Abigail @abbycoded - Tumblr Blog

MEET THE AUTHOR

HIIII ! My name is Abigail but I go by abby! Honestly, you can call me whatever you want as long as you check. I realized I didn't do an introduction so heres this!

MASTERLISTS OF MASTERLISTS LINK

#meet the author #introduction #abbycoded #abbys thoughts

could i possibly request anything with jealous!john tucker x reader… i love seeing that southern gentleman reach a breaking point <3 thank you sm

OKAYYYY WE'RE GETTING SOMEWHERE

Not Yours, Dickface

John Tucker X Fem!reader

you had never had the privilege of seeing john tucker get jealous, he didn't feel the need to. he felt secure in the relationship, happy, loved, he knew he was doing his job as a boyfriend well and he had nothing to worry about... but he also knew you were gorgeous and just because you had a boyfriend doesn't keep people away from you.

#john tucker #john tucker x reader #john tucker x you #john tucker xy/n #off campus x you #off campus x reader #off campus fanfic #off campus imagine #off campus fic #jalen thomas brooks

pls pls pls write more for anthony vaughn!! C:

hi lovely! do you have a specific request? this is really vague for me to follow

hiii could you write something where reader is in descendants 4 and 5 and went on the tour

and she’s kinda like kylies unbilogical younger sister and the two have known each other for ages and reader was on Disney channel when she was younger

oooo i love platonic fics so much, we need to bring them back

my little sister

kylie cantrall x platonic fem!reader

you had been acting for as long as you could remember. you started on disney when you were younger, when you were five years old nonetheless. it had been thirteen years since you started acting, you had done a million jobs and a million things. you were in all of the descendants from the first one to the fifth one. you were only a younger character on the isle in the first, the second and the third you went to auradon.

#worlds collide #worlds collide tour #kylie cantrall x you #kylie cantrall x y/n #kylie cantrall #descendants rise of red #rise of red #red

could we get some more kylie cantrall

maybe they go to the descendants premiere or something

oooo yes i love this idea

Premiere

Kylie Cantrall X Fem!reader

you and kylie had announced your relationship a few months ago and to say the support has been endless would be an understatement. people adore you and kylie together, they see the amount of support you've given her over the past few months and they all know how much you love her.

#kylie cantrall #kylie cantrall x y/n #kylie cantrall x you #worlds collide #worlds collide tour #descendants rise of red #rise of red #red

what would you recommend for someone who wants to get into writing stuff?

hiiii! i would suggest finding the fandoms you love and the characters you love, the one thing i love about writing is i have free will to write what i want and have fun with it! find your own writing style (without using ai) because thats your personal voice and thoughts!! i started writing when i was 11 (on wattpad and im still actively on wattpad) and it took me years to find my voice but when i did it made it alot easier for me!

i hope this helps you

#abbys thought

my account is so dead, feel free to send any requests for

malia baker

kylie cantrall

mekonnen knife

john tucker

john logan

allie hayes

neil crosby

kiara carrera

pope heyward

#abby’s recs #the runarounds #worlds collide #abbys thoughts #the runarounds fanfic #random thoughts #random shit

incorrectara

Good Boy | John Logan

Summary: john is insecure, don't know what for/ you show john just how sexy he is.

Pairing: sub!logan x y/n!reader

Warnings: MDNI, unprotected sex, lots and lots of dirty talk, fuck buddies in love (maybe) but SUB LOGAN

Word Count: 2.8k

💌: thoughts were thunk. i will not be elaborating further.

John was quiet, unusually quiet, surrounded by all his friends, all cramped into a booth at Malone's.

Normally, he would have some smart ass comment ready, a crooked grin that made everyone roll their eyes before laughing anyway, or an annoying abbreviation that no one would understand.

But tonight? He barely spoke, you counted him saying a total of 5 sentences all night, and for a man who never shuts up, that is highly alarming.

You noticed it the second Garrett made another joke about Dean getting attention from half the girls at the bar. Then Hannah laughed about how Birdie had somehow become ‘mysteriously hot’ according to campus sources.

And then, Tucker teased Logan, it was harmless, all in good fun but you saw the shift in his tone, his jaw set in a tight clench.

‘C'mon, Loge, you're slipping man, it used to be you who couldn't walk ten feet without someone asking for your number’

Logan forced a laugh, you could see his fake smile appearing almost flawlessly in front of his friends, ‘Guess I've lost my touch, Tuck’

Everyone laughed and moved on, it was a joke which passed.

You didn't.

The apartment was dark when you got home after work. All the lights were off, which felt odd considering that Logan left an hour before your shift. He should've been here, you had sent him a text.

‘John?’ no reply.

Five minutes later, you found him, sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knee, all the lights switched off.

He didn't even turn the lamp on. He was dressed down from his hockey gear, all showered, sitting in your robe.

‘You're hiding’, he took a deep breath as his shoulders rose and fell in a tired sigh.

‘I'm not hiding’

‘No?’ ‘No’

You leaned against the doorframe, clearly unconvinced, ‘So you just like sitting in total darkness at 9pm with your head down in your hands?’

Silence. Only his soft breaths audible, as if he was trying to control his breathing.

You didn't say anything, you didn't pressure him to speak, you knew he would come around on his own, in his own time.

Eventually, he spoke so quietly that you almost missed it, ‘Do you ever wish I looked different?’

‘What?’ your expression softened as he kept looking down at his hands, not being able to match your gaze.

‘I mean’ he rubbed the back of his neck, oh poor baby he was so nervous, ‘Dean is, well Dean’

‘And?’

‘And Birdie now has this new music angle to him, which props to him is actually so good’

‘Mhm’ you walked closer.

‘Garrett's built like a tank and he's just y’know’

‘I don't’ he chose to ignore your comment

‘And Tucker’ he continued shrugging, ‘Hell, Tucker could flirt with a brick wall’

He laughed, no humor in his voice, again a fake laugh. You just looked at him, staring with concern.

‘I don't know,’ he shook his head violently.

‘You do know’ He closed his eyes, you knew him so well.

‘I just’, his voice caught, ‘I don't feel like I have an angle y'know? Nothing that makes me stand out?’

The confession/question seemed to get serious as you saw his shoulders get rigidly hard, the closed off posture familiar to you, over years of knowing him and being fuck buddies for the past nine months.

‘When we're all together’, he shook his head as if that would make it better, ‘I look at them, and then I look at me’

Finally, he looked up, meeting your eyes. He looked so distraught and doe-eyed your knees wanted to buckle on the spot, your baby, look at him being so small.

‘I don't understand why you picked me’, the room instantly felt completely still, your heart lurched at the thought of him feeling that way, not waiting any longer, you crossed the distance between you without saying a word.

John instinctively straightened as you stopped in front of him, looking up at your all doe eyed and so so dumb, it made you want to edge him for hours as he begged you to let him cum, fond memories playing in the back of your mind.

As you met his gaze, he immediately looked somewhere else, always trying to hide from you.

‘Eyes on me, baby’ his gaze lifted immediately, you could see that he trusted you, complete, unquestioning trust.

‘Why would you want me over them? They're all so much hotter than me’ now, this got you. All that was playing in your head was the sad music with the guy shouting ‘my shayla’.

‘John Logan, baby, don't tell me, you don't think I find you sexy?’

‘I mean, uh-’ he struggled to answer.

‘Johnny, you've got to be kidding me. You are the sexiest man I've ever met, the sexiest man I've ever seen,’ you tell him, turning your body towards him, sitting down towards him as your face gets closer to his, and grazing your fingertips lightly up and down the spine.

‘y/n, just because you're fucking me doesn't mean you have to talk me up’ He tells you, and you can see embarrassment and self-consciousness rear its ugly head inside him.

You stared at him for a long moment before saying slowly, ‘It means just that, baby. You told me that you're comfortable around me because I always let you know how I feel, so how about this, you laying in my bed like this, in my robe, all naked and all for me is driving me fucking feral. I came home with no panties on because I knew you would be here waiting for me. You're the only man ever to give me five orgasms in one night’

Your hand had drifted down the robe, slowly inching towards his cock, its outline starting to show underneath the robe as he took your words in. You put your hand over his increasing erection, over the robe, rubbing lightly, watching his face do that thing that you love.

You smirked at him, ‘I come home with no panties and it took me only two minutes to give you a hard on like this and then you think that I don't find you sexy? I'm offended baby’

‘hey’ he says warningly.

You bite your lip, moving swiftly. You climb on top of him, straddling his legs. You can see the excitement in his eyes, but you also notice how softly he looks at you. How your words are truly affecting him.

