Summary: Y/n transfers to Briar to play on the women's soccer team and reunite with her childhood best friendβ Hannah Wells. Overly protective and convinced that John Logan is in love with Hannah, Y/n is determined to keep him away. Logan is intrigued, and mildly annoyed at the new girl that keeps scaring women away from him.
CW: cursing, sexual themes, minor violence, angst, slowburn, slight enemies to friends to lovers, family drama, talk about SA (Hannah, not Y/n)
a/n: tysm for reading, this is a silly little passion project and i've loved writing it so far! lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist <3 i may have more than 10 parts, but for now that's what i have lol
ββββββ³ Warnings/Themes: PG. Fluff. Slight hurt/comfort (Logan's injured & reader looks after him)
ββββββ³ Pairing: John Logan x Reader
ββββββ³ Words: 3304
ββββββ³ Summary: You look after Logan after he takes a nasty hit on the ice.
βοΈ: sth a lil fluffier for my logie βͺβͺβ€οΈβ¬
Requested: here. General Masterlist here. Logan Masterlist here.
As you propped up your phone against the salt shaker on the counter, you let out a heavy sigh. It wasn't the same as watching the game, but the constant stream of updates had become your ritual whenever the Hawks were on the road. Away games meant spending days apart, relying on late-night phone calls to close the distance when all you really wanted was to be sitting in the arena, acting as Logan's personal cheerleader.
The pot on the stove gave a quiet sizzle as you dropped far more than one serving's worth of pasta into the boiling water, just as your screen light up with another notification.
@.hawkshockeycentral: a bit of magic from @.GarrettGraham44, and a brilliant finish from @.JohnLogan22, who slots a beauty in the top corner, giving the Hawks a 1-0 lead early in the first periodπ₯
A smile tugged at your lips, a familiar flush of warmth spreading over your chest. You could practically see the smug grin that was definitely on Logan's face right now as he crashed into Garrett on the ice.
Between stirring the sauce and draining the pasta, you refreshed your feed more times than you cared to admit. Your phone was set to vibrate if a notification came through, but every lull had you checking anyway.
By the time you carried your dinner to the table, the first period had ended without much else to report. You'd barely managed three bites before your phone buzzed again.
Your fork froze halfway to your mouth as you read the notification.
@.hawkshockeycentral: Logan goes down hard after receiving a nasty check from the opposition. He's headed straight to the locker room.
The fork slipped from your fingers, dropping back into the bowl and splashing pasta sauce on your shirt. An uncomfortable knot formed in the pit of your stomach, throat tightening as you began refreshing the feed every few seconds, desperate for another update. But the official account stayed silent.
Every second without an update seemed to stretch impossibly longer than the last.
You went to the hashtag, praying a fan in the arena had posted something. It only took a couple of seconds of scrolling for you to see the first video, it was a shaky recording from the stands with the caption βwarning! βΉβ. Against your better judgement, you tapped play. You instantly regretted watching it, a wave of nausea rolling through you.
Logan was driven shoulder-first into the boards before folding awkwardly onto the ice. He tried to push himself back up, only to stumble back down onto his knees. He tried to push himself up, but his right side gave out and he tumbled back down onto his knees.
Garrett was already in the face of the guys who hit Logan before he hit the ground a second time, the video ending before you could see what happened next.
A small, distant, part of you took comfort in knowing that Garrett had his back, but your mind was cruel, repeatedly replaying the moment that Logan went down.
You chewed the inside of your cheek until it stung, waiting for something, anything, official. 'He's okay,' you tried to reason with yourself. 'Hockey players get hit all the time, Logan gets hit all the time.'
That didnβt stop your foot from bouncing until the update finally arrived.
@.hawkshockeycentral: Update: @.JohnLogan22 has been ruled out for the remainder of tonight's game.
No detail, no context. Just a blunt sentence that you had to read three times before the words properly sank in.
Your thumb was already opening your messages before you'd fully registered what you were doing.
You: Please tell me you're okay?
It was a long shot, a desperate plea to the universe that willed him to check his phone when you knew that wasnβt even possible right now. Still, you stared at your message, hoping to see the typing bubble come. It never did, the delivered but not read checkmark only making you more restless.
Your pasta lay forgotten on the table, growing cold as you refreshed the Hawks' social media pages for what felt like the hundredth time.
When the final buzzer sounded and the players disappeared into the locker room, the Hawks' account posted the usual celebratory team photo.
You zoomed in on every face, mentally checking off every player, Garrett stood in the middle; Dean and Miller making dumb faces in the back; Tucker doing a peace sign behind a freshmanβs head, everyone was accounted for, except for Logan. Your stomach dropped.
With shaky hands, you called, tutting as it went straight to voicemail.
The five minutes that passed while you waited for the call felt like a punishment for a crime you didnβt commit. A torture designed specifically for you. But, then another ten minutes passed, and your imagination took over, filling in the blanks with possibilities that you wouldnβt dare to speak aloud.
By the time your phone finally lit up, your bottom lip was chewed raw.
My 22 β€οΈ calling.
You swallowed the lump in your throat before answering, forcing a smile as though he could somehow hear it. βHi.β
βHey, baby.β
The relief of hearing his voice made your knees feel weak.
βYou scared me,β you sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter.
A soft laugh crackled down the line. βI'm sorry, but you don't need to worry. I'm fine.β
βYou don't sound fine.β
There was a faint rustling on the other end, followed by a sharp intake of breath that he tried, and failed, to hide. You held your breath as his shallow exhales filtered through the speaker.
βIt looked worse than it actually was,β he said after a moment, his voice strained. βThe medical staff checked me out. Nothing's broken.β
Relief lasted all of a few seconds. βNothingβs brokenβ didnβt mean that he wasnβt hurting. And you didn't know if you'd earned the right to ask how much. To push when he might not want to be pushed. A cold anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach, making your heart beat double-time against your ribs.
