polish.”

“I saw it in a movie once,” you grumbled, leaning over to grab a tissue to wipe your finger off.

“Ooh, there’s a boy.” The both of you immediately stood up and squished together to be able to see out the window. And there he was, a boy likely somewhere between your ages carrying a large cardboard box into his new house. “Dibs.”

You groaned in protest. “C’mon, no fair.”

“Sorry, you snooze, you lose.”

“How do you even know he’s your age?” You questioned. Though there wasn’t that big of an age difference between you two, a few years felt like decades. You were a good bit younger than both of your sisters and it felt like it. While they were getting their first phones and having their first kisses, you were still playing with Barbie dolls.

While you were painting your nails with white-out, your eldest sister was writing sad love songs in her room about a real experience she had. You had yet to have any.

Unless you were to count Connor Gregory confessing his love for you on the playground in first grade before picking a cicada off the mulch and eating it.

So no, you didn’t count that.

And if either of your sisters continued to keep calling dibs before you, it would likely be a while before you had any.

“I guess we’ll see.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you before running from the room, still in only her swimsuit, and leaves you there sputtering and scrambling to follow.

You both run outside barefoot, the rough concrete of the sidewalk feeling familiar under your feet as you make your way toward the house with the moving truck and various cardboard boxes lying in the yard out front.

The boy you saw from your window was now carrying a box labeled ‘kitchen stuff’ and paused on the sidewalk as he watched you and your sister approach. A woman, who you assumed was his mother, passed by while carrying another box, and began shouting to someone inside to “help your brother.”

His smile warm and kind, his brown hair a little curly and flopping a bit in his eyes. You watched his attention flick back and forth between the two of you before landing on your sister who wasted no time greeting him in her usual fearlessness.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

“John.” You heard it echo in your head like he had shouted it into a tunnel and you let the word reverberate around you. “What’s yours?”

She told him and then introduced you, and when his gaze landed on you once again, you could feel your cheeks heating as you raised your hand in a shy wave. He returned it kindly, his brown eyes soft and curious.

“We live just a few doors down,” your sister explained. “The one with the yellow door if you ever wanna hangout.” She shrugged like she didn’t care either way and then left before hearing John’s response.

The two of you stood there in silence for a beat, the both of you a little struck by your sisters abrupt departure, your eyes looking anywhere but each other.

“Bye,” you blurted suddenly and turned to leave just as quickly as your sister had.

“Bye,” you heard John gently murmur from behind you, and you struggled not to turn back and look at him once again.

You didn’t see John again until a few days later, when the moving trucks were gone and the boxes were off of their lawn and finally inside of their new house.

It was in the evening, the street lights had just come on with a crackle and buzz to paint the street in an orange sort of glow to match the setting sun. You were sitting in one of your favorite pine trees; one that was easiest to climb and had the least amount of sticky sap drooling from its branches.

The rest of the kids had gone inside for dinner, including both of your sisters, but since your dad usually worked late, you wouldn’t actually eat until he got home, which wasn’t until another hour.

You enjoyed the solitude at the end of the day, when your only company was the chirping of insects and the rustling of the wind through the tree branches. You were humming some tune and watching as a daddy long leg crawled across your palms as you alternated hands.

You hadn’t seen him approach, so you jumped when you heard his voice call from down below to ask, “can I come up?”

The daddy long leg had begun to crawl around your hand and up your arm without your attention, the bug completely indifferent to the nervous fluttering in your chest, so you quickly redirected the eight-legged arachnid and croaked out, “uhm…sure.”

You made yourself wait to look at John until he was seated in front of you, his legs swinging from the branch where he sat and chest rising and falling rapidly from the excursion of his climb. You took in his sports jersey that you didn’t recognize and the worn fabric of his converse before finally meeting his gaze, his smile just as friendly as the first time you met him.

As you stared at each other, you scrambled for something—anything to say. But all you could think was that you weren’t your sisters. You weren’t good with your words.

Luckily, he spoke first. “I noticed you like climbing trees.” You could feel your mouth drying up. How did he know? Had he been watching you? “I saw you the past few days, always sitting in this one. It’s nice up here. I like it.”

“I like the view,” you heard yourself say, sudden and clumsy like you were having to rip the words out. He looked out between the branches and nodded, the field below bathed in the warmth of the sunset. “And one time I found a family of birds. They hatched and flew off last year. I left them alone because my mom told me the mama bird may not come back if I touch them, so I just watched. I was sad when they left, though. Sometimes I still think about where they went. If they ever come back. If birds can recognize people.”

When you dared to look at him again, he was watching you with that smile, the one that made your mouth feel dry and your hands clammy. You continued your nervous rambling and avoided eye contact once again.

“Sometimes I think about what it would be like to be a bird. I bet it feels really cool to fly. Freeing. Sometimes I wonder what clouds feel like, if they’re like cotton candy, if they taste like cotton candy. That’d be cool. But then your hands would probably feel sticky afterwards. That’s another reason why I like this tree. It doesn’t have as much sap on its branches. My mom is always getting mad at me for getting sap on my clothes and in my hair.” You pat down your hair then self consciously, knowing your face is likely as red as a tomato with how warm it feels. He’s still staring at you with that same smile and you almost want to yell at him to stop.

“You remind me of a bird.”

It’s the first time you go still since he came up here to join you.

“What?”

“Yeah. I mean, you sit up in trees like a bird. You’re kind of twitchy like birds.”

“Twitchy?” You repeat, deciding you do not like that word.

He laughs. “I don’t know. You seem gentle like a bird, too.” He shrugs, and this time you don’t totally hate the picture he’s painting of how he sees you. “Where would you go?” You look back up at him, unsure of what he means. “If you could fly. Where would you go?”

“Oh.” You think about it. “I don’t know. I haven’t been many places before.”

“Me neither,” he confesses, beginning to pick at his finger nails.

“Maybe somewhere cold?” You guess. “I like the cold.”