‘God Johnny, you have no idea how crazy you drive me’ you say, dipping your head so you can nuzzle your nose against his neck. He lets out a long breath, ‘Soft skin just begging to be touched’ as you nip and suck a dark spot in a place that only belongs to you. Your eyes flashed to him, ‘Your cock is the only one that makes my mouth water, and practically drool over you. And Fuck baby, when you're so focused on your workout, you don't even realize all of the compromising positions you're doing in front of me. Such a tease, John’ you tut, still not fully sitting down on his lap, his cock springing up to brush against you through the robe.

‘Fuck’ He breathes out as your tongue flattens and licks up the edge of his ear, slowly biting as you grip his shoulders in a way that gets him tense, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

The tiniest whine escapes him as he opens his neck up to your lips, and you almost want to shove his cock inside you immediately, wanting to feel him grow inside you, but you hold back, you're on a mission today.

You sit up straight and look down at him, chest rising and lowering fast, lips parted as he stares back up at you, your hands squeezing his shoulders as your legs tighten around his waist, making you squirm as his hands fly down to grip unto your legs, wanting you to sit on his ragingly hard cock still covered by that damn awful robe.

Your fingertips ghost over his cloth covered chest, wanting to get it off and see him in his full glory, rock hard for you and those rock hard abs which are right there for you to touch. Your hands enter inside his robe as you feel the ridges and crevices of his muscular chest, his abs which are moving due to his heavy breathing, ‘You've got every asset, baby. Not only is your back delectable, but these abs, holy fuck’, you groan, nails scratching all over. A small huff leaves his lips, making you crack a smile.

‘Baby stop teasing me’

‘Yeah? Then what does my good boy want me to do?’

His hands still gripping your thighs as if he'll fall without their support, he tries to push you down to sit on him properly, to get a hint of relief.

You lower yourself on his robe, feeling the familiar structure of his cock, clothes yet so good. Just the feeling of your damp, pantyless cunt on him is enough for him to let out a loud whimper, ‘fuck princess’

‘Fucking hell, look at you baby, so pretty and so sensitive my pretty boy, always moaning and whimpering for me. It really aids my ego’ as you grind on him a little, before pushing him down on the mattress, ‘Hell, I'm just talking to you and you're rock hard under me baby, can practically feel every vein here.’

You start to open his robe from his upper body, still sitting directly on top of his hard erection, as you get a view of his chest and abs, immediately kissing and licking him alI over, sucking and biting his pretty chest, leaving hickeys all over him.

He audibly whines as you get off him, moving down to the main event.

But you don't stop with your tongue and lips until he's bucking up towards your face as you keep going lower. You graze your lips up his abs, as you remove his robe completely, his hard-on bucking up, freed from restraints. You look at him as if you're going to devour him whole, taking in all of him in his glory, breathing shallow, chest covered with hickeys given by you, cock hard as a rock, the veins all angry and red, his face so pretty and all fucked out, pinkish hue, wet hair UGH.

‘Look at you baby, fuck looking at you makes me wanna do unimaginable things with you. How can you think that you're not sexy, baby, look at you, I really want to take a picture of you like this. It's making me gush down my thighs’

Logan feels like this is a fever dream, such pornographic words falling out of your mouth, usually he's the one worshipping you like the goddess you are but today you've got him in a chokehold.

He feels himself get ever harder at your words, if that is even possible.

He watches you take him in your hands as you start to jerk him off, teasing his top with your mouth, as he bucks his hips up out of instinct, ‘fuck baby, please-'

‘Please what?’

‘Please suck me off baby,’ he whines, ‘i need your mouth’

‘But only good boys get what they want. Have you been a good boy baby?’ you keep rubbing him all the right ways as he withers under your touch,

‘I've been such a good boy baby, please’

‘Gold boys don't doubt themselves baby’

‘please- please, baby, fuck I'm dying here’, hearing his desperate please and looking at his hips bucking wildly, you can feel yourself drip down your thighs.

‘Fuck’ you breathe out, your patience wearing thin, you trace your tongue up his length, ‘Can feel you so hard baby, how can you possibly think you're not sexy when you've got me like this? I want my mouth to be on every inch of you all the time. Couldn't even decide if I wanted to suck you off over and over until your begging me to stop or fuck you so hard till you're leaking out of me’

And you start to bob up and down, and all Logan can do is whine, moan and quiver under your touch as his hands grip your hair to keep them out of your way. He sees you looking up at him with your big brown eyes and it makes him buckle, he feels himself getting fuller and ready to blow.

As he feels himself getting closer, he tries to lift you back up and capture your lips with his, but you back away to tease him, ‘Hmm, I almost forgot your lips, baby’

He whines again, trying to catch your lips once more, as you grind on him, his cock rubbing up in all the right places but then you stop, ‘Don't be greedy Johnny. Don't you wanna hear how much I adore your lips?’

He nods her head mindlessly, muttering out a ‘Please’ as he tries to get you to move against him, hands gripping your hips, making you hornier looking at his desperation. Even in this state, he's listening to you so intently, taking in your affirmations so greedily.

‘Just look at them’ you practically slur as focusing on his lips, absentmindedly grinding on his cock ‘So full and red, meant to be wrapped around me. Maybe one day I'll take a picture of you eating me out, show you how they're truly meant to be.’ You stop grinding,

‘Show you proof that you're the sexiest’ you shuffle a bit as you guide his tip at your soaked entrance, ‘most delicious’ as you slowly push down into him, gasping a bit at how full you feel ‘most sought after man I've ever encountered’

Oh you're so fucked, as you move up and down on his cock, he moans your name repeatedly. You curse silently and roughly say, ‘No wonder so many girls are trying to fuck you. Bet they can just imagine how pretty your voice sounds as you moan their name’

You slam down harder, your hips moving at a pace that's unbearably good, causing him to buck his hips up into you, ‘But I'm the lucky girl that gets you, right? I'm the only name you're moaning out. I'm the only one you get hard for. Right, baby?’

He's so pussy drunk, only nodding his head, ‘Only you, baby, fuck’

You can't hold yourself back anymore, your lips crash into his and you share the dirtiest kiss you've ever experienced. You quicken your rhythm, as he bucks his hips into you at a pace controlled by you.

His lips feel so needy, never letting you leave him for too long. It's dizzying as you gasp for air, but delve your tongue into his mouth to caress. You're breathless and so close to cumming, your pulsating pussy squelching and dripping him in and out with such ease, but you're not done with him just yet.

He's a moaning mess under you, quivering, bucking and moaning your name, curses again and again as if it's some mantra, his head moving to the side, face scrunched up in pleasure. You know he's close as you quicken your pace saying, ‘You want to cum, baby?’

‘Yes’ he whines, ‘Please, please, I need it.’

‘Say it’

‘Please make me cu-’

‘No’ you interrupt him, ‘admit you're sexy. That you're every woman's wet dream’

You can see him trying to resist, the sliver of her consciousness holding him back.

You whisper into his ear, ‘So stubborn. You want to cum, yeah? Maybe I'll just get off and leave you hot and wet and-’

‘No, no, no, need to cum, baby’

‘You know what I want to hear. Gotta know you believe me when I say it’ you nip at his jaw, keeping you both edging even though your bodies are practically vibrating with need.

‘I'm sexy. I'm sexy’ he breathes out.

‘And?’ you taunt.

‘I'm every woman's fuck, every woman's wet dream’ he groans.

‘Yes, you are, my good boy’ you coo in his ear, and within seconds you're both drowning in your orgasms, faces just inches away from each other the whole time. As he shutter against you, cock burning and pulsing inside you as you collapse on top of him and breathing into his neck.

He's muttering praises and thank you's to you in his dazed state. It's the smallest peck against your neck and when you look down at him he's smiling up at you looking so fucked, face still flushed, and whispers, ‘Thank you, baby’

we out

abbycoded

I NEED TEN OF THEM

#john logan #john logan smut #john logan imagines #john logan x reader #john logan x you #john logan fanfic #john logan imagine #john logan angst #off campus #off campus fanfic #abby’s recs

Hi, I'm not sure if you write to Louis Partridge, but if so I'd like to know if you'd like to write a story where Louis and the reader already have a solid relationship. The reader is a singer-songwriter; she already plays guitar, but Louis teaches her to play piano, so she writes a song for him on the piano, maybe a song like Honeybee.

sadly I don’t write for him

b1t3th34ppl3

— Never Mind, You Were Never Mine

The Master list, Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: John Logan x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everybody knew about you and Logan. After a messy breakup, moving on was supposed to be easy. It would've been... If you could stop finding each other in every little thing.

Inspired by "Life time (reimagined) " by Ben&Ben.