Logan waited quietly on the line while you gathered your thoughts.
βYou sound tired, babe.β
βYeah, I am.β His breath caught before he finished the sentence. Β
Tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear, you played idly with a loose thread on your shirt. βIs that why you didn't answer? Or wasn't in the team picture?β
βNo, baby. I was getting checked over, then Coach was talking, then we got on the bus,β he sighed. βDidn't realise it'd been that long.β
βYou could've sent one text in that time.β
βI know, I'm sorry.β
βYou don't have to apologise.β
βI made you worry.β
βYou did,β you retorted quickly.
βI'll make it up to you.β
βYou don't have to do that, Johnny.β
βI kinda do.β
βNo, just, talk to me about something else,β you pled, just wanting to hear his voice. βAnything.β
For a few minutes, the back and forth almost felt like every other late-night phone call you'd shared since you started dating. Conversations with him were too easy, making you forget the context of the call. He couldnβt hide the yawn that came through the speaker.
βYou should get some sleep,β you said softly. βI'll see you when you get back?β
βYou'll definitely see me.β
βPromise?β
A sleep chuckle drifted to your ears. βI promise.β
Despite yourself, you smiled. βOkay, good night.β
βNight, baby.β
The line went dead as he hung up. You stared at the dark screen for barely thirty seconds before unlocking your phone again. Thumb hovering over Garrettβs name, you bit the bullet.
You: hey. is he actually okay?
Garrett: he's going to be sore as hell tomorrow. maybe miss a game or two.
Garrett: but it's nothing career-ending.
You stared at the screen, your dorm room suddenly feeling too quiet, a pull begging you to be somewhere else. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you'd grabbed your keys.
Using the spare key he'd given you just a few weeks ago, you let yourself into the Hawks' house. You turned on the bedside lamp in his room and set everything out on his nightstand: a large bottle of water; a fresh ice pack wrapped in a tea towel; painkillers; and the bottle of muscle massage oil you'd picked up on your way over.
Then, you waited. By the time the team bus was due back, you'd rearranged his room more times than you cared to admit and nearly convinced yourself to leave twice.
Showing up uninvited at the hockey house felt too much, too clingy, too soon. But he had given you a key for a reason, right?
The front door slammed downstairs, stopping your pacing in its tracks.
Voices drifted through the hallway, followed by the scrape of a duffel bag across the floor before a low groan reached your ears.
You were already halfway to the bedroom door when footsteps approached. Garrett stepped inside first, a knowing smile spreading across his face when he spotted you.
Behind him, Logan looked exhausted.
His baseball cap was pulled low over messy hair, his skin pale beneath the hallway light. One arm was held stiffly against his side, his jaw set as he stubbornly limped into the room. Garrett stayed close enough to steady Logan before he could wave him off.
Logan looked up, your eyes meeting through the hair covering his eyes. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, followed immediately by something softer, something almost like relief.
βHey,β you said softly, taking a hesitant step forward.
βYou came,β he said quietly.
You offered a small shrug. βYeah, thought you might want company.β
Hearing that, Logan instinctively straightened, as though standing a little taller would somehow erase the limp. The movement pulled at his shoulder and thigh at the same time, and a sharp hiss escaped before he could swallow it.
Before you'd even thought about it, you were beside him, one hand settling carefully at his waist while the other reached for his uninjured arm.
Garrett set Logan's heavy duffle bag on the floor with a soft thud before carefully stepping aside.
βYou got him?β Garrett asked.
You nodded, even though you weren't entirely sure that you did. βYeah.β
Garrett's gaze flicked between the two of you before he lightly nudged Loganβs uninjured shoulder. βDon't be a hero, tell her where it hurts.β
βThanks, G,β Logan muttered dryly.
With one last reassuring smile in your direction, Garrett slipped out, quietly closing the bedroom door behind him.
Logan shifted a little closer, one arm finding your waist while his injured one stayed tucked carefully against his side. Up close, the bruise stretching from the side of his neck beneath the collar of his t-shirt looked even darker than youβd imagined.
Your hand came to cup his cheek. βYou look awful,β you whispered.
βItβs nice to see you too,β he smiled.
You smiled back, your eyes lingering on the bruise for a second longer. βI mean it.β
βI know.β
His eyes stayed locked onto yours with an intensity that made the breath hitch in your chest. He looked at you like he was making sure that you were really there. Hand tightening around your waist, he leant in, moving carefully so he wouldnβt nudge his shoulder. You tilted your head up, closing the distance so he didnβt have to stretch his neck.
The kiss was tender, slow and warm, like a gratitude that melted away the anxious edge youβd been holding all night.
When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.
βWhat was that for?β You whispered.
One eyebrow lifted, the familiar spark finally returning to his eyes. βI need a reason to kiss my girlfriend?β
The first genuine laugh of the night escaped you. βNo.β
βGood.β He brushed one last kiss against your forehead before his gaze wandered around the room, Β eventually settling on the neatly arranged nightstand.
βYou did all this?β He motioned slightly toward the water bottle and supplies.
βI didn't know what you'd need.β
βYou didn't have to,β he muttered, though his hand tightened around your waist.
You reached up, taking off his cap and brushing a piece of hair away from his forehead. βI wanted to.β
Something in his expression softened completely.
For all his confidence, the easy flirting and cocky smiles, there was a quiet vulnerability underneath that you were slowly discovering. The easy grin he wore around everyone else was gone, replaced by something softer.
βWere you waiting long?β He asked.
You glanced away, focusing on the buttons of his shirt. β...Maybe. I couldn't stop thinking about you.β
You swallowed the unspoken truth, that for a terrifying few minutes after watching him tumble onto the ice, an irrational, suffocating panic had convinced you something terrible had happened, that you might lose him before you even really had him.