“You do?” He seems to perk up at this.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I like the winter, when the lake freezes over and everything is kinda quiet. I like skating.”

He scoots closer toward the edge of the branch, his eyes wider and more excited. “You skate? Have you ever played hockey?”

“No, not really. I’m still learning how to not just fall.” You giggle.

“Maybe I could teach you.” You turn your head at his suggestion, a smile overtaking your face.

“Okay,” you agree. He smiles. You sit in silence for a few more moments before suddenly, you’re breaking it again. “How old are you?”

“Ten. How old are you?”

“Nine.” Then he asks you how old your sisters are. “Twelve and fourteen.”

He nods and then asks you to tell him about them and you wonder if you light up like he did when you brought up hockey. This was a topic you knew, this was something you could talk about for hours.

You tell him about Josh Kershaw and about your sister’s friends; the ones you like and don’t like. You talk about movies and TV shows and the music you like to listen to. He tells you about his younger sibling and his mom, how they had to move when his dad left them. You talk until you hear your mom calling from around the corner that dinner is ready, the both of you reluctantly pausing to climb down.

You think you talk more with him than you have with anyone else, outside of your family.

When you arrive at your front door, you both promise to meet back at the tree the next day, excited and grinning at each other.

And when he turns to leave, he offers a small wave, and tells you, “Goodnight, Birdie.”

You feel like you float home.

It wasn’t until about three years later that you realized what you felt for John Logan was not just friendship.

You were twelve, he was thirteen and already in middle school—as popular and talked about as any beautiful boy was in a small town. You were…not.

Your sisters had been, to a certain extent. But they were often mistaken for twins with them being closer in age and more alike with their tameable hair and lithe bodies. They were talkative and somehow always knew what to say. They made friends easily.

You weren’t the antithesis of those things, you were just…different. Something you didn’t previously know to be a bad thing, but somewhere, somehow that word had begun to morph into something else; something much less appealing.

For starters, you were big for your age. Your mom had told you that you were an early bloomer, whatever that meant. You felt like a weed; growing uncontrollably and unwantedly. Your limbs felt too long, your shins ached at night, and you had been made to start wearing a training bra that was itchy and uncomfortable.

The mirror had never been a place you would stand in front of for very long, but recently it seemed to be where your feet would often take you. And there, you couldn’t help but closely examine the parts of you that were foreign, and specifically, different from my sisters. You had messier hair, half because it was a different texture than theirs, and half because you hardly ever brushed it—despite your mother’s protests. You almost always had sap on your hands and dirt on your knees, and you were thicker in places your sisters weren’t. Your thighs were wider, your belly fuller, and your cheeks rounder.

You weren’t as into sports as your sisters were either; always preferring to write a story or play pretend in your head rather than compete in any sort of competition.

It was a year ago now that your mom suggested theater classes to you, which terrified you at first. The thought of having to stand up on a stage in front of a room full of people and talk paralyzed you.

It had taken you a few classes to like it, but not many more to fall in love with it.

It was just like playing pretend, just with someone else making the rules, and you found that you loved not having to think about what to say since someone had already written the script.

You loved the friends you made doing it. You loved who you were while doing it.

And you loved that it was yours and no one else’s.

And that had been another development in recent months that you had come to hate.

The jealousy.

Sometimes it felt like your world shrunk down to your neighborhood and you would forget all you were without it.

You and John had grown close, but that also meant he had grown close to your family as well, and more specifically, your sisters. And you did not like who you were with the two of them and John around.

The three of you bickered more with him there and it made you feel splayed open; your anger never something you felt comfortable displaying to anyone besides your family.

The biggest fight you and your sisters ever had was over John. He had come over to play some video game. You split up into teams and your middle sister kept picking John for hers. You told her she wasn’t being fair, then your eldest sister jumped in and threatened to involve mom, which only escalated the whole ordeal.

Then, the room finally exploded with, “you only want to switch teams because you have a crush on John!”

The basement was dead silent after that. You could feel your face getting hot and your eyes stinging. When your bottom lip started to wobble, your sister’s face crumpled and she immediately started apologizing.

You ran upstairs to your room, unable to look John in the eye. You cried so hard you felt sick and locked everyone out of your room. Your sister had to sleep in the other room that night and the three of you didn’t speak for a week.

Not until your mom made you all sit on the couch and stare at each other until you made up. It took an hour.

Your crush had begun to feel dirty and wrong more than anything else. You hated the feelings it gave you. You hated what it did to your sisters and you.

You didn’t understand why it seemed like you had to keep your worlds separate; one for John and one for your sisters. It didn’t make sense.

When it was just the three of you, you had so much fun. You loved the moments when you were inside playing rummy on a rainy day. You loved watching your favorite movies and quoting each line because you’d seen them countless times. You even loved fighting over who got to hold the popcorn bowl. You loved the rare nights when you would have sleepovers in your shared room, your eldest in the sleeping bag nestled between your beds. You loved how your stomach and cheeks hurt after a night spent laughing. You loved how warm you felt and how full your chest was. You loved the moments right before bed when you were all too tired to fake not liking each other and you could whisper, “I think you guys are my best friends,” into the dark quiet and not get only laughs in reply.

You wondered if this is what boys did to all girls. Made them isolate themselves in bedrooms and write sad songs, or compete with each other to win their affection but lose each other in the process.

Your crush had begun to resemble spoiled milk. It was sour and curdled in your mouth, and when you were alone you would take it out and examine it. You would shuffle through the mess and analyze your interactions.

But when John was in front of you, it was like you could see nothing else. You thought only of the good times. And there were many.

You thought of the nights when you’d laugh so hard you’d risk falling to the ground, out of your tree. You thought about how you didn’t need to speak, how you could communicate with a simple look and understand exactly what the other was thinking. You thought of how thoughtful he was, how kind.

Luckily, he never mentioned what your sister had said that day in your basement. You went on pretending like nothing ever happened, meeting in your tree each night when the rest of the neighborhood had gone inside.