Warnings: Exes to lovers • mutual pining • angst with a hopeful ending • yearning • unresolved feelings • emotional slow burn • mentions of alcohol • heartbreak • and Tucker deciding he's qualified to play cupid.

Author's Note: You guys actually liked Part 2?? Thank you so much!!

So here's Part 3! This one kind of broke my heart while writing it, but I finally caved and gave in to the angst. (Don't worry... Tucker is about to save us all.)

As always, thank you for reading! If you notice any grammar mistakes, feel free to point them out—English isn't my first language. Hope you enjoy! (^///^)

Last night had become nothing more than a blur. A haze of cheap vodka, off-key singing, and drunken philosophy that Hannah and Garrett had been forced to endure while Allie laughed herself breathless. You'd rather not remember any of it. Unfortunately, your pounding headache had other plans. Morning sunlight seeped through the thin curtains of your dorm room, painting bright streaks across the ceiling. You groaned, burying your face deeper into your pillow as your head throbbed in protest.

Hungover. Never again. At least, that's what you'd promised yourself the last three times. You shifted beneath the blankets, still caught somewhere between dreaming and waking, instinctively reaching toward the empty side of the bed. "Loge...?" The nickname slipped from your lips before you were even fully awake. Your hand met nothing but cold sheets.

Silence.

Your eyes fluttered open. For a brief, cruel moment, you forgot. Forgot that Logan wasn't there. Forgot that he hadn't been there for months. Forgot that there was no sleepy smile waiting for you, no lazy "Morning, baby," no warm hand reaching back for yours. Only an empty bed. A humorless laugh escaped your lips.

Funny. Once upon a time, Logan would've been there.. Would've. Now he was just another habit you couldn't seem to break.

You hadn't realized how long you'd been staring at the wall until a gentle knock echoed through the room. "Y/n?" Allie's voice came from the other side of the door. "Babe? You okay?" You blinked, your gaze finally pulling away from the blank wall in front of you. "...Yeah," you called back, though your voice sounded far less convincing than you'd hoped. Silence settled over the room again.

And just like that, your mind wandered back to him. Logan. The way he'd looked last night. The way he'd smiled from across the room. The way he'd seemed... happy. Your chest tightened. Fuck. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the memories away, but they kept replaying anyway. His laugh. His smile. The brief moment your eyes met during rehearsal. The way he'd looked at you as if he wanted to say something—but never did. You let out a shaky breath and buried your face in your hands. You'd promised yourself you were done thinking about him. Turns out your heart hadn't gotten the memo.

By the time your first class rolled around, the worst of your hangover had faded into a dull ache behind your eyes. The one in your chest hadn't. Morning sunlight streamed through the lecture hall windows, dust motes drifting lazily through the beams as students filtered inside. The room buzzed with sleepy conversations, the scrape of chairs, and the occasional yawn from someone who'd clearly made the same poor decisions you had the night before.

You barely noticed any of it. Your notebook lay open in front of you, untouched. You'd been staring at the same sentence for nearly five minutes. "Either that's the most interesting page in history..." A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. "...or you've completely checked out."

You looked up to find Axl standing beside your desk—the same guy from the cast party last night who'd somehow managed to keep everyone laughing with his terrible jokes, even when you were halfway through your fourth drink. His backpack hung lazily over one shoulder, and in his hands were two paper coffee cups.

"You look like you lost a fight with a truck," he said, offering one toward you. A quiet laugh escaped your lips. "Good morning to you too." "I'm just being honest." He set the cup on your desk before sliding into the empty seat beside you. "I figured you could use this." You stared at the coffee for a second before wrapping your hands around the warm cup. "You didn't have to.""I know." "So... why did you?"

Axl shrugged. "You looked like you needed a little help surviving today." Your smile came easier this time. "Thanks." You took a cautious sip. Your nose scrunched almost immediately. "...Vanilla?" "I guessed." "I usually get Hazelnut." His face fell. "Damn. I was close." "You were." He rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed laugh. "I don't really know coffee." "It's okay." You took another sip, smiling over the rim of the cup. "It's actually... not bad." "You're just saying that because I bought it." "Maybe." "I knew it."

Another laugh escaped you, lighter this time. The conversation settled into something easy, comfortable. No pressure. No expectations. Just two classmates sharing coffee before class. It wasn't your usual order. It wasn't what Logan would've bought. But somehow… It still warmed your hands.

Logan had been third-wheeling Garrett and Hannah since eight o'clock that morning. Not that he minded. Okay, maybe he minded a little. The two of them walked a few steps ahead, bickering over something ridiculously trivial while Garrett absentmindedly reached for Hannah's hand. She swatted him away, only for him to lace their fingers together a second later anyway.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Get a room," he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. Garrett didn't even bother looking back. "We practically live together." "Exactly my point." Shaking his head with a quiet laugh, Logan glanced across the courtyard and froze. You. Standing outside the Humanities building. You were laughing. Not the polite smile you'd mastered over the past few weeks. Not the forced one you'd worn at rehearsal. A real laugh. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the corners. Beside you stood a guy Logan vaguely recognized from the theater department. Dark hair. Easy smile. A coffee cup in his hand, another in yours.

Logan's gaze drifted to the cup between your fingers. Vanilla. He knew because of the bright purple sticker wrapped around the sleeve. His brows pulled together. Vanilla? Since when did you drink vanilla? You hated vanilla.

"You always order hazelnut," he'd teased once after you'd wrinkled your nose at his drink. "It tastes like melted birthday candles." He'd laughed so hard he'd nearly dropped his coffee. "So dramatic." "I'm right." "You are absolutely not." "Am too." He'd taken another sip just to annoy you. You'd stolen his cup anyway, taken one reluctant taste, and immediately shoved it back into his hands with a grimace. "Still tastes like candles."

The memory hit him with embarrassing clarity. Logan looked back at your cup. Vanilla. His eyes lingered for another second before something else occurred to him. Maybe… Maybe it wasn't yours. Or maybe… Things had changed. People changed. Tastes changed. You changed. The realization settled heavily in his chest. He wasn't the person who knew your coffee order anymore.

Logan hadn't even realized Garrett was talking to him. "Logan." Nothing. "Logan." Still nothing. A firm hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him back to reality. "Huh?" Logan blinked, tearing his eyes away from you. Garrett followed his line of sight without meaning to. "Oh." He didn't have to ask. He already knew. Garrett let out a quiet sigh before nudging Logan's shoulder. "I've been talking to you for the last two minutes." "...Sorry."

"You've been staring." "I wasn't." Garrett raised an eyebrow." Logan." "...Okay," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Maybe a little." "A little?" Garrett scoffed. "Dude, you looked like your soul left your body." Logan rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze threatening to drift back toward you. He stopped himself. Barely. Garrett studied him for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "You know..." he began carefully, "maybe she's just trying to move on." The words landed like a punch to the gut. Logan swallowed. "Yeah." It came out softer than he'd intended. "...I know." But knowing didn't make it hurt any less.

By the end of the day, Logan had almost convinced himself to stop thinking about it. Almost. Malone's was louder than usual, the familiar mix of clinking glasses, classic rock humming through the speakers, and conversations blending into one constant buzz. It was the kind of place that always felt alive, no matter what day of the week it was. The six of them had claimed their usual booth near the back. Garrett and Hannah sat shoulder to shoulder on one side, occasionally stealing fries off each other's plates despite having ordered their own.

Across from them, Dean had somehow convinced Allie to play a game of pool after dinner, even though she'd reminded him—three separate times—that she had terrible aim. "I have terrible aim," she repeated. "That's what makes it fun." "No," she deadpanned. "That's what makes you have fun." Dean grinned. "Exactly." Beside Logan, Tucker laughed into his drink. "You know she's gonna beat you by accident." "I welcome the challenge." "You say that now."

The conversation drifted from hockey practice to classes, then somehow to Tucker's latest attempt at cooking something that wasn't chicken. "It was one time," Tucker defended. "You almost burned the kitchen down," Dean reminded him. "It was caramelizing." "It was on fire." "Semantics." Laughter rippled around the table. Logan laughed too. Or at least, he made the sound. His heart wasn't really in it. The image of you standing outside the Humanities building with that cup of vanilla coffee still lingered in the back of his mind.

He wondered if you'd actually liked it. Or if you'd only drunk it because someone had bought it for you. The front door opened. A rush of cool evening air swept through Malone's. Logan glanced up out of habit. And forgot how to breathe. You walked in. Your laugh reached him before you did.

Beside you was the same guy from this morning. The one with the easy smile. The one who'd bought you coffee. He held the door open with an exaggerated bow. "My lady." You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips as you stepped inside. "What a gentleman." "I know," he replied with a dramatic sigh. "It's exhausting being this charming." "Oh, please." You bumped his shoulder with yours, the two of you laughing as you made your way toward the seats.