βI know it's irrational, but after I saw that video...β You let out a shaky laugh. βYou went down and couldnβt get back up... For a second, I-. I donβt even want to say it out loud.β You shook your head as if that would erase the thoughts.
His hand squeezed your waist. βI thought about you too.β
You looked back up at him.
βYou did?β
βI did,β he admitted, his tone unusually solemn. βWhile the trainers were checking me over in the back, I just kept thinking about you. How much I wanted was to get home... to you.β
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and you stood on tiptoe to press a brief, tender kiss to his lips. βI care about you. So much, Logan.β
βI care about you, too.β
You smiled, brushing your thumb lightly over his cheek. βAlright, come on, hockey boy.β
He blinked. βWhere are we going?β
You pointed to the bed. βIt's literally like two steps away.β
βSound exhausting.β
βLogan, I need you in bed.β
One eyebrow lifted. βOh, well, when you put it like that...β
You laughed, giving his hand a gentle tug as you guided him the short distance to the bed. He lowered himself onto the mattress with a quiet groan.
βYou know,β he said as he reached for the hem of his T-shirt, βnormally I'd be trying a lot harder to impress you.β
βYouβve already done enough impressing for one day.β
βDid you see I scored?β
βYes, but you also got flattened.β
βDetails.β
He winced as he tried to pull the shirt over his head, the movement tugging painfully at his shoulder.
βStop,β you said, stepping closer.
βIβve gotβ.β
βYou've got one working arm.β
He sighed dramatically but let his hand fall. βBossy.β
βSo I've been told.β
Carefully, you gathered the fabric at the bottom of his shirt and eased it up, pausing every time his face tightened with discomfort until it finally slipped over his head.
βThanks,β he murmured.
βYou're welcome.β
βBehave,β you warned as you crouched to help him out of his joggers.
βI like you better when you let me flirt,β he sighed as you helped him into a pair of shorts.
βIβm still letting you flirt, but youβre injured.β
βNot all of me is injured.β
You rolled your eyes, failing to hide the smile tugging at your lips.
Picking up the ice pack from the nightstand, you wrapped it more securely in the tea towel before holding it out to him.
βIce.β
He took it with an exaggerated sigh. βMy nurse is so mean.β
By the time the ice pack had lost its chill and Logan had reluctantly swallowed two painkillers, the tension in his shoulders still hadn't eased in the slightest.
βYou still hurting?β You asked softly.
He shrugged with his uninjured shoulder.
βIt's... manageable.β
The look you gave him was enough to make him shift uncomfortably on the mattress. βWhat?β
βYou're doing that thing, Logan.β
βI don't have a thing.β
βYou do,β you insisted, folding your arms. βIt's where you pretend you're completely fine because admitting otherwise is somehow offensive.β
βOffensive to who?β
βYou tell me. Because I'm fine with you not being fine. I'm fine with you needing me.β
βI should be taking care of you,β he said, even as he adjusted his shoulder with a quiet wince.
βMhm.β
You reached for the bottle of massage oil. His eyes followed your hand, his mouth already opening.
βIf you're about to say 'you don't have to', we're going to have a problem.β
He stuck his tongue out at you before pressing his lips together.
βTurn.β
βYes, ma'am.β He gave you an exaggerated salute before carefully turning around to sit on the edge of the bed with his back to you. βJust don't go anywhere near the bruise.β
βI won't.β
You settled behind him, your legs resting either side of his hips. Rubbing the oil between your palms to warm it, you rested your hands lightly on his shoulders.
The second your palms touched him, every muscle beneath them tightened.
βToo much?β
βNo,β he murmured. βJust cold.β
βSorry.β
βIt's okay, baby.β
Slowly, your thumbs traced careful circles beside his neck before working lower, avoiding the bruise spread across his shoulder.
βYou carry everything up here,β you murmured.
βComes with playing hockey.β
βYou also overthink though.β
βI think a perfectly normal amount, thank you.β
You smiled to yourself, hands drifting lower, carefully easing the muscles between his shoulder blades. Every so often, he'd suck in a quiet breath, and you'd immediately lighten your touch.
βToo sore?β
βA little.β
βYou should have told me, Logan.β Your hands stilled for the briefest moment. βDonβt just sit there suffering.β
βI didn't want you to stop.β
Your heart squeezed.
βYou know,β you said softly, βyou don't have to pretend with me.β
βI know.β
βI mean it.β Your fingertips resumed their slow circles. βYou don't have to act tough because you think it'll make me worry less.β
The room went quiet for a beat before his response came, almost too low to hear, βI'm just... Iβm not used to being taken care of.β
Gradually, the rigid line of his shoulders softened beneath your hands. The crease between his brows eased away, and his breathing became slower, deeper.
βThere,β you whispered after another minute. βHow's that?β
Instead of answering, Logan leant back until his back was resting lightly against your chest.
Carefully, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, making sure not to brush the bruises. His hand found yours immediately.
βBetter,β he murmured. βSo much better.β
You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. βI'm glad.β
He turned his head just enough to look back at you, eyes heavy with exhaustion but impossibly soft. βYou know what the best part of tonight was?β
You smiled. βThe painkillers finally kicking in?β
He huffed a laugh. βSeeing you.β
You were sure your heart skipped a beat.
βI walked in expecting an empty room,β he whispered, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. βInstead, you were already here.β
Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks. βI almost didn't stay.β
βWhy?β
βI kept thinking we've only been together a couple of months.β You shrugged. βI didn't know if this crossed some invisible line.β
He looked at you for a long moment. βI gave you a key.β
βI know.β
βI was hoping youβd use it.β He turned as much as his shoulder allowed. βI want to cross all the lines with you.β
You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. βCheesy.β
βYes,β he agreed, closing his eyes. βBut effective.β
Within minutes, the steady rise and fall of his breathing told you he'd drifted asleep, his hand still loosely wrapped around yours.