You’re not sure when exactly it became your shared tree, but somewhere between then and now, it had become a ritual.

Most times, you’d sit in the quiet and listen to the bugs and birds and watch the sun set slowly. Even in the winter, you would bundle up in your coats and brave climbing the slippery, snowy branches to sit up where you had created a little break in the needles, your weight bending the branches slowly over time to create a larger window.

One Christmas, John had gotten walkie-talkies as a present, and he brought them to the tree excitedly, climbing up as high as he could, where the branches were thinner, to talk down to you through the small, handheld device. You’d pretend you couldn’t already hear him without it and listen to the crunchy sound of his voice coming through the speaker.

It was a chilly fall night when he climbed up to meet you, thoughts of the two of you swirling around your brain and leaving space for nothing else. His sweatshirt looked soft and warm. You had brought a blanket with you that your mom would undoubtedly be furious with you over later for bringing and getting sap on, but you liked the feeling of bundling up while leaning against the trunk of the tree.

Most nights, he would talk and you would listen, and somewhere between ten and thirteen, the topics got heavier. He would tell you about his mom, how she tended to drink so much she would fall asleep in random places. Then his dad, how he left and he hasn’t seen him since he was eight.

Sometimes you wondered if you were the only person he was telling this to. You wondered if there was a reason for that.

It was that very thought that made you interrupt his speech about the latest Boston Bruins game to ask, “do you think I’m pretty?”

You didn’t look at him, but you could tell he was surprised by the sudden question. He laughed nervously and then asked, “what?”

“Do you think I’m pretty? I know my sisters are pretty. I know my mom is pretty. But…I don’t really look like them, so I’m wondering if I’m pretty.”

You were poking the bubbles of sap in the tree bark as you awaited his answer, trying not to let it show that your breath was stuck in your throat and your cheeks had reddened in the night’s dark.

”I don’t know, you’re just…Birdie.” You looked at him then, unsure of his meaning. You’re not sure if he knew it either. “You’re something different.”

And there was that word again. The one that had begun to mean something much more ugly than it had before. You decided then that you wished you hadn’t asked at all, because somehow his answer was worse than if he had just said ‘no.’

You never allowed yourself to ask another question that toed the line of your friendship. You cherished you and John’s relationship too much to risk muddying the waters and fucking things up.

It wasn’t until the summer before he left for college that things shifted. And to your surprise, it wasn’t your doing.

You had been sitting up in your tree, dreading the coming of fall that meant not only your sisters leaving, but now John as well. And without your sisters around the past few years, the house felt hollow. Everything was too quiet. It was too easy to fill up all the empty spaces with John.

It was the night before he left, and he met you in your tree late, like he had so many nights before, climbing up with ease and then perching on his branch with a relieved sigh.

“I’m gonna miss this,” he confessed after a few beats.

You couldn’t help but smile. “There will be trees at Briar.”

“Yeah,” he conceded, sounded unconvinced. “But none of them will have you. I’ll miss our conversations.”

When you looked over at him, he was already looking at you with this expression you couldn’t quite name. The last few nights had been like this; heavy with something that lingered and left you feeling achy. You swallowed to try and moisten your dry throat, but you found you couldn’t.

You laughed lightly, trying to recover quickly from his confession, trying hard not to seem too affected. “You mean the ones where you talk and I listen?”

“Hey,” he fakes offense. “I listen plenty. When you have something to say.”

“Which is…not often.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he reasons. You send him a look. “What? It just means when you do say something, I know it’s important. You don’t just talk to talk.”

Again, you’re stunned by his words and unsure what to do with them. You felt like you had been handed something you weren’t sure you were supposed to be carrying.

“Most times. Other times, I babble like an idiot.” He laughs fondly like he remembers the days before you were comfortable enough with him to allow the silences to stretch between you.

“A very cute idiot.” You’re almost angry with him for saying it, though you smile. You don’t understand when or why this shift between you happened. You wondered if it was because he was leaving. Was this some last ditch effort? You tried not to think on it too hard. “At least I won’t have to wait too long. Only a year before you join me at Briar.”

“I don’t know if I’ve got in yet,” you remind him softly, picking at some of the pine needles on the branch beside you.

“Oh come on.” He rolls his eyes. “We both know you’re getting in. If I got in, then you got in.”

“Yes, but you got a hockey scholarship. Briar doesn’t offer those for lowly theater kids like me,” you tease, only half kidding. He extends his leg across the space between you to lightly kick your shin in jest.

“You’ll get in.” He sounds so sure, and you wonder if he’s convincing himself or you. “You have to. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“You’ll survive,” you tell him without doubt. “Briar U’s entire female student population will quiver at the sight of the great John Logan gracing their hollowed halls.”

He throws his head back in laughter, his eyes alight even in the dimmed hue of the evening.

Your chuckles fizzle out, and then you’re left with this heady sort of air between you, his smile soft and fond, his eyes hazy like he’s tipsy.

“What?” You ask him, though you’re scared to.

“Nothing.” He shrugs, though you know he isn’t finished yet and you wait with bated breath for him to continue his thought. “I just really want you there. I need my Birdie.”

His Birdie.

His.

You stare at him for what feels like hours, trying to find something in his face that would reveal the trick or truth. He stares back openly, like he has nothing to hide.

You find it hard to breathe.

Then, you eat up the space between you quickly, vaguely registering that it’s a miracle you don’t knock the both of you out of the tree with how quickly and forcefully you fling yourself at him to kiss him. You’re standing on the branch just below the one he’s sitting on, his hands immediately going to your hips while yours wrap around his neck.

His mouth is still beneath yours for a few beats before he starts to reciprocate, his mouth curving into a smile as he squeezes your hips. You don’t know how long you kiss for, but it feels like one second and one hour all at the same time.

You don’t climb down until your completely out of breath, your skin feeling tight and sensitive as his fingers find where your shirt has ridden up, or his lips at the hollow of your neck just above where your collar starts. When you do make it down, he’s standing at the bottom and reaching up to grab hold of you by the hips, keeping you suspended in the air there for a moment before kissing you again.