Dean was the first to notice where Logan was looking. "...Well." Garrett followed his gaze. Then Tucker. The conversation at the booth slowly fizzled out. No one had to ask. No one had to say a word. They all knew exactly who Logan was staring at. And Logan wasn't sure what stung more— The fact that you were smiling… Or the fact that someone else was the reason why.

Before the waitress could lead the two of you toward an empty table, the guy beside you came to an abrupt stop. "Oh—Allie!" His voice carried easily over the hum of conversations and the clink of glasses. He lifted a hand, an easy grin spreading across his face the moment he recognized her. Allie turned at the sound of her name, her expression instantly brightening.

"Axl! Hey!" The warm glow of the hanging lights caught the edges of her smile as she stepped away from the booth. "You guys eating here too?" Axl asked. "Yeah." She laughed, gesturing toward the crowded booth tucked against the brick wall. "Looks like we all had the same idea." "I guess we did." His gaze drifted past her, landing on Hannah. Recognition flickered across his face. "And hey, Hannah." Hannah smiled warmly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Hi! It's been a while." "It has." You stood quietly beside him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

"You two know each other?" Garrett asked, glancing between them. "We're in the same department," Allie explained. "And Hannah's basically adopted by the theater department at this point," Axl added with a teasing grin. Hannah let out an offended gasp. "I'll have you know I earned that title." "You absolutely did." Laughter rippled through the small circle, light and effortless. For the first time all day, the tightness in your shoulders eased.

Then— You felt it. That unmistakable feeling of being watched. It crawled slowly up the back of your neck, prickling against your skin. Almost instinctively, your head turned. Across the restaurant, beneath the amber glow of Malone's hanging lights, Logan was already looking at you. His fingers rested loosely around a half-empty glass, forgotten. He hadn't touched it in several minutes. The laughter around his table faded into a distant blur. So did yours. Your eyes locked.

The world seemed to narrow until there was only the space between the two of you. The familiar brown of his eyes. The exhaustion hidden beneath them. The way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Your smile slowly slipped from your face. Not all at once. Just enough for him to notice. Just enough for your heart to remember. For one suspended heartbeat, neither of you looked away. It was almost cruel… How familiar he still felt.

"...You okay?" Axl's voice was gentle, barely louder than the chatter surrounding them. You blinked, realizing everyone had already started walking toward the hostess stand while you'd remained rooted to the spot. "Hm?" His brows knit together, concern softening his features. "You kind of disappeared for a second." "Oh."You forced out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Sorry. I guess I'm just... tired." He studied you for a moment. Not suspiciously. Just... carefully. Like he was trying to decide whether to believe you.

"You sure?" You nodded a little too quickly. "Yeah."Another pause." If you're sure." His smile returned not as bright as before, but enough to let you know he wasn't going to press. Instead, he lightly bumped your shoulder with his. "C'mon." "The fries here are too good to let existential crises ruin them." A breathy laugh escaped your lips. "That's... oddly specific." "I speak from experience." The knot in your chest loosened, if only a little, as you followed him toward the hostess. Across the room, Logan watched the two of you disappear around the corner. His fingers tightened around the glass. The ice clinked softly against the sides.

"You know..." Tucker spoke quietly beside him. Logan didn't look away. "Hm?" "You're torturing yourself." That finally pulled Logan's attention from the hallway. "What?" Tucker leaned back against the booth, folding his arms across his chest. "You keep watching her." Silence. "You watch her laugh." Another beat. "You watch her leave." His voice remained calm. Not judgmental. Just honest. "And every single time, it looks like it hurts." Logan let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah." Tucker sighed. "You know what's crazy?" "What?" "You could've looked away." Logan's eyes drifted toward the empty space where you'd disappeared only moments earlier. "I tried." His answer came so quietly Tucker almost missed it.

"I just..." He swallowed hard. "...I don't know how." For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The laughter echoing through Malone's suddenly felt impossibly far away. Tucker reached for another fry before quietly muttering, "Then stop making yourself watch someone you're still in love with." Logan closed his eyes for the briefest moment. If only it were that easy.

From where he sat, Logan had a perfect view of your table. He wished he didn't.

The warm amber lights hanging above Malone's painted everything in soft gold. Glasses clinked together, laughter bounced off the exposed brick walls, and somewhere near the jukebox someone had started arguing over whose turn it was at pool. It was ordinary.

Painfully ordinary. Yet somehow, Logan couldn't tear his eyes away. Axl was saying something animated, his hands moving almost as much as his mouth. You laughed. Not politely. Not because you felt obligated to. Really laughed.

Your head tipped back ever so slightly, your shoulders shaking as you hid your face behind one hand. Logan remembered that laugh. He remembered being the reason for it.

"Your laugh is contagious." "That's your fault." "How?" "You keep saying stupid things." "So I'm funny?" "No." "Ouch." "You're just... you."

He remembered how you'd steal fries off his plate while insisting yours tasted worse. How you'd absentmindedly play with the sleeves of his hoodie whenever you were anxious. How you'd reach for his hand beneath restaurant tables without even looking. Little habits. Little pieces of you. Pieces he'd once thought he'd know forever. Across the room, Axl reached across the table. For one terrifying second, Logan's stomach dropped.

Instead of taking your hand, Axl simply brushed a napkin off your sleeve. "You had ketchup," he laughed. Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment. "I was saving it for later." "Sure you were." You rolled your eyes before lightly shoving his shoulder. The gesture was effortless. Comfortable. Natural. Logan looked away. He couldn't do this. Not anymore. He lowered his gaze to the table, tracing invisible circles through the condensation gathered beneath his untouched glass.

Funny.

A few months ago... That would've been him. He would've been the one making you laugh until your stomach hurt. The one wiping ketchup off your sleeve. The one sitting across from you while you stole half his meal anyway. The thought settled slowly, quietly. Like the first leaf falling before autumn.

Maybe... Maybe that wasn't his place anymore. His chest tightened. Not with jealousy. With grief. Because grief wasn't always loud. Sometimes... Sometimes it looked like watching someone else make the person you loved smile. And realizing they no longer needed you to. Logan closed his eyes. For the first time since the breakup... He allowed himself to think the words he'd spent months refusing to believe.

Never mind, You were never mine.

If someone had looked at your table from across the restaurant, they probably would've thought you were doing just fine. You were laughing. Smiling. Even teasing Axl whenever he said something ridiculous. From the outside… You looked happy. "You know," Axl said, pointing a fry at you, "I still think the lead should've died in Act Two." You gasped dramatically. "That's theatrical blasphemy." "It's called character development." "It's called bad writing." He placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me." "I should." "You know what your problem is?" "I have several." "Fair enough."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound surprised even you. For a fleeting moment, it felt... easy. Normal. Like the ache in your chest had taken the night off. Axl grinned. "There it is." "What?" "That smile." "What smile?" "The real one." Heat crept into your cheeks. "Oh, shut up." He laughed, shaking his head before reaching for another fry. "So..." he said. "You gonna help me with costume fittings tomorrow, or are you abandoning me?" "I told you I'd help." "Good." He pointed another fry at you. "I don't trust anyone else with a glue gun." "You probably shouldn't trust me either." "I've seen your work."

You scoffed. "I made that castle." "And it almost collapsed." "It stayed standing!" "Barely." You reached across the table to steal one of his fries. "Hey!" "You snooze, you lose." He laughed. "You know, Lo—" The nickname caught in your throat. Your smile froze. Your hand stopped halfway back to your plate. Not Logan. Axl.

The realization crashed into you so suddenly it stole the air from your lungs. You swallowed. "...Sorry," you murmured, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I meant..." You couldn't even finish the sentence. Axl's expression softened. He didn't ask what you'd almost said. Didn't pretend he hadn't noticed. Instead, he quietly pushed the basket of fries toward you. "You can have the last one."

You looked at him. "...Really?" He shrugged. "I was getting full anyway." It was an obvious lie. The basket had been nearly empty for five minutes. A small laugh escaped you. Quieter this time. Fragile. You stared down at the lone fry resting in the paper-lined basket. Funny. For one impossible second… You'd forgotten. Not forgotten Logan. Forgotten that he wasn't sitting across from you anymore. That it wasn't his voice filling the silence. That it wasn't his laugh making yours come so easily. Your chest tightened.

If only… If only people could rewind conversations the way they rewound songs. If only love had an understudy. If only the person your heart kept reaching for… Was still yours to reach for. Instead, you picked up the last fry and smiled anyway. Some performances were convincing enough… Even when the actor's heart wasn't in the scene.

Logan didn't remember much of the drive back to the hockey house.