It was an awkward angle, one heβd probably wake up regretting, but you stayed exactly where you were, gently combing your fingers through his hair, grateful that he'd let you take care of him.
synopsis β meeting Loganβs friend group is definitely nerve-wracking, but nothing says 'nice to meet you' like gift giving
based on this request!
warnings β none, just wholesome interactions between reader and the girls/hockey boys
note β my first request omgπ₯Ή if you want to request something, you can submit them in asks section on my page or comment underΒ this post! enjoyΒ β‘
You and Logan were relaxing, his head on your chest as he cuddles up to you in bed. You run your hands through his hair, soaking up the moment while you both watched your favorite movie.
Your relationship has been blossoming, almost feeling too good to be true. You both were continuing to fall for each other as time passed, quite literally becoming two peas in a pod. Although, there's one thing that hasn't happened yet.
You haven't met his friends.
Logan talks about his friends all the time and your heart warms, knowing that he's got a good circle of friends around him. You feel like you know them personally, without even meeting them. An idea sparked in your head about a week ago, shopping around until you had everything you needed.
"I had an idea," you say, Logan's head lifting from your chest, smiling at you before you continue.Β
"I thought, since it's the first time I'm meeting all your friends that I should bring gifts. Nothing too crazy, just little things," you smile at the end of your sentence, Logan staring at you with so much admiration at your kind nature. He sits up, you doing the same before he smiles at you.
"Yeah I think it's a great idea," he replies, "I can tell you a little bit about them-"
"Oh no need," you cut him off, pulling a gift bag out from what looked like thin air. Logan looks at you with bewilderment.Β
"How did you-"
"You love your friends, you talk about your friends, I pay attention," you reply, riffling through the tissue paper, βAlthough, I do need you to make sure theyβre gonna like all their gifts,β you say, getting a chuckle out of Logan. He laughs, insisting you keep everything in the bag, saying how they'll appreciate the gesture, no matter what you ended up getting them.
βWhatβs your love language again?β he sarcastically asks. You playfully shove his shoulder, grinning back, trying to look βmadβ.
βFine, then I guess you donβt wantΒ yourΒ gift,β you tease. He raises his eyebrows at you as you reach in the bag and pull out a box that has a 'J.L.' written on it.
βWhatβs this?β He asks, looking down at the box.
βYou think I wasnβt gonna get you something too?β you ask, holding out the box for him.
"You didn't have to do that, baby", he says before taking the box and looking up, seeing you give him a look that screams 'really, have you met meβ.
He chuckles, opening the box, his smile fading slightly in shock. You watch him as he lifts the silver chain out of the box, the light catching it as it sparkles.
βI noticed a few spots on your current one that are starting to tarnish, so I wanted to get you an upgrade,β you say, gauging his reaction.
He looks at the chain, then you, overwhelmed by your attentiveness. He places the chain down on the bed next to him, before leaning in, giving you a kiss, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. You smile into the kiss before he pulls away.
βThank you, itβs perfect,β he says, as you smile at each other. βTomorrowβs gonna be great, everyoneβs gonna love you. The girls are dying to have another girl to hang out with too,β he says, you smiling at him.
βIβm excited to meet them,β you reply, grabbing his hand, interlocking your fingers.
After spending the night with you, Logan drives you both over to the hockey house. Nerves sink in your stomach and itβs almost as if Logan can sense it. He reaches over the center console, grabbing your hand, rubbing small circles on your hand with his thumb.
βEverythingβs gonna be great. Tuckβs making lunch and weβre just gonna chill. Youβre gonna fit right in, I promise,β he reassures you, glancing over to you and smiling before moving his focus back to the road.
You rub his arm with your free hand, exhaling trying to calm your nervous system.
Within minutes, you pull up to the hockey house. Logan honks his horn twice, making you jump at the unexpected action. The front door opens moments later, as two guys walk out, you knowing itβs Garrett and Dean, having seen their faces in pictures on social media with Logan.
You both get out of the car, you grabbing your bag that has all of the gifts in it before walking over to where the guys were standing. The guys all dap each other up before Logan introduces you to them, you smiling at them, shaking their hands.
βSo, youβre the girl thatβs got John Logan all head over heels in looove, huh?β Dean says, looking between you too.
βGuilty as chargedβ you reply confidently, holding your free hand up, making the guys laugh.
βWell, letβs head inside, itβs cold as fuck out here,β Garrett says, letting you walk first before the guys follow behind you. You donβt see the guys elbowing Logan, them teasing him about how the hell he managed to score someone likeΒ you.
Walking inside, youβre greeted by the smell of something incredible, as a girlβs squeal grabs your attention. The guys head into the kitchen as you chat with the girls.
βOh my gosh!!!β Allie yells, getting off the couch and immediately pulling you in for a hug. You chuckle as you hug her back, Hannah getting up to join you.
βIt's so nice to meet you, weβve heard so much about you, Iβm Allie!β she exclaims, her smile wide. You return the smile, introducing yourself to her and Hannah as she walks up to join you both.
βHi, Iβm Hannah, weβre so happy we finally get to meet you!β she says, the nerves already leaving your body. βAre you hungry? Foodβs almost ready,β she says.
βI could definitely eatβ you say, making the girls laugh. You put down your bag before joining everyone in the kitchen.
Loganβs eyes meet yours as he wraps his arm around Tuckerβs shoulders, him focusing intently on plating the dishes. He introduces the two of you, you waving at him from a distance, not wanting to interrupt his cooking.
βNice to meet you! Food is almost done,β he says, smiling at you.
Soon enough, everyone is sitting on the couch or in the lounge chairs, hanging out in the living room, eating and chatting. You didn't feel any bit of awkwardness or discomfort, everyone in the room giving off an inviting energy. Tucker makes his rounds, grabbing the dirty dishes before heading to the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher before returning to the couch.