Your back hits the bark when he pushes you against the trunk of the tree and you instinctively wrap your legs around him, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs.

You don’t know how or when you finally make it home. You’d start the walk back and then pause again to kiss like you’re starved for each other. You’re giggling like idiots when you finally make it to your front door, his hand in yours tugging you into him to feel his lips again.

“So what does this mean now?” You hear yourself ask, letting your fingers tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“What does what mean now?” You watch his swollen mouth move that now resembles a darker pink than usual from your attention. You fight the urge to feel your own then, your mind hazy and limbs heavy like you’re drunk.

“This, us.”

You don’t sober until he pulls back with a sort of concerned look. “What do you mean ‘us’?”

“Well—“ You find yourself at a loss, unsure what to say. “I thought…” you trail off again.

“Birdie,” he says it low, like you’re a child. A kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Your hands fall to your sides as you back away. ”I’m leaving in a few days.”

“I know,” you reply firmly, your hands balling into fists to keep yourself from reaching back out. You feel shaky all of a sudden, like you’re coming down too quick. You feel desperate to rewind and go back to a few minutes ago.

“We were just…it can’t mean anything.”

And just like that, you feel yourself completely deflate; the needle of truth popping your balloon and you’re yanked back down to reality.

“Why…did you do it then?” You don’t understand and you hate that you don’t. You feel like crying and you hate that you do.

“We were just having fun.”

“Fun?” You echo woodenly, not really sure how what you did constitutes as fun. Enjoyable? Yes. Mind-melting? Absolutely. But fun? Not really. And especially not now.

“I…look, I’m sorry. I just broke up with Janelle and I was feeling lonely. I probably shouldn’t have sought you out like that.” He’s running his hands through his hair, but it just flops back into his face and you itch to push it back but don’t.

“You think?” You laugh bitterly. You hadn’t even known he’d a girlfriend, let alone that her name was Janelle. You feel stupid. You feel used. “So, that’s what these past few days were? Your ego was bruised so you came to me to make yourself feel better? Bigger?”

“No, Birdie—“

“You knew I’d be waiting for you,” You cut him off. “You knew you could kiss me just for fun and I’d let you. That I’d want you to.” You’re not asking because you know. You know your crush hasn’t ever been a secret—not to him, not to anyone. You knew how vulnerable and sad that made you, and yet you didn’t stop him.

“You kissed me,” he corrects, passing blame.

“Because you told me I was yours,” you cry out. “And you knew for years that’s all I’d been dying to be.”

The tears are freely flowing now as you angrily swipe at them. John’s face is crumpled by guilt as he reaches for you but you step away.

“Bird, please. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Your words lash out like a whip. “I gave you every reason to think you could.”

When you turn to go inside, he doesn’t stop you.

And the next day, he’s gone.

dividers by: @pixopix @koosuvi

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all writing is mine. please do not copy, translate, or post to another forum without my permission.

#i need him to grovel hard #john logan x reader #off campus x reader

toonice113

we had it all. (J.Logan)

Pairings: John Logan x fem!reader

Summary: Logan realizes his crush for Hannah isn't actually a crush, but is it too late? or, you realize that Logan has a crush on Hannah through little interactions and decide to distance yourself only for Hannah to make Logan realize his mistake and try to get you back before it's too late.

Word count: 5.4k

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I've always been a Logan girl so here we are. I used a bit of Hannah and Logan's actual scene of realizing he's not actually into her but adapted it a little to fit this story. This is the first time in a while that I write this much so fast so hopefully its good I did not proofread or edit and the ending kinda sucks but oh well.

#LOVE CONFESSION LOGAN.#john logan x reader #off campus x reader

puckmegirl

UPTOWN GIRL (ft. John Logan)

Blurb: a rich uptown girl with car issues keeps visiting the small garage off the highway where the owner’s super hot son works.

Warnings: fem!reader, fluff, lowk ditzy!reader but not really, yummy mechanic!logan.

Logan heard you before he saw you.

He memorized the sound of those heels clicking against the rough pavement like a second heartbeat. After all, not many girls around this side of town wore vintage Prada pumps to an off-highway garage.

And even if they did, they most certainly did not own a BMW 6er f12 convertible.

#UGH THATS MY MANNNN #john logan x reader #off campus x reader

andy-15-07

jealous!Logan!!!!! jealous!Logan!!!!

He Doesn’t Like It

Pairing: John Logan x Reader

Word Count: 1658

Request open!

Off campus masterlist

John was not the kind of jealous boyfriend who made a scene.

That was the problem.

If he had been loud about it, if he had gotten obviously possessive or shoved himself between you and whoever was talking to you, it would have been easier to deal with. You could have rolled your eyes, laughed at him later, maybe even teased him until he admitted he was being ridiculous.

But John did not do ridiculous very often.

John got quiet.

And quiet John was dangerous.

You noticed it at the party in Garrett and Dean’s house, when you wandered into the living room with a drink in your hand and found yourself stuck in conversation with one of John’s old teammates. He was nice enough, probably. He was also talking to you with a little too much interest, standing a little too close, smiling a little too long.

You were already halfway through a polite laugh when you caught sight of John across the room.

He was watching.

Not glaring. Not scowling. Just watching with his drink in hand and that still, unreadable expression he got when something had his full attention. His jaw was set. His eyes were locked on the two of you.

The moment your eyes met, something flickered in his face.

Then he took a slow drink and looked away.

Your stomach tightened.

The guy beside you kept talking. “And then I realized I had the wrong study guide the whole time, which was honestly embarrassing.”

You smiled politely. “That sucks.”

“It really did.” He laughed, then leaned in just a little. “You’re easy to talk to, though.”

Before you could answer, a hand settled at the small of your back.

You almost jumped.

John’s voice came from directly behind you, calm and even and somehow worse than if he had sounded annoyed. “There you are.”