The streets blurred together beneath the glow of passing streetlights, amber streaks melting across the rain-speckled windshield. Garrett had driven. Tucker had ridden shotgun. Someone had spoken at some point.

Logan couldn't remember a single word. His mind had stayed behind at Malone's. Behind a table tucked beneath warm hanging lights. Behind your laugh. By the time they stepped through the front door, the house had settled into an unusual kind of silence. Not the peaceful kind. The empty kind.

Garrett had left almost immediately, mumbling something about walking Hannah back to her dorm. Dean had vanished upstairs after announcing he had "pressing matters to attend to," which everyone knew translated to finding an excuse to text Allie.

Leaving Logan and Tucker alone.

The living room was dim except for the flickering television, its muted colors dancing lazily across the walls. Hockey sticks leaned against the entryway. Someone had left a hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. The lingering scent of pizza and beer still hung in the air.

Logan collapsed onto the cushions, exhaustion sinking into his bones. Not physical exhaustion. Something heavier. The kind that settled behind your ribs and refused to leave. A bottle landed on the coffee table with a dull thunk. Cold glass. Beads of condensation slowly trickled down its sides.

"You've been staring at absolutely nothing for the last three hours," Tucker said, dropping onto the recliner across from him. Logan reached for the bottle without lifting his eyes. "I'm fine." Tucker barked out a laugh. "No, you're committed." Logan frowned. "To what?" "To lying." The cap hissed as Logan twisted it off. "I wasn't lying." "You've read the nutrition label on that beer at least six times." "I like reading." "It's literally the same bottle."

Silence settled between them. Outside, rain whispered softly against the windows. Somewhere upstairs, pipes groaned. The refrigerator hummed steadily in the kitchen, filling the quiet with a low mechanical buzz. Logan took a slow drink. It tasted bitter. Or maybe everything did lately.

Tucker watched him over the rim of his own bottle. "You know..." His voice was quieter now. "...you're really bad at pretending you're okay." A humorless smile tugged at Logan's lips. "So I've heard." "No." Tucker leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I mean catastrophically bad." Logan rubbed tired fingers across his eyes. "I saw her today." "I know." "Twice." "I know." "...She looked..." His voice caught. "...happy."

The word hung heavily between them. Tucker didn't answer right away. Instead, he watched the rain crawl down the living room window in uneven trails before finally speaking. "You know what I saw?" Logan lifted his head. "I saw two people trying way too hard." A confused crease formed between Logan's brows. "What?" "You." Tucker pointed toward him with the neck of his bottle. "You spent half the night pretending you weren't watching her." Then he lowered the bottle. "And Y/n spent the other half pretending she wasn't thinking about you."

Logan's heart stumbled. "What makes you think that?" Tucker looked almost offended. "Because I pay attention." He sighed, setting his beer on the coffee table. "I've seen her before you." "I've seen her with you." "And I've seen her after you." His expression softened. "She's not the same." Logan stared silently at the floor.

"I watched her laugh tonight," Tucker continued. "It sounded real." A small pause. "But every time she thought nobody was looking..." He shook his head. "...it disappeared." Logan swallowed hard. His fingers tightened around the bottle until his knuckles turned white.

"You really think she's..." He couldn't finish. Tucker answered anyway. "I think she misses you." Hope bloomed inside Logan's chest before he could stop it. Small. Fragile. Dangerous. Just as quickly, he crushed it. "It doesn't matter." "It does." "I hurt her." "I know." "I slept with other people." "I know." "I broke the best thing that's ever happened to me." "I know." "So why are we even having this conversation?" The room fell quiet again.

Rain tapped rhythmically against the windows. The television flashed silently in the corner. Tucker stared at Logan for what felt like an eternity. Then he let out the most exasperated sigh Logan had ever heard. "Oh, for the love of God." He pushed himself out of the recliner so abruptly it scraped loudly across the hardwood floor.

"No." He began pacing. "I'm done." Logan blinked. "...Done with what?" "With this." Tucker waved both arms dramatically around the room. "The longing." "The staring." "The brooding." "The tragic 'I ruined everything' speeches." "I don't—" "You absolutely do." "Tuck—" "And don't even get me started on Y/n." Logan looked up. "What about her?" "She's just as bad."

Tucker pointed toward the ceiling as if the answer were written there. "You've got one person pretending he doesn't deserve a second chance." He pointed toward the front door. "And another pretending she's moved on." He threw both hands into the air. "I swear, it's like watching two people drown while arguing over who should grab the life raft."

Despite himself, Logan laughed. A real one. Short. Quiet. But real. Tucker immediately pointed at him. "There!" "What?" "See?" "You still know how to smile." Logan rolled his eyes. "Barely." A slow, mischievous grin spread across Tucker's face. The kind that usually ended with Dean in handcuffs... ...or Garrett questioning every life decision that had led him there. "Oh..." Tucker clapped his hands together once.

"I've got it." Logan's stomach dropped. "...No." "Oh, yes." "Tucker." "It's too late." "Tucker." He jabbed a triumphant finger toward the ceiling like a general announcing battle plans.

"Operation: Get Logan and Y/n Back Together..."

He paused for dramatic effect. "...is officially in motion." Logan groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I already hate this." As if summoned by chaos itself, Dean's voice echoed from somewhere upstairs. "Did somebody say operation?" Tucker's grin widened. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

abbycoded

Tucker fanclub

b1t3th34ppl3

— Want You Back

The Master list, Part two of Your Favourite flowers

Pairing: John Logan x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everybody knew about you and Logan. Now, all that's left are missed shows, forgotten flowers, and the lingering hope that maybe some love stories deserve a second act.

Inspired by "Want You Back" by 5 Seconds Of Summer.

Warnings: Exes to lovers • Angst • Mutual pining • Emotional hurt/comfort • Miscommunication • Alcohol consumption/intoxication • Flashbacks • Insecurity • yearning

Author's Note: Holy moly... I genuinely didn't expect Your Favorite Flowers to get so much love. T^T Thank you all so much for reading—it honestly means the world to me.

Anyway... here's Part Two!

This Part was heavily inspired by "Want You Back" by 5 Seconds of Summer because I've been absolutely obsessed with that song lately. I also think I may have snuck in a few too many references... (Greek mythology, Flipped, 5SOS.. you get the idea. )

I'm not gonna lie, my heart broke a little while writing this chapter. Hehe.

As always, thank you so much for reading, and if you spot any grammar mistakes, please be kind! English isn't my first language, and I'm still learning.

I hope you enjoy (and maybe cry a little). ♡

"Fuck it," Logan muttered, tipping the bottle back until the last drop of beer disappeared. He set the empty bottle on the coffee table with a dull thud before glancing at Tucker. "Tuck," he called. "Change the music." Tucker looked up from the couch, an amused grin spreading across his face.

"Since when do you listen to 5 Seconds of Summer?" Logan shrugged, refusing to meet his friend's eyes. "I don't." Dean let out a laugh. "Then why the sudden request?" "Just play it." Tucker smirked but grabbed the remote anyway. After scrolling through a few playlists, he clicked on "I Want You Back" by 5 Seconds of Summer.

The boys had been generous enough to let the theater department throw their cast after-party at the hockey house after opening night. It hadn't taken long for the place to fill with people. Red cups littered every available surface, empty pizza boxes were stacked on the kitchen counter, and conversations blended together beneath the steady pulse of the music. Theater kids and hockey players mixed surprisingly well, filling the living room with easy laughter and the occasional off-key singing.

The opening piano notes had barely played before your head snapped toward the speakers. "Oh my God!" you squealed, your words slurring together. "This is Five Seconds of Summer!" A laugh escaped you as you reached for Allie's and Hannah's hands, nearly spilling your drink in the process. "C'mon! Dance with me." "You've had enough to drink," Hannah protested, laughing despite herself. "Exactly," you replied matter-of-factly. "That's why we have to dance."

Before either of them could object, you pulled them into the middle of the living room. The three of you dissolved into laughter, swaying to the beat while singing along long before the lyrics even started. A smile tugged at the corner of Logan's mouth.

Garrett noticed immediately. "It's her favorite band," he said quietly. "I know," Logan answered, his gaze never leaving you. Dean followed his line of sight before shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. "I Want You Back?" Seriously? You're whipped, dude." Logan ignored him. The first verse drifted through the room, the lyrics weaving between conversations and laughter.

♪ No matter how long you're gone... I'm always gonna want you back...♪

His grip tightened around the neck of his beer bottle. Maybe he should talk to you. Maybe one conversation wouldn't change anything. Maybe he'd finally tell you how sorry he was. He started toward you before stopping himself halfway across the room. One of the guys from the theater department had beaten him to it.