βSoβ¦β you say, grabbing everyoneβs attention. βI know I literally just met you all but I have a thing for gift giving, so with Loganβs help, I thought I would get little gifts for you allβ, you say, pulling your bag in your lap.
βWhat?!β Allie asks.
βNo way!β Hannah says.
βOh, I like her even more now,β Dean says, laughing.
You pull out the labeled gifts for everyone, passing them around, as it feels like Christmas, the joy on your face watching everyone open their gifts.
βOh, sick,β Garrett says, staring down at the new set of hockey mouth guards, βIβve been needing to replace mine for a while now, thanks,β he says, smiling at you.
Hannah gasps, seeing the guitar pick with a tiny βH.W.β engraved into it, βThis is so amazing, wow thank you so much,β she says, her radiant smile filling up the room.
Tucker opens up the box, grinning wide as he pulls out a meat thermometer.
βOh shit!β he says, βThe last one blew up at Thanksgiving, Iβve needed a new one, thank you,β he says, flashing his smile at you.
Allie beams, seeing a pair of chunky gold hoops sitting inside the jewelry box,Β
βAhhh I love them!!!β she says, holding the box up and grinning.
Attention turns to Dean, whoβs sitting next to you as he pulls out what looks like a mini figurine of a roller coaster. His eyes slowly look up at you, hoping not to offend you by his confusion.
βLogan said Allie had mentioned something about you liking Six Flagsβ¦?β you trail off, your eyes slowly making their way to Logan, who was sat on the other side of you.
Allie presses her lips together, trying to stop herself from laughing, mumbling a, 'more like being Six Flags' as Dean laughs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, "Oh, I really like her Logan,β he grins, holding the figurine up, laughing at something you clearly donβt have the full story of yet.
Your eyes meet Loganβs again, the love for you beaming from his face. You smile back, knowing you feel right at home here.
Off The Record // John Logan x Fem!Reader [Masterlist]
Synopsis: Everyone at Briar University knows who John Logan is.
Future NHL star. Campus celebrity. The guy whose name fills headlines and whose face appears on every hockey poster across campus.
As editor of the student newspaper, you've spent years avoiding stories like his.
So when your professor assigns you to write an in-depth profile on one of Briar's biggest athletes, you're less than thrilled.
A disastrous first interview turns into late-night conversations, undeniable chemistry, and feelings neither of you saw coming, until one story threatens to ruin everything.
Off The Record // John Logan x Fem!Reader [Chapter Two]
Synopsis: Everyone at Briar University knows who John Logan is.
Future NHL star. Campus celebrity. The guy whose name fills headlines and whose face appears on every hockey poster across campus.
As editor of the student newspaper, you've spent years avoiding stories like his.
So when your professor assigns you to write an in-depth profile on one of Briar's biggest athletes, you're less than thrilled.
A disastrous first interview turns into late-night conversations, undeniable chemistry, and feelings neither of you saw coming, until one story threatens to ruin everything.
You couldnβt stop thinking about him. Not in a romantic way, but in the way that people thought about problems they hadnβt solved.
By the time you made it back to the newsroom, the interview had already replayed in your head at least six times.
Every answer, every smirk that crossed his face, and every infuriating response he gave you. You dropped your bag beside your desk and opened your laptop.
Emily looked over at you.
βHowβd it go?β
You stared at her.
βOh no,β she said.
βIt was a disaster.β
βTell me everything.β
You spent the next ten minutes recounting the entire encounter in increasingly dramatic detail. Emily laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her seat.
βHe said my questions were boring. I only got to the first three.β
βThatβs kind of funny.β
You pointed at her, βIt is not funny.β
βMaybe he doesnβt like reporters.β
βThen why agree to the interview?β
Emily shrugged.
βMaybe he didnβt have a choice.β
You paused. This could be possible. Athletes were constantly being pulled into media appearances and promotional events. Maybe heβd only agreed because his coach told him to.
Somehow, this just made you more frustrated. You still didnβt have a story, and your deadline wasnβt going anywhere.
--
That night, you opened a blank document and stared at the blinking cursor. Normally, the hardest part of writing was deciding where to begin. This time, the problem was that you had nothing to begin with.
You typed, βJohn Logan is one of Briar Universityβs most recognizable athletes.β Then, you deleted it. You tried again.
βJohn Logan began playing hockey at four years old.β Nope. Delete.
After fifteen minutes, your document remained blank. You groaned and pushed your laptop away. You leaned back and thought for a moment.
Every article youβd read about him focused on hockey. They focused on his statistics and his draft projections. None of them talked about who he was as a person or his life outside of the rink.
Maybe that was because nobody had asked, or maybe it was because heβd never let them. Either way, it was worth investigating. You reached for your laptop again. This time, instead of searching for recent hockey coverage, you started digging through older interviews in local newspapers.
Most of it was exactly what youβd expect: hockey, more hockey, and then even more hockey. You clicked on another article, and it was a profile from his first season at Briar.
Halfway through it, one paragraph stood out. Not because it was particularly detailed, but because it wasnβt. The writer briefly mentioned family challenges during Loganβs teenage years, but there was no explanation or details. There was just a vague reference before the article immediately pivoted back to hockey.
You opened a few more articles and saw a pattern emerging. Every time family came up, the subject changed almost immediately. Maybe Professor Madison was right, maybe there was a story here. Not a hockey story, but a human one. The kind you liked writing best.
You glanced at the clock, noticing it was past nine, but your fingers were already moving across the keyboard with a new list of questions. Questions that might matter. When you finally shut your laptop, you felt something that you hadnβt felt since leaving the arena: hope. Maybe the article wasnβt dead at all.
Your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see it was from an unknown number.
Unknown Number: You really looked like you wanted to throw your notebook at me today.
Unknown Number: This is Logan.
You sat upright. How had he gotten your number? Ah, thatβs right. The contact information was included when requesting the interview.