You turned your head. “Hi.”

His eyes flicked briefly to the guy beside you, then back to your face. “Hey.”

The silence that followed was immediate and awkward in all the obvious ways.

The guy looked between the two of you, then smiled. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were,”

“Not a problem,” John said.

It wasn’t rude.

That somehow made it colder.

The guy cleared his throat. “Right. Yeah. I was just talking to her.”

John nodded once. “I can see that.”

You could practically feel the tension under your skin.

You gave John a small look that said what are you doing?

He ignored it.

The guy shifted his weight, suddenly less confident. “Well, I should probably find my roommate.”

“Probably,” John said.

That was it. Just that.

The guy gave you an awkward smile and disappeared into the crowd.

The second he was gone, you turned fully toward John. “What was that?”

John took another sip of his drink. “What was what?”

“You know exactly what.”

He looked at you, and his expression was too neutral by half. “I came to get you.”

You crossed your arms. “From a conversation?”

John glanced in the direction the guy had left, then back at you. “A very long conversation.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “He talked to me for maybe four minutes.”

John’s mouth twitched. “Felt longer.”

That was when you knew.

You tried not to smile. You really did. “Are you jealous?”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at you.

That should have been answer enough.

You tilted your head, trying to hide your amusement. “John.”

“I’m not jealous.”

You blinked. “That was the least convincing thing you’ve ever said.”

His jaw moved once, like he was fighting the urge to say something sharp. “He was standing too close.”

You stared at him for a beat.

Then your smile spread before you could stop it. “You are jealous.”

John gave you a flat look. “I said I’m not.”

“You walked over here like you were claiming territory.”

“That’s not what I did.”

“You put your hand on my back.”

“I was guiding you.”

“You interrupted my conversation.”

“He was rambling.”

You laughed softly. “Oh my God.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

“I can’t believe this.”

He leaned in a fraction, lowering his voice. “Believe it.”

Your face warmed instantly, because of course it did. He had that tone. That low, steady, very John tone that made teasing him feel a lot more dangerous than it should have.

You bit back a grin. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Don’t call me cute.”

“That’s not a no.”

John set his drink down and stepped closer, close enough that your back was nearly against the wall beside the hallway. “You think this is funny.”

You looked up at him, trying very hard to stay composed. “A little.”

He stared at you for a long second, then said, “He was flirting.”

You blinked.

The words were so direct that your smile faltered.

John’s expression stayed steady, but there was tension in his shoulders now, a quiet kind of possessiveness he usually kept better hidden. “I don’t like it.”

That hit different.

Not because it was dramatic. Because it wasn’t.

John wasn’t making a scene. He wasn’t accusing you of anything. He was just telling you the truth, plainly, like he always did when something mattered.

Your teasing softened automatically.

“John,” you said, a little quieter, “he was just talking to me.”

“I know.”

You frowned. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I don’t like him looking at you like that.”

Your heart gave a stupid little jump.

You studied him for a second, the jealousy still there but now mixed with something warmer, something protective and almost shy underneath the surface. John was trying very hard not to turn it into a bigger deal than it was, which somehow made it more endearing.

You reached up and touched his arm. “You know he meant nothing, right?”

John’s gaze dropped briefly to your hand, then back to your face. “I know.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

He hesitated.

That alone made your chest tighten a little.

Then he said, very quietly, “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

The honesty of it made you go still.

There was no performance in his voice. No ego. Just that low, straightforward truth that always got past your defenses before you had time to stop it.

You softened immediately. “Okay.”

John studied your face like he was trying to decide whether you were laughing at him.

You weren’t.

You were looking at him with a fondness that only made him more alert.

His voice dropped another notch. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You shifted closer and let your fingers slide lightly into the front of his shirt. “I get it.”

John’s expression changed a little at that. The tension in his jaw eased, though he still looked guarded.

“You do?”

You smiled. “You got jealous.”

“I did not,”

“You did.”

He stopped.

You gave him a soft, knowing look. “And for the record, it was kind of hot.”

That did it.

John stared at you for half a second, then his hand came to your waist and pulled you closer in one smooth motion. Your breath caught, but he didn’t kiss you right away. He just looked at you with that quiet, intense expression that always made your knees forget their job.

“Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them,” he murmured.

Your pulse jumped. “I mean it.”

His thumb brushed once against your side. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

John leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours. “Then tell me why I had to watch some guy stand there acting like he had a chance.”

You blinked, then laughed softly despite yourself. “You really are jealous.”

“I already admitted that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m admitting it now.”

That made your smile widen.

He stared at you for a second longer, then added, quieter, “I don’t like sharing your attention.”

That hit you right in the chest.

Because John said it like it was a simple fact. Not dramatic. Not needy. Just true.

You reached up and touched his cheek. “You have my attention.”

He looked at you.

All the tension in his face eased by degrees.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “And for the record, nobody else is getting it like you do.”

Something in his expression softened completely then.

His hand at your waist pulled you in just enough that your bodies lined up, and his mouth brushed your temple in a quick, almost absent kiss.

It was such a small gesture, but it made your stomach go warm.

John rested his forehead briefly against yours. “Good.”

You smiled, a little breathless now. “You still being jealous?”

He was quiet for a second.

Then, very dryly, he said, “A little.”

You laughed. “That is so obvious.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re failing.”

His eyes narrowed, but there was no real heat in it. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“A lot.”

John huffed a small laugh and kissed you properly this time, slow and steady and just possessive enough to make his point without actually making one. When he pulled back, his hand stayed at your waist.

You looked up at him, grinning now. “So. We’re done pretending you’re not jealous?”

John held your gaze for a beat, then said, “I never said I wasn’t.”

You laughed, soft and delighted, and he finally looked a little less tense.

Then his mouth curved, barely there but unmistakable.

“You coming back to the couch,” he said, “or do I need to keep rescuing you from bad conversation all night?”

You smiled and slipped your hand into his. “Depends. Are you going to keep glaring at everybody?”