The actor leaned down to say something that made you burst into laughter. You lightly shoved his shoulder before the two of you continued dancing with the rest of the cast, completely unaware of Logan watching from across the room. A knot twisted in his stomach.

The distance between you suddenly felt impossible to cross. He lowered his gaze to the half-empty beer in his hand. The bitter taste lingered on his tongue as one thought echoed louder than the music.

You burst into laughter at one of your friend's ridiculously stupid jokes. You couldn't even remember the punchline anymore—something about why you couldn't trust atoms—but it had been just funny enough in your drunken state.

Across the room, Logan watched the scene unfold from behind the rim of his beer bottle. Every laugh that left your lips twisted something inside his chest. He told himself to look away. He didn't.

Instead, he reached for his drink again, letting the bitter beer burn down his throat in hopes that it would drown out the ache settling in his chest. It didn't. It only made him miss you more. Logan took another long drink, barely tasting the beer.

"Hey." A blonde girl slid into the empty spot beside him, leaning against the kitchen counter as though she'd known him for years. "I don't think we've met." Logan forced a polite smile. "I don't think we have." She laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm Kaia. Theater department." "Logan." "I know who you are." Of course she did.

She rested her elbow on the counter, asking him about hockey, classes, and whether the rumors about the Briar hockey team were true. Logan answered with distracted hums and one-word replies, offering the occasional smile out of habit more than interest.His body was there but his mind wasn't. Because less than twenty feet away him was you.

His Y/n.

with some theatre department guy and laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful? was all that could run in his mind.

You threw your head back as one of your castmates said something that sent the entire group into another fit of laughter. The sound carried effortlessly through the room, rising above the music and chatter.

His eyes found you without meaning to. Why couldn't he remember the last time you'd laughed like that with him? The blonde kept talking, blissfully unaware that she was carrying the conversation alone. Logan nodded absentmindedly, pretending to listen while every part of him stayed fixed on you.

You looked happy. Genuinely happy. It should've made him smile. Instead, it hollowed him out. For the first time all night, he realized he wasn't jealous of the guy making you laugh. He was jealous of the version of himself who used to be able to.

"...Because they make up everything!"

Another wave of laughter rippled through your group. You shook your head, smiling as you wiped at the corner of your eye. Whether you were laughing because of the joke or because the alcohol had lowered every one of your defenses, you couldn't tell anymore. As the laughter settled, your gaze wandered across the crowded living room.

It found Logan almost instantly. He stood near the kitchen counter, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingers, when a blonde girl wandered over to him. She leaned in, saying something that disappeared beneath the music.

Then he smiled. That smile. The one that always made your heart stumble. The blonde laughed, and Logan laughed with her.

My Logan.

The one who used to steal your smiles. The one who waited outside the theater after every show with a bouquet of forget-me-nots tucked behind his back.

The one who used to look at you like you were the only person in the room. You looked away before the sting behind your eyes had the chance to become something more. Maybe another drink would help.

The night seemed to swallow you whole.

Somewhere between the music, the laughter, and one too many drinks, the room had softened around the edges. The fairy lights blurred into warm golden halos overhead, and every conversation melted together into an indistinct hum.

You'd long since given up on pretending you were pacing yourself.

Now you were sprawled across the couch, one leg tucked beneath you while your head rested dramatically against the armrest. Your red cup sat forgotten on the coffee table, courtesy of Allie, who had confiscated it the moment you'd started insisting the ceiling fan was "kind of inspirational."

"I think we're done drinking for the night," Hannah said, crouching in front of you with a bottle of water. You eyed it suspiciously. "That's not vodka." "No." "I don't want it." "We know."

You sighed dramatically before your gaze suddenly sharpened, as though you'd just remembered the most important thought in the world. "Hannah." She blinked. "...Yeah?" "You know what?" "What?" You sat up just enough to point a finger at her.

"Orpheus should've looked back."

Silence. Hannah frowned. "...What?"

"He should've looked back," you repeated, nodding with surprising conviction. "Everyone says he doomed them both because he couldn't wait, but..." You pressed a hand dramatically against your chest. "Imagine loving someone so much that one last look is worth losing them forever."

Garrett, who had been sitting beside Hannah moments earlier, slowly lowered the slice of pizza in his hand.

"...What?"

You continued as though you hadn't heard him. "He knew the risk." You sniffled. "He looked anyway." Your lip quivered. "That's romantic." Garrett looked at Hannah. Hannah looked at Garrett. Neither of them had the faintest idea how they'd gone from monitoring your alcohol intake to debating Greek mythology.

"I..." Garrett began cautiously. "I thought the lesson was literally don't look back." "No!" you gasped, sounding genuinely offended. "The lesson is that he loved her." Garrett blinked. "I think..." He glanced at Hannah for help. "...I think I'm losing this argument." "You are," you declared with a solemn nod before slumping back against the couch.

"I still would've looked."

The room fell quiet for a moment. Across the living room, Logan had heard every word. His grip tightened around the beer bottle in his hand. He wondered if, given the chance, you'd have looked back for him too.

Tucker had been watching Logan ever since he'd asked him to change the music. From the moment I Want You Back started playing, Logan hadn't been present—not really.

His body remained planted beside the kitchen island, a half-empty bottle of beer hanging loosely from his fingertips, condensation slowly collecting against his knuckles. But his attention drifted elsewhere, pulled across the crowded living room as if tethered by an invisible string.

Every laugh that escaped your lips softened the hard lines of his face. Every smile you gave someone else hollowed him out all over again. It was almost painful to watch. Tucker bumped his shoulder. "Watching you suffer usually brightens my day," he admitted, taking a long sip of his beer. "But damn..."

Logan dragged his eyes away from you. "You actually look like shit." A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. "Thanks." Tucker's usual grin never came. Instead, he studied his best friend for a long moment, his expression unusually gentle.

"You really messed up, didn't you?"

The question lingered between them, swallowed almost immediately by the bass vibrating through the walls and the laughter spilling from the living room.

Yet somehow...

It was the loudest thing Logan had heard all night. For the first time since the breakup... Someone had finally said it. Logan lowered his gaze to the amber liquid swirling inside the bottle. His thumb absentmindedly traced the peeling label, over and over, until it began to curl beneath his nail. "...Yeah." The word barely left his lips. The memory found him anyway.

"You missed opening night." Your voice wasn't sharp. It wasn't angry. If anything... That hurt more. It was tired.

The kind of tired that settled deep in your bones after hoping for too long. Logan stood frozen in the doorway of your apartment, hockey bag slipping from his shoulder with a heavy thud against the hardwood floor. The familiar scent of vanilla candles lingered in the air, mingling with the faint smell of fresh paint that always clung to your scripts and costume pieces. One of your playbills lay open on the coffee table beside two mugs of tea.

One untouched. One already cold. "I told you Coach kept us late." "I know." You nodded softly. "I saved you a seat anyway." His eyes drifted toward the empty chair beside yours. A folded ticket rested there. Still perfectly intact. You'd never stopped believing he'd walk through the theater doors. "I'm sorry." Your smile didn't reach your eyes. "You've been saying that a lot lately." Silence settled over the apartment.

Outside, rain slipped lazily down the windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold and white. Somewhere beyond the walls, a car horn echoed before fading into the distance.

Inside... The room felt unbearably still. "I've been busy." "So have I." "But this is different." You looked at him with knitted brows. "Different how?" "My scholarship depends on hockey." "And my degree depends on theater." "I know that." "Do you?" Your voice never rose above a gentle murmur. Somehow, that only made every word heavier.

"You've missed the last three shows." "I couldn't." "You didn't." The correction landed softly. Almost kindly. Which somehow made it sting even more. Logan dragged a hand through his already messy hair, frustration tightening every muscle in his body.

"You think I wanted to miss them?"

"I think..." You rubbed absentmindedly at the fading stage makeup near your wrist. "...I think you're carrying everything by yourself." "I have to." "No, Logan." You closed the distance between you until only a step remained. "You don't."

He let out a bitter laugh. "You don't get it." Something flickered across your face. Not anger. Heartbreak. "Then help me understand." "You can't." "Why not?" His jaw clenched.

"Because you don't know what it's like."

The words hit the room with a force neither of you expected. Immediately, he wished he could reach into the air and pull them back. "You don't understand the pressure I'm under." Your shoulders sagged ever so slightly. "I don't understand?"

A sad smile found your lips. "I spend every opening night looking for you in the audience." Your fingers nervously twisted the sleeve of your sweater. "I save you a seat anyway." You let out a quiet laugh. Not because anything was funny. Because if you didn't laugh...