You looked at the message for a few seconds before responding.
You: You would have deserved it.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Logan: fair
You hated how quickly that response made you smile. Another message followed it.
Logan: You coming to practice tomorrow?
It sounded like he expected you to, like heβd already assumed you would come back.
You: Do I need to?
This time, his response took longer, but it came in.
Logan: Depends if you want the good answers.
You looked at the message for a while, and you found yourself genuinely looking forward to seeing John Logan again.
--
The next afternoon, you arrived at the arena fifteen minutes early, meeting him before practice was to start.
The arena was quieter than it had been previously. Practice wasnβt supposed to start for another forty-five minutes, but a few players drifted across the ice. The stands were mostly empty, and the arena felt less like a sports venue and more like a workplace.
You settled into the front row, with your notebook balanced on your knee. Today, your pages werenβt filled with standard interview questions about championships or the draft. This time, they were filled with questions about him, the person. At least, that was the plan. Whether Logan would actually answer them remained to be seen.
βWow.β
You looked up. Dean Di Laurentis stood in front of you, dressed in his blue practice gear and grinning. You sighed.
βHi, Dean.β
βYouβre back.β
βUnfortunately.β
He placed a hand over his heart, βThat hurts.β
βI think youβll survive.β
Dean dropped into the seat beside you without invitation. You immediately regretted arriving early.
βAre you stalking Logan?β he asked, turning toward you.
βNo.β
βInteresting.β
βWhat?β
βThatβs exactly what a stalker would say.β
Before you could respond, another voice cut in.
βLeave her alone.β
You turned. Logan stood a few feet away, also dressed in his hockey gear, with his gloves tucked beneath one arm. Dean looked delighted.
βOoh.β
βDean.β
Dean stood.
βIβll leave you two alone,β he said, his eyebrows wiggling.
Logan threw a glove at him, and Dean caught it, still grinning, before heading toward the locker room.
βHeβs exhausting,β you said.
Logan sat down two seats away.
βThatβs actually him on a good day.β
You believed that.
βIβm surprised you reached out to me,β you said to him.
He ran his fingers through his hair.
βGarrett said I should give this a chance.β
You nodded. Logan nodded toward your notebook.
βDid you bring better questions?β
You narrowed your eyes.
βDid you bring better answers?β
His grin appeared instantly.
βMaybe. Letβs hear them.β
You glanced down at your notes and then back at him.
βWhat do people get wrong about you?β you asked.
Logan didnβt answer immediately, but the pause only lasted for a second. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
βThatβs definitely a better question.β
You tried not to look too pleased with yourself.
Logan shrugged, βMost people think hockey is my entire personality.β
That wasnβt the answer you expected.
βYou disagree?β
βWouldnβt you?β
That was fair.
βWhat is your personality, then?β you asked.
Logan laughed, βI think thatβs supposed to be your job to figure out.β
You rolled your eyes.
βSee? Thatβs the annoying stuff.β
βAnnoying stuff is part of my personality.β
βUnfortunately.β
βSee?β he said, βNow weβre making progress.β
You hated how much you enjoyed talking to him. It wasnβt an attraction; at least you didnβt think so. It was something much simpler: conversation. It almost made you forget that you were supposed to be working.
You asked another question, and then another. The interview began to move. For the first time, John Logan stopped sounding like a hockey player giving media answers and much more like an actual person.
A funny one, unfortunately. One that made you laugh far more than you intended, and one who looked far too pleased every time he managed to make you smile.
By the time practice was about to start, you had five pages of notes. It was more than youβd gotten from every previous interaction.
Surprisingly, the thing that stuck with you the most wasnβt a quote from him. It was the moment that Logan nodded toward your notebook and asked, βSo, whatβs your story?β
βMy story?β you said.
βYeah.β
The question caught you off guard; athletes usually didnβt ask journalists questions, especially about themselves. Logan seemed to notice your surprise. He shrugged.
βSeems fair.β
For a reason you couldnβt quite explain, your pulse skipped slightly. You stared at him for a second. It should have been easy to answer; youβd spent years interviewing people, and asking questions came naturally to you. Being the one answering felt strangely unfamiliar.
βWhat do you want to know?β you asked him.
He thought for a second. βWhy journalism?β
βI like stories.β
He waited, and you laughed.
βThatβs not enough, is it?β
βNope.β
A few players started skating on the ice, and the sounds of practice starting building around you. Still, Loganβs attention remained entirely on you.
βI grew up reading newspapers with my dad,β you admitted.
His expression softened slightly, βReally?β
You nodded, βEvery morning.β
The memory made you smile.
βMy dad would spread the paper across the kitchen table and act like every headline was the most important thing in the world. Weβd read stories together, and heβd explain the stories to me.β
Logan grinned, βThatβs adorable.β
You laughed.
βSo now what?β he asked.
βWhat do you mean?β
βAfter graduation.β
You hesitated. The future felt less exciting lately. There were applications, internships, and rejection emails. The reality that college was ending.
βI donβt know,β you answered honestly.
Logan looked surprised.
βWhat?β you asked.
βI thought journalists always had a five-year plan.β
You barked out a laugh, βWhere did you get that idea?β
βMovies?β
You laughed, βMost of us are just making it up as we go.β
βGood.β
βGood?β
βBecause I am too,β he said. That surprised you.
βYou are?β
βAbsolutely.β
βBut hockeyββ
βWhat about hockey?β
βYou know..β
βNo.β
You gestured vaguely, βThe NHL.β
Understanding dawned on him, and he looked away toward the ice.
βYou make it sound guaranteed.β
βIsnβt it?β you asked. Logan was one of Briarβs best athletes; there were always talks of teams scouting him and the draft.
βNo,β he answered. He wasnβt joking, he was being honest. The word hung between both of you, and you studied him carefully. This version of Logan felt different; he was less performative.