He squeezed your hand once. “Only if they deserve it.”

And the way he said it made it very clear that, apparently, John Logan was willing to be jealous for as long as it took.

#HOTTT #john logan x reader #off campus x reader

andy-15-07

Aisle Five, Half Asleep

Pairing: John Logan x Reader

Word Count: 1886

Request open!

Off campus masterlist

John had been warning you for the last ten minutes that taking the toddler to the grocery store this late was a bad idea.

Not because he was worried about the store. Or the list. Or the weather. He was worried about your daughter, who had been rubbing her eyes since the moment you loaded her into the car and had now reached the point where she was too tired to be difficult and too tired to be reasonable.

Which, in a toddler, was somehow worse.

You pushed the cart with one hand and checked the list with the other while John walked beside you with your daughter balanced against his shoulder like she belonged there. Her little arms were looped around his neck, her cheek pressed into the side of his jaw, and every few seconds she let out a soft, sleepy sigh that made his expression soften even more.

She had lasted exactly seven minutes after entering the store before asking to be held.

John had crouched immediately and picked her up without even glancing at you for permission, because of course he had. He was already in dad mode by then, and once he switched into that, he became annoyingly competent.

Now he was carrying a basket under one arm and your daughter with the other, one hand rubbing slow circles over her back as he steered them both through the produce section.

“She’s out,” he muttered.

You looked over. “Completely?”

He glanced down at the tiny hand fisted in the collar of his shirt. “Completely.”

You smiled. “You were right.”

John shot you a look. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised.”

He gave you a flat expression. “You were absolutely waiting for me to be wrong.”

You grinned. “A little.”

He shook his head but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re lucky she’s adorable.”

“She gets that from me.”

John huffed a quiet laugh. “Sure.”

You were standing in front of the apples when your daughter shifted against his shoulder and made a sleepy little complaint.

John immediately stopped walking.

“What?” he asked in a whisper.

Your daughter’s eyes didn’t open. She just buried her face deeper into his neck and tightened her grip around him.

John looked at you with a helpless expression. “She’s getting heavy.”

You snorted softly. “That’s because you’ve been carrying her for half an hour.”

“And?”

“And nothing. You’re just dramatic.”

John adjusted her a little higher against his shoulder, then kissed the top of her head without thinking. “I’m not dramatic. I’m practical.”

You laughed under your breath and kept moving the cart. “You are absolutely dramatic.”

He followed after you, still holding the sleeping child like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You say that now, but when she wakes up and wants snacks in the middle of the pasta aisle, I’m going to be the only one dealing with it.”

As if on cue, your daughter lifted her head a little, eyes still closed, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “snack.”

John looked down at her. “You heard that?”

You turned back, smiling. “She said snack?”

“She absolutely said snack.”

Your daughter made a tiny sound and pressed her face back into his shoulder. John looked very pleased with himself.

“You two are both ridiculous,” you said.

He raised one eyebrow. “And yet I’m the one carrying the child.”

“That is because she loves you.”

John glanced down at the little hand clinging to his shirt, his voice going softer. “Yeah. I know.”

That made your chest feel warm in the annoying, lovely way it always did when he got quiet like that.

You reached for a box of cereal and tossed it into the cart. “I thought she was going to fall asleep in the car.”

“She almost did.”

“She usually does.”

John nodded toward his shoulder. “This time she gave up halfway through.”

You smiled. “You mean because you’re comfortable?”

He gave you a look that made it very clear he knew exactly what you were doing. “You are not going to make me say something sappy in aisle three.”

“Says who?”

John tilted his head at you, deadpan. “Says me.”

You laughed softly and leaned your forearms on the cart handle. “You look cute like that.”

He blinked at you. “Holding a toddler?”

“Yes.”

“That is not something I expected to hear today.”

“Well, it’s true.”

John was quiet for a second, then looked down at your daughter and said in a low voice, “You hear that? Your mom thinks I’m cute.”

Her only response was a sleepy little hum.

You grinned. “She agrees.”

He made a face. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

You bumped the cart into the next aisle and started scanning the shelves for pasta. John followed, one hand still under your daughter’s bottom to keep her supported as she drifted in and out of sleep against him.

By the time you reached the pasta aisle, she had gone from mostly asleep to properly out cold, her breathing slow and even, her fingers still curled into his shirt.

John noticed the way you looked at the two of them and immediately gave you a suspicious expression. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was a ‘something’ nothing.”

You smiled. “You just look very natural.”

He raised a brow. “At grocery shopping?”

“At this.”

John looked down at your daughter, then back at you. “Carrying our kid around the store?”

“Yeah.”

For once, he didn’t answer right away.

When he did, his voice was quieter. “I guess I am.”

That was enough to make your smile turn soft.

He saw it and immediately tried to cover his own brief moment of sentiment with practical concern. “We still need the bread.”

“Yes, John.”

“The yogurt too.”

“Yes.”

“And whatever you said we needed for dinner.”

You laughed. “Yes, John.”

He looked pleased to be useful again, which was very John of him.

You moved into the next aisle, and halfway down he stopped again when your daughter shifted and let out the tiniest sleepy whimper. His hand rubbed her back automatically, the motion slow and soothing.

“Poor thing,” he murmured.

“She’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

But he still sounded concerned.

You glanced at him. “You okay?”

John looked at you and then down at the toddler asleep against his shoulder. “I’m good.”

“You sound like you’re about to carry her home on foot if needed.”

He looked almost offended. “If that’s what it takes.”

You laughed. “You are so ridiculous.”

“I know.”

There was a short silence after that, the kind that only happened when both of you were relaxed enough not to fill it. The grocery store noise moved around you,cart wheels, low music, a child laughing somewhere farther away,but your little corner of the world stayed soft and quiet.

You reached for a loaf of bread, then paused when you noticed John had gone still.

You looked up. “What?”

He nodded toward the end of the aisle. “I think she’s fully asleep.”