You were afraid you might cry. "I tell everyone you'll be here." "They always ask where you are." Logan couldn't bring himself to look at you. The guilt sat like wet concrete in his chest.

Somehow, your drunken emotional spiral had only gotten worse.

What had started as an impassioned defense of Orpheus looking back for Eurydice had now evolved into an equally dramatic lecture about Echo and Narcissus.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, gesturing wildly with your bottle of water as though you were standing on a stage instead of slumped in the middle of a packed living room. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, strands of hair falling into your face every time you nodded too enthusiastically.

"I'm telling you," you insisted, pointing an accusatory finger somewhere in Garrett's general direction, "Echo deserved so much better." Garrett blinked. "...Who?" "Echo!" you gasped, sounding genuinely offended. "The nymph!" Dean frowned from the armchair across from you. "...Like... the Amazon thing?"

You stared at him. For one long, painful second. Then you buried your face in your hands. "Oh my God." Allie let out a laugh beside you. "Hockey players." "They know nothing," you groaned dramatically, peeking through your fingers. "Absolutely nothing."

Hannah was already smiling before you even continued.

"She was cursed!" you exclaimed, throwing your hands into the air. "She could only repeat what other people said, and then she falls in love with the most emotionally unavailable man in Greek mythology."

Dean raised a finger.

"...Who's Greek?" "The mythology, Dean." "Oh." Garrett glanced at Hannah. "...I'm still trying to process the fact that there are rankings for emotionally unavailable men." "There are," you said with absolute conviction. "Narcissus is number one."

Dean looked horrified. "There's a list?" "No!" Allie laughed. "She's making it up." "I am not," you protested, scandalized. "He's literally in love with himself." Garrett rubbed a hand over his face. "So... let me get this straight." He pointed at you. "You got drunk..."

You nodded. "...and now you're explaining Greek mythology." You nodded again. "...While insulting fictional men." Another nod. Garrett sighed. "I think I'd rather deal with Dean." "Hey!" Dean objected.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Before Garrett could answer, you leaned back against the couch with an exaggerated sigh, your gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "I just think..." you murmured, the playful grin slowly fading from your face, "...loving someone who never really sees you..." Your voice grew quieter. "...must be the loneliest feeling in the world."

The room fell silent. Garrett's confused expression softened. Dean stopped reaching for the bowl of chips. Even Allie's smile disappeared. No one said a word. Because for the first time all night... It no longer sounded like you were talking about Echo.

abbycoded

b1t3th34ppl3

— Your Favorite Flowers

The Masterlist

Pairing: John Logan x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everybody knew about you and Logan. After your messy breakup, you became a sensitive topic—one no one dared bring up around him. He avoided everything that reminded him of you. Until the day he almost bought your favorite flowers.

Inspired by "Your Favorite Flowers" by MICO.

Warnings: Exes to lovers • Angst • Mentions of alcohol • Yearning • Reminiscing

Author's Note Hi! I've been listening to MICO way too much lately, so here's a fic inspired by his song "Your Favorite Flowers."

This is my first time writing for the Off-Campus fandom, so I hope you enjoy it!

Also, English isn't my first language, so if you spot any grammar mistakes or awkward wording, please feel free to let me know. Constructive feedback is always appreciated. ♡

The florist smelled like fresh rain and eucalyptus.

Logan wasn't entirely sure why Hannah had dragged him along. Something about centerpieces, stage decorations, and how Garrett had absolutely no eye for color. Dean had argued that fake flowers were cheaper, Tucker had insisted real ones "had soul," and somehow Logan had ended up carrying three bags of ribbon he'd never asked for.

"These?" Hannah held up a bundle of white baby's breath.

Dean made a face. "Looks like weeds." "They're filler flowers," Hannah replied patiently. "They're boring." "They're not." "They're literally called filler." Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we just buy the damn flowers?"

While they argued, Logan wandered. Rows of blooms stretched before him in every color imaginable. Roses. Peonies. Tulips. Hydrangeas. Without thinking, he reached for a small bouquet tucked between the daisies. Forget-me-nots.

His fingers curled around the stems before his brain caught up. Blue. Tiny. Delicate enough that he'd always worried he'd crush them before they ever made it to your apartment.

"You always buy me the expensive ones." You'd laughed the first time he'd shown up outside the theater with a bouquet hidden behind his back.

"They're not expensive." "Logan." "...They're imported." You lifted an eyebrow. "...Okay, maybe a little expensive." You'd rolled your eyes before taking them anyway, burying your nose into the flowers with the kind of smile that made every late-night practice and every miserable conditioning session worth it.

"They're my favorite." "I know." Every opening night after that, he'd be there. Sometimes waiting outside the backstage door. Sometimes squeezed into the audience beside Hannah and Allie. Sometimes arriving twenty minutes late because hockey practice ran over.

It didn't matter. He always brought forget-me-nots.

Every.

Single.

Show.

"You know..." you'd teased once, carefully placing another bouquet into the growing collection on your dorm windowsill. "One day I'm gonna run out of vases."

"I'll buy you more."

"You'd rather buy me vases than different flowers?"

He'd wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss against your temple. "They're your favorite." You'd tilted your head back, smiling up at him. "So you remembered." "As if I could forget."

Funny.

Now all he seemed capable of doing was remembering.

"Logan?" Hannah's voice cut through the memory. He blinked. The bouquet was still in his hand. For one stupid, embarrassing second, he'd forgotten you weren't waiting outside a theater anymore.

That there wasn't another show to celebrate. That you weren't his to bring flowers to. His grip loosened immediately. "...Sorry," he muttered, placing the forget-me-nots back into the bucket with far more care than necessary.

Hannah watched him for a moment. She didn't say anything, she didn't have to. Everyone knew about you and Logan and everyone knew your favorite flowers.

The auditorium was a mess.

Props littered the stage. Someone had abandoned a fake sword in the front row. Half-finished set pieces leaned against the wings, and a ladder sat center stage like everyone had collectively decided it wasn't a safety hazard. "Again," your director called.

You and Allie exchanged the same exhausted look before stepping back into your places. For the third time in twenty minutes, you delivered your lines.

"...I'm searching and scanning for answers in every line for some kind of sign and when you were mine." Silence. Then— "Good. Again, but less angry. More... heartbroken."

You resisted the urge to laugh. "That's his solution to everything," Allie whispered as you reset. "'More emotion.'" You snorted.

"I swear, if he tells me to 'feel the character' one more time, I'm gonna feel unemployment." Allie bumped your shoulder with hers. "Lucky for you, theater doesn't pay." "Exactly my point." A chuckle escaped both of you before the director disappeared backstage to argue with the lighting crew.

You collapsed onto the edge of the stage with a dramatic sigh. "My feet are filing for divorce." "You've said that every rehearsal this week." "Because it's true." Allie laughed, taking a sip from an empty water bottle before realizing it was, in fact, empty. "...Right."

She frowned. "Where's Hannah?"

You checked your phone. No new messages. "She said she'd bring the supplies." You glanced toward the auditorium doors. "She insisted, actually." "'You guys focus on rehearsing,'" Allie mimicked in a surprisingly accurate Hannah impression. "'I'll handle the boring stuff.'"

You smiled despite yourself. "Sounds exactly like her." The smile lingered for only a second before your attention drifted back to the stage. You'd been here almost every day for the last month. Long rehearsals. Extra choreography. Costume fittings. Set painting. Anything to keep yourself busy.

Because being busy meant you didn't have to think. Didn't have to wonder what Logan was doing. Didn't have to remember the nights he'd wait outside these very backstage doors, leaning against the brick wall with that stupidly handsome grin and a bouquet of forget-me-nots hidden behind his back. You'd promised yourself this production was a fresh start.

No Logan. No heartbreak. Just theater.

"...Earth to Y/n." You blinked. Allie was waving a hand in front of your face. "You okay?" You forced a smile. "Yeah." She narrowed her eyes. "You did the thing again." "What thing?" "The staring into space like you're having a full-blown existential crisis thing." "I don't do that." "You absolutely do."

Before you could argue, the auditorium doors swung open. "Sorry!" Hannah called, struggling through the doorway with bags hanging from both arms. "The craft store was absolute chaos." Allie immediately hopped off the stage. "Finally. I was two minutes away from using cardboard instead of foam board."

"And whose fault would've that been?" Hannah shot back. "Yours." "My fault?" "You volunteered." "I was being nice!" "Exactly."

You watched the two of them bicker all the way down the aisle, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

The auditorium doors swung open with a loud creak.

"We come bearing gifts!" Dean announced, dramatically lifting two shopping bags above his head like he'd just returned from war. "They're craft supplies," Garrett deadpanned from behind him. "Not the Holy Grail." "Speak for yourself. Glitter is priceless."