βI thought scouts were looking at you.β
βThey are.β
βYouβll get drafted,β you said.
He shrugged, βProbably.β
βYou donβt sound convinced.β
βIβve seen guys who were supposed to make it.β
The way he said it told you there was more behind those words.
βThe odds arenβt exactly great,β he added.
You found yourself watching him instead of writing. His eyes remained fixed on the ice.
βYou worried about it?β you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.
He was quiet for a second and then laughed softly to himself.
βEvery day.β
His honesty hit you harder than you expected; maybe because it was the first completely unguarded answer heβd given you. There was no joke or deflection; just the truth.
You looked down and wrote it in your notebook. Not because it would make the article, but because you didnβt want to forget it.
When you glanced back up, Logan was watching you. His gaze dropped to the notebook.
βWhat did you write?β
You immediately closed the notebook.
βNope.β
His grin returned, βWhy not?β
βTrade secret.β
βYouβve spent the last half hour asking me personal questions.β
βAnd?β
βAnd I think thatβs unfair.β
You stood, gathering your things. Practice was officially beginning now, and players were being called onto the ice. The interview was over, whether either of you wanted it to be or not.
βYouβll survive.β
Logan groaned, βThatβs my line.β
βNot anymore.β
You slung your bag over your shoulder. Logan was still sitting, looking up at you. The strange flutter that had started appearing in your chest whenever he focused all of his attention on you. You decided not to examine that too closely.
Finally, Logan stood.
βSame time next week?β
βMaybe.β
He laughed.
βText me,β you added, the words slipping out. You immediately wished you could grab them out of the air and stuff them back in your mouth.
Loganβs eyebrows lifted, as if he was surprised. Then, his expression softened slightly.
βOkay.β
That word followed you all the way back to campus, and later that night, when your phone lit up with a new message from John Logan, you found yourself smiling before youβd even read it.
Logan: Have you decided what my personality is?
You read the message again. There was something seemingly sincere hiding beneath the teasing.
You: still investigating.
The response came quickly.
Logan: Convenient answer.
You: Professional answer.
Logan: I think youβre just making this up as you go.
You laughed.
You: You have approximately two personality traits.
Logan: Name them.
You: Annoying.
Logan: Thatβs not a personality trait.
You: I disagree.
You could practically see the eye roll.
Logan: Whatβs the second one?
You stared at the screen, and then typed (and subsequently deleted) three different answers. Confident. Competitive. Funny. All true, and all too easy.
You: You ask better questions than you answer.
The conversation continued from there, and he didnβt ask for the second answer again. One topic led to another, questions became stories, and stories working its way into completely different conversations.
You learned that Logan hated group projects. He learned that you once accidentally submitted the wrong article draft (you didnβt tell him it was fanfiction) and spent three hours trying not to throw up from embarrassment. You learned of his friendsβ many party stories, like Tuckerβs turkey on Thanksgiving catching fire. He learned that you had changed majors three times before going for your dream and choosing journalism. At some point, you stopped noticing who had sent the last text. You stopped looking for opportunities to end the conversation.
That realization was unsettling enough that you finally glanced at the clock. 12:44 a.m. Your eyes widened.
You: Why are you still awake?
Several seconds passed.
Logan: Why are YOU still awake?
You: Iβm working.
Logan: At one in the morning?
You: Itβs not one yet.
Logan: Thatβs your defense?
Logan: How much work are journalism students actually doing if youβre texting hockey players this much?
Your stomach did something strange. There was a strange feeling there. You blamed exhaustion; it was easier.
You: Goodnight, Logan.
His response appeared almost instantly.
Logan: Avoiding the question.
You: Goodnight.
A pause, and then another text appeared.
Logan: Goodnight, Reporter.
You stared at the message, and then set your phone face down. A smile remained on your face.
--
A few days later, you found yourself sitting in the stands at the Briar University hockey game. The excuse was simple: research and observation. It was additional material for the article. It was a completely professional use of your Friday evening. At least, thatβs what you told yourself when you bought the ticket, and again while walking into the arena.
The arena was packed. Students filled the seats, covered in red, blue, and yellow clothing to match the schoolβs colors. Music thundered through the speakers. The energy felt much different from what you had seen at practice. It was louder, faster, and more alive.
You took your seat, which was in the lower bowl near the glass. You opened your notebook and forced yourself to write observations about the crowd and the atmosphere. You forced yourself to write down anything to distract yourself from how quickly you found number 22 the moment he stepped onto the ice.
The game started soon after the national anthem, and despite not knowing much about hockey, it didnβt take long for you to understand why everyone talked about Logan the way they did.
Every time he touched the puck, something changed. He and Garrett were seamless, passing the puck easily back and forth, setting each other up perfectly to shoot at the net. The crowd paid attention, and their teammates seemed to gravitate towards both of them. Even opposing players seemed to react differently when they were on the ice.
Logan wasnβt just talented; he was important. The game remained tied through most of the second period, and by the middle of the third, the arena was practically vibrating with tension. Dean stole the puck, passing it up to Garrett. Logan was skating fast on his right side, and Garrett passed to Logan, who took a quick shot, landing the puck in the upper right corner. The arena exploded as the puck hit the back of the net. Students jumped to their feet, and you did too, without thinking.
The sound swallowed everything; there was the horn from the goal, cheering, and the celebration. Teammates swarmed Logan against the boards. Your heart was still racing when you finally sat back down, a little embarrassed (and confused) by your own reaction.
Somewhere along the way, you stopped watching the game for the article and started watching because you cared about what happened. The realization followed you all the way home, and it got significantly worse when your phone buzzed an hour later.
Logan: I thought reporters were supposed to remain unbiased.
Your pulse picked up. There was only one way he could know that. Slowly, you looked out of your window, toward the memory of the arena and the moment after the goal. There was one thought that became impossible to ignore: John Logan had known you were at the game and saw you cheering for him.