You turned and saw it immediately. Your daughter’s face had gone slack, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her hand loosened at his collar. Even her little mouth had fallen slightly open.

Your heart melted on the spot.

John noticed. “You’re doing that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you look at her and forget anything else exists.”

You smiled. “It’s a good face.”

He gave you a quiet look. “Yeah.”

You stepped closer and smoothed a hand over your daughter’s back. “She’s so cute when she’s asleep.”

John’s mouth twitched. “She’s cute when she’s awake too.”

“Debatable.”

He gave you a long stare. “That is our child.”

You shrugged with exaggerated innocence. “And?”

“And you’re going to hurt her feelings someday.”

You laughed softly. “She’s asleep, John.”

He pointed at you. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Your daughter made another soft little noise, and John immediately fell quiet again, looking down at her with that same careful tenderness that always made him seem both older and softer than usual.

You took the opportunity to push the cart forward. “You realize you’re going to have to let her go eventually.”

John’s response came immediately. “No.”

You glanced back at him. “John.”

He looked fully serious. “She’s comfortable.”

“She’s asleep.”

“She could stay like this.”

You laughed. “You are actually considering carrying her around the store forever.”

“Not forever.”

You tilted your head. “How long, then?”

John thought about it for a second. “Until she wakes up.”

You blinked. “That is literally forever in toddler time.”

He sighed like he had been unfairly attacked by logic. “Fine. I’m aware of that.”

You smiled and reached up to brush your fingers along the side of his jaw. “You’re sweet.”

John glanced at you, then looked away a little. “I’m just carrying my kid.”

“Mm-hm.”

He gave you a look. “You’re really enjoying this.”

“A lot.”

He let out a quiet laugh and adjusted your daughter once more, careful not to wake her. “She’s going to be mad if we put her down.”

“She’ll be mad if we don’t buy the fruit snacks.”

That got a huff of amusement out of him. “True.”

By the time you reached checkout, your daughter was still asleep on his shoulder, and John had shifted into the kind of patient, efficient parent mode that made the cashier smile like she had already decided the two of you were adorable.

“Aw,” she said, glancing at the little girl curled against him. “She’s out cold.”

John nodded, his voice low. “Yeah. Long day.”

The cashier smiled at him and then at you. “She looks comfortable.”

John looked down at her with an expression so soft it almost made you laugh. “She is.”

You loaded the groceries onto the belt while John kept one arm around your daughter and the other on the cart, somehow balancing everything with the calm of a man who had done this a hundred times.

When the cashier handed back your receipt, she looked between the two of you and said, “You’re doing great.”

John blinked at that like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

You smiled and reached for the bags. “Thanks.”

He gave the cashier a small nod, then turned to you as soon as you were out of earshot. “That was weird.”

You laughed. “She was being nice.”

“I know.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

He shot you a long-suffering look. “I had a baby asleep on my shoulder in aisle five. I think I’m allowed to be a little embarrassed.”

You smiled and bumped his arm lightly. “You were cute.”

He looked at you for a second, then down at your daughter, then back at you. “You’re both impossible.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek before reaching for the bags again. “And yet you love us.”

John’s hand settled at your waist as the three of you headed toward the parking lot, your daughter still asleep against him, the groceries in the cart, the night quiet and cool around you.

He glanced at you, then down at the little girl in his arms, and his voice came out soft in a way that always made your chest ache.

“Yeah,” he said. “I really do.”

#DOMESTIC JOHN LOGAN >>>#john logan x reader #off campus x reader

alierecss

Don't let me down | John Logan

summary: You've been filming John Logan for many months. Forty seven saved clips, only eleven of them for work. You know his tells, his angles, his best light. You know him better than you probably should for someone who is just the social media girl. What you don't know is that the night he finally asked you out, there was a check involved. A thousand dollars. And three months of the most real thing you've ever felt sitting on top of a secret that was always going to cost someone.

notes: hii i'm back!! after a week of writing between breaks this one finally came to life and i really hope you guys enjoy it, also i've been informed that puck flying accidents are not very common but we're all going to pretend together, also may contain some hockey inaccuracies, i love the game but i'm definitely not a pro. as always thank you so much for reading and please let me know what you think, your comments genuinely keep me writing!!

warnings: swearing, a bet that was a terrible idea, one thousand dollars, dean being dean, forty seven saved clips, angst with a happy ending.

word count: 12.2k

When you started working on the social media position for the hockey team at Briar U, you didn't understand how it was possible for people to take you even less seriously than you already took yourself. But then there would come the moment that they needed you, and things would change, and you would think oh, how the tables have turned.

#genuinely cinematic #john logan x reader #off campus x reader

alygator77

love hard

summary. after years of failed dating app matches, you finally hit it off with someone. he’s funny, charming, emotionally available… and apparently?! not who you thought he was... literally — because he used his ex-best friend suguru geto as his profile picture! so now, you’re stranded in a foreign country for the holidays, stuck with the real satoru gojo: a digimon-loving, trivia-winning, six-foot-tall nerd who... sure. may have catfished you. but he also might just win your heart.

tags/warnings. fluffy holiday au. nerdjo. light angst. slow burn. eventual smut. long distance relationship (reader is from cali, satoru is from japan). fake dating. one bed trope (yuuuup). found family feelings w/ the jjk cast. lots of dorky humor. alcohol/weed usage. there’s a bit of suguru x reader (also sukuna hits on you a lot bc he wants to piss gojo off). endgame is satoru x reader w/ a happy ending! soft and silly romcom vibes.

author note. merry christmas! this fic is loosely based on the movie Love Hard (w/ my own retelling). it'll be 2 parts! i wanted it to be a oneshot and was rly hoping to finish it before christmas but life got in my way so alas. i'll say more towards the bottom but enjoy this first part for now~

Love is… hard.

Not ‘hard’ like an honest misunderstanding, or a fight you work through with emotional maturity and a seasonally appropriate Hallmark movie kiss.