"You bought glitter?" Hannah asked, horrified. Dean shrugged. "It was on sale." "You weren't supposed to buy glitter." "I thought we could spice things up." "You cannot 'spice up' Hamilton, Dean."

He looked genuinely disappointed.

"Oh."

Tucker snorted, balancing several foam boards under one arm while Logan followed behind him with two cardboard boxes and a paper bag from the florist tucked beneath his arm.

"Where do you want everything?" Garrett asked.

"Stage left is fine," your director answered without looking up from his clipboard. The boys made their way toward the stage.

You were kneeling on the floor with Allie, sorting through costume pieces, when you heard the familiar sound of hockey shoes squeaking against the auditorium floor. Your hands froze. Don't look you said to yourself yet.. You looked anyway.

Logan.

He was carrying one of the boxes toward the stage, talking quietly with Tucker about something you couldn't make out. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was habit. Whatever it was, he looked up at the exact same moment you did.

Brown eyes met yours. Neither of you smiled. Neither of you looked away. For one painfully long second, the entire auditorium seemed to disappear.

Then Dean clapped his hands together. "So..." he said far too loudly. "Where do these go?" The spell broke immediately.

You looked back down at the costumes in your lap, pretending to be very interested in separating black gloves from navy ones. Logan cleared his throat and shifted the box in his arms. "Uh... stage left?" he repeated, as if Garrett hadn't already asked.

"Yeah," your director answered again. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Not the peaceful kind. The kind everyone noticed. Garrett noticed it first, his gaze flicking between you and Logan before landing squarely on Dean. Dean noticed it a second later. Tucker definitely noticed it.

Even Hannah and Allie stopped talking. Nobody said a word. Because everybody knew. Everybody knew about you and Logan. Dean, surprisingly, was the first to recover. "So..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Anybody hungry? We passed a pizza place." "No," Garrett answered immediately. "We literally just ate." "I could eat again." "We know," Tucker muttered.

The conversation resumed, forced at first, then gradually more natural as everyone collectively pretended those few seconds had never happened. You focused on untangling a necklace from a costume.

Logan busied himself stacking paint cans near the wings. There were barely twenty feet between you. It somehow felt like miles.

The cast party was in full swing by the time you and Allie arrived.

Music pulsed through the house, laughter spilled from every room, and someone had already claimed the kitchen as a makeshift dance floor. "You know," Allie said, handing you a red cup, "I'm starting to think us theater people might actually be crazier than hockey players."

You glanced across the room, where one of the ensemble members was attempting to perform a dramatic monologue while standing on the coffee table. "...I think you're right."

She grinned, clinking her cup against yours. "To surviving opening night." "To surviving," you echoed before taking a sip. The cheap vodka burned all the way down.

You winced. "That's disgusting." "Which means it's working." You laughed. Maybe she was right. For weeks, you'd buried yourself in rehearsals, costumes, and late-night line runs. Tonight, there was nothing left to distract you. So you drank. One cup became two. Two somehow became three.

"You should slow down," Allie warned, eyeing your nearly empty cup. "I'm pacing myself." "You said that fifteen minutes ago." "I'm pacing... aggressively." Allie sighed. "You have the alcohol tolerance of a Victorian child." "I do not." "You got tipsy off half a wine cooler at Hannah's birthday." "That was different." "How?" "It was... fruitier." Allie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. Before she could reply, Hannah appeared beside the two of you, weaving through the crowd. "There you are!" she said. "I've been looking everywhere."

"We're hiding," Allie answered. "I can see that." Hannah's eyes landed on your cup. Then on the empty one sitting on the windowsill beside you.

Then back to you. "...How many?" You held up two fingers. Then frowned. "...Maybe four?" Allie snorted. "See?" "I told you." Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh, no." "What?" "You get emotional when you're drunk." "I do not." "You cried because a squirrel crossed the road safely.""It made it." "You also apologized to a parking meter."

"I thought it was lonely." Allie burst into laughter. "I forgot about that!" "I'm leaving," you declared, pointing dramatically toward absolutely nowhere. "You don't even know where the door is," Hannah replied. You looked around. "...That's actually a fair point."

Across the room, Garrett was in the middle of telling Dean a story when he noticed Hannah looking unusually concerned. "What happened?" Hannah tilted her head toward you. Garrett followed her gaze. "...Uh-oh." Dean looked over next.

"Oh, she's drunk drunk." Tucker sighed knowingly. "Someone should probably make sure she drinks some water." Logan hadn't meant to look. Really, he hadn't.

But the moment Dean said your name, his eyes found you on the other side of the room. You were laughing at something Allie had said, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, absentmindedly spinning your cup between your hands.

For just a second...

You looked exactly like the girl he'd fallen in love with. His chest tightened. He looked away first. The girl who'd rush into his arms after every curtain call.

The girl who'd smile the second she spotted a bouquet of tiny blue flowers tucked behind his back. His fingers twitched instinctively, as if they still remembered the feel of delicate stems between them.

Forget-me-nots.

He'd almost bought them today. Almost.

His gaze lingered on you for another heartbeat before dropping to the floor. A humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I should've bought the flowers…" he murmured under his breath. The words were so quiet they disappeared beneath the music.

abbycoded

oh just shoot me

annebronte-deactivated20210628

reblog if you wear glasses. too many mutuals don't know they have glasses wearers in their midsts

abbycoded

hey divas

not a request but I love ur pfpppp ahhh !!!

@alliesrookiefiles

ahhhh thank you!! You’re so sweet

dykeomaniac

angels are real btw ive seen one its my random mutual on tumblr

abbycoded

@effortlesslysweet

effortlesslysweet

an angel called me an angel ok i'm so gonna brag about this now bye

abbycoded

I literally adore you oh my god

hs-is-loml

We Never Stood A Chance. (gg44)

Pairing: garrett graham x childhood best friend!reader

Summary: when the granddaughter of the former head coach of the New York Rangers transfers to BriarU, people don’t expect you to be so attached to captain of the Briar Hawks hockey team, garrett graham. what everyone didn’t know was that you are his childhood best friend. don't forget the guys who welcomed you with unconditional support and became family like you’ve never expected.

Warnings: childhood best friends to lovers trope. (they act like they’re married and have been together for 30 years) one-bed trope. no mention of y/n, pet names are used to refer to the reader: petal and angel. found family to the absolute max, along with dean being a menace. wholesome love all around. reader is given princess treatment.

a/n: worked my butt off for this one, and i hope you all love it as much as i do. i'm such a sucker for the found family trope. also a little family healing for garrett, and did i mention that garrett is completely gone for the reader? (let me know what you think!)

Word count: 13.1k

masterlist

“Did you guys hear about the granddaughter of the former New York Rangers coach transferring here from Columbia?” Logan asked Dean and Tucker from the kitchen. “We’re out of beer.”

Just as he made the statement, Garrett walked through the front door holding a case of beer: “I come bearing gifts.”

“Our saviour,” Logan jokingly praised as he opened his welcoming arms for Garrett to hand the case over to him.

“Logan, is she hot?” Dean chirped from the couch.

“What girl caught your eye?” Garrett teased, walking over to the pantry in search of a snack.

“Not yet. I was asking the boys if they heard about the new transfer from Columbia. Apparently, she’s the granddaughter of the former Rangers coach,” Logan explained.

His words had Garrett pause his rummaging and slowly turn around to face Logan. “Where’d you hear that from?” Garrett’s voice came out more snippy than he had meant.

“A couple of the guys in the locker room mentioned it today at morning practice,” Logan shrugged, not noticing Garrett’s shift in mood.

Garrett’s breath hitched at the mere thought of guys he knew talking about you.

abbycoded

oh I’m giggling

rhi-blogging

big dog energy

pairing – john logan x fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

synopsis – Logan learns very quick to not make assumptions when you ask him to dog sit for you

based on this request!

warnings – language, established/new relationship, reader is described as small/petite

note – obsessed with this idea, if you want to request something, you can submit it by clicking the ‘♡’ button on my page or commenting under this post! enjoy ♡

masterlist

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

“Yeah, no I totally understand, thanks anyway,” you say, hanging up the phone before rolling your eyes, sighing at yet another person being unavailable when you needed them. Your options kept getting slimmer and slimmer, trying to find a dog sitter for the week you’d be out of town. Family, close friends, everyone you could possibly think of not available.

abbycoded

I just giggled!

I was reminded of my brothers best friend seeing my dog for the first time in six years and him saying “he got big as fuck” 😭😭

#john logan imagine #john logan x reader #john logan fanfic #john logan off campus #john logan #john logan x you #off campus x reader #off campus fanfic #off campus fic #abby’s recs

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