No — ‘hard’ like dodging your fifth unsolicited dick pic of the week while Googling ‘how to spot a narcissist,’ because apparently you need a manual now. Like realizing your therapist makes more money off your dating trauma than you ever will.

Which is funny, considering people pay you to write about it.

“Do I believe in love? No. But I do believe in ad revenue. And trust me — what you’re writing? Sells. You’ll make it big, darling. I swear.”

Wise words from your boss, Mei-Mei. And by wise, you mean cold, calculated, and unfortunately? Very on brand.

You’re a columnist for Swipe Right into Hell, and your beat? Disaster dates. Ghostings. Red flags. You write about it all. One guy asked if he could wear his ex-wife’s wedding ring during sex. Another told you he didn’t believe in astrology or feminism — but he did believe in Bitcoin.

So, yeah. If love is a battlefield, you’re the war correspondent. Bulletproof. Jaded. Always packing a pen.

You’d think by now — after all the swipes, the situationships, the nights replaying bad decisions in bathroom mirrors — you’d have cracked the code. Found the formula. Unlocked the algorithm to real connection.

Mei-Mei certainly thinks you did.

“Ughhh. You’re a genius! I swear, your last column was chef’s kiss,” she purred to you on Monday, tapping her lacquered nails against a chart of engagement analytics. “Tragically humiliating… in a relatable way, of course!”

Tragically humiliating?

Yeah, sure. That’s one way to describe it. Your date dumped you via a Venmo memo when you asked him to split the bill with you.

(“Lunch was great. You’re not. ✌️”)

#gojo satoru x reader #SOOO GOOD

irafook

Baby sorcerers

fushitoru

chapter 1: the debutante a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

a/n tired of keeping this in the vault lol so I’ll just post it even if my perfectionist tendencies are screaming at me. thank you so much to @/sinn-clair for beta reading and lexi (@/ayyy-pee) for helping me brainstorm 💗

masterlist | next (soon!)

Dearest reader,

Another season comes as the ton descends to London yet again from the countryside. Young ladies and their mamas flock to the modiste in an effort to fluff their feathers to find a match.

The Itadoris are by far one of the most prolific families in the upper echelons of society. The sight of all the children at once⸺Miss Itadori, Lord Choso Itadori, and Mister Yuji Itadori⸺is enough to catch the attention of mamas and young suitors alike. Miss Itadori, making her debut this season, has much to be desired. The debutante is a meek and demure girl, but with many talents indeed. The oldest, Lord Itadori, has a quiet countenance that has ladies and mamas on their toes, counting the days until he finally joins the marriage market. Mister Yuji Itadori is quite the opposite; his physical prowess on horseback riding has had quite a few ladies swooning after.

Furthermore, the heir to the Duke of Gojo is a most interesting character. Although he has not deigned to find a wife during any season yet, This Author has heard whispers that he will be looking for a bride during this one.

Lady Mei Mei can certainly be expected to be on the prowl, waiting to sink her teeth into the wealthiest….

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

“Seriously?” Choso scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Why would ladies want someone who’s quiet? I use it to convey my displeasure, not to be charming.”

On the other hand, the other brother relaxed on the opposite couch, proud. “I knew I looked good on horseback,” Yuji remarked smugly. “You and my dear sister are clearly jealous of how appealing my muscles look while I’m grabbing the reins.”

thestrongestkikufuku-deactivate

a business proposal — series masterlist

status: ongoing

» synopsis - ⟡⋆˙ you find yourself pretending to be your friend to meet up with her blind date, surely nothing could go wrong, right?

» contents - ⟡⋆˙ fluff, crack, angst, au, satoru gojo x f!reader, ceo!gojo, reader works in the same company, made up character 'rin' as your bestie, suggestive themes, mentions of alcohol and drinking, violence (nothing too explicit), suggestive themes, fake dating, slow burn, curse word, gojo being petty/mean, unrequited love

» disclaimer - ⟡⋆˙ this fanfic is heavily inspired by the show 'business proposal' and will take a lot of elements from it but i have changed some things up here and there. all rights goes to the respective owners and contributor.

» part one - ⟡⋆˙

» part two - ⟡⋆˙

» part three - ⟡⋆˙

» part four - ⟡⋆˙

» part five - ⟡⋆˙

» part six - ⟡⋆˙

» part seven - ⟡⋆˙

» part eight - ⟡⋆˙

saintobio

ACT I. THE LADY

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), slight mentions of gore

♱ notes. 6.5k wc, unedited. again, for anyone who missed my small announcement, the ‘juliet’ from my megumi r+j fic has a name here for narration purposes. she remains as you or yn in the original fic tho :) feedback would be highly appreciated!

series masterlist ♱ act two.

chuluoyi

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 !

- gojo satoru x reader // zen'in naoya x reader

you are an empress perfect in every way... until your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress. but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you, and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, kinda slowburn, angst to eventual fluff, divorce, marriage of convenience, heavy pining (from gojo's part), childhood friends trope, mentions of infidelity, misogyny, infertility, explicit smut

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress (but i promise you, it's different). my god, for the past month this is all i can think about *sobs* wc. 10.5k ! this is the longest thing i've ever posted here, and if you'd give it a chance, then i'll be really, really thankful!

credit header goes to @/gojokko in twitter!

image: emperor gojo | emperor naoya

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist | empress masterlist

“I accept the divorce.”

Your perfect life was done for. Everything you had worked hard towards— it was now in shambles and tatters.

You, an ethereal, revered empress... someone untarnished in the face of public and private, had just agreed to the emperor’s blatant request of separation.

“My god... how can this be!?”

“Your Majesty! Please reconsider!”

Emperor Zen’in Naoya of the Eastern Empire, your husband—and companion for more than ten years—smirked as he looked down at you, paying zero attention to the uproar in this courthouse.

But then you heard that kind, velvety voice from the back of your head:

“If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”

This place has turned into a whopping circus ever since you and Naoya stepped inside anyway. And so, having nothing worthy left to lose, you declared, “And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage.”

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