Summary: Y/n transfers to Briar to play on the women's soccer team and reunite with her childhood best friendβ Hannah Wells. Overly protective and convinced that John Logan is in love with Hannah, Y/n is determined to keep him away. Logan is intrigued, and mildly annoyed at the new girl that keeps scaring women away from him.
CW: some cursing, kissing, self doubts, FLUFFFLUFFFLUFF
a/n: oh my god it's done... what will i do with my life now? ty guys for all the support with this series, i loved writing it!! <3 also sorry i have like ZERO knowledge of how hockey works, so it's def inaccurate.
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Y/n had kept to herself the days after the fight with her mother.
She went to class, went to practice, came back to the suite, ate whatever Hannah or Allie put in front of her, and retreated to her room.
She wasn't depressed or angry, just... hollow.
Her mom's words echoed in her head, no matter how hard she tried to push them away.
Do you know how much easier my life would've been if it was you?
Hannah and Allie had been patient. They didn't push. They just made sure Y/n knew they were there. They left her favorite foods on her desk, texted her whatever they thought of, and just sat with her when she didn't feel like talking.
However by Friday afternoon, Hannah's patience had grown into worry and a bit of frustration.
"Alright," Hannah barged into Y/n's room without knocking. "You're coming to the game tonight."
Y/n looked up from her bed in surprise, where she'd been distractedly scrolling through her phone. "What?"
"The guy's hockey game," Hannah said firmly, hands on her hips. "It's their first home game, and you're coming."
Y/n shook her head. "I don't knowβ"
"Nope." Allie appeared in the doorway behind Hannah, arms crossed. "We're not taking no for an answer."
"I'm not really in the mood, guys." Y/n mumbled quietly.
Hannah's expression softened slightly, but she didn't back down. "I know, but sitting in here alone isn't helping either. You need to get out of your room, be around your friends."
"Plus," Allie added with a small smile, "You've never been to one of their games. Don't you want to see what all the hype is about?"
Y/n hesitated. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to be around people, didn't want to pretend she wasn't falling apart on the inside. But Hannah and Allie were looking at her with so much hope and concern that she couldn't bring herself to say no.
"Fine," Y/n said finally. "I'm not wearing a jersey or anything, though."
"Deal," Hannah said, grinning. "Just throw on some jeans and a warm hoodie. We'll leave in twenty."
Twenty minutes later, Y/n found herself being herded out of the suite and toward the arena like a sheep. She'd pulled on her favorite hoodie and a comfortable pair of jeans, hair slightly messy. She looked exactly how she feltβ tired and worn down.
Hannah and Allie walked on either side of her, chatting animatedly about the game, making Y/n relax slightly despite everything.
When they arrived at the rink, the energy was palpable. Students were packed tight in the stands, decked out in Briar Hawks gear, chanting and cheering as the teams warmed up on the ice.
"Come on," Allie said, grabbing Y/n's hand and pulling her toward their seats. "We've got great spots."
They settled into a row up front, close enough to see the players' faces. Y/n sat between the two girls, them making sure she was comfortable.
Y/n nodded, giving her a weak smile. She was grateful to not only have Hannah, but Allie now too. They were her support system through this all.
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena as the teams took the ice, readying themselves for the game.
Y/n's eyes found Logan immediately, the number 22 standing out in the sea of jerseys.
He skated out with the rest of the team, movements fluid and confident. He looked focused, his jaw set, his eyes scanning the crowd unconsciously as he circled the rink.
Then his gaze landed on her.
He did a double-take, his eyes widening slightly. For a moment, he just stared, like he couldn't believe she was there.
Y/n gave him a small wave. Logan's face broke into a grin, one radiating so much joy that Y/n could feel her shoulders loosening.
He nodded at her in acknowledgement, before skating back to the bench.
"Did you see that?" Hannah whispered, nudging Y/n lightly with her elbow. "He's so happy you're here."
Y/n didn't respond, but she couldn't stop the small smile that overcame her.
The game started fast and aggressively.
Briar came out strong, pressing hard on offense. Logan was playing incredibly, even Garrett had trouble keeping up.
"Does he always play like this?" Y/n asked, leaning toward Hannah.
Hannah shook her head, grinning. "No. He's for sure showing off because you're here."
Y/n's face warmed, but she couldn't rip her eyes away from the ice.
The first period ended with neither team scoring. The second period was full of the same fast, physical, and intense plays.
It was early in the third period when an opposing player came out of nowhere and slammed Logan into the glass hard.
The hit was brutal, the crowd gasping in shock.
Logan's body crumpled against the boards.
Y/n's breath caught. She leaned forward instinctively, her hands gripping the edge of her seat.
"Jesus! That had to be a foul." Hannah murmured beside her, a hand over her mouth in shock.
For a few agonizing seconds, Logan didn't move. Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, her stomach twisting with worry. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until Logan finally pushed himself up, shaking his head slightly as he got back on his skates.
He glanced toward the stands, towards her, and gave a small nod, like he was telling her he was okay.
Y/n exhaled shakily, her hands still trembling slightly.
"Jesus," Allie muttered. "That looked bad."
"He's okay," Hannah said, though her voice was tight. "He's tough."
Y/n didn't say anything. She just watched as Logan skated back into position, his movements a little slower but still determined.
The game remained tied 3-3 as the clock ticked down.
Two minutes left.
One minute.
Thirty seconds.
The tension in the arena was almost suffocating. Everyone was on their feet, screaming at their team to score one more goal.
Dean had the puck. He skated hard down the left side, weaving through defenders. He grew closer to the blue line, searching for an opening.
Fifteen seconds.
From the right side, Logan sped into view. Spotting him, Dean passed to him, lining up the perfect shot. With a hard smack, Logan hit the puck barreling towards the goal.
It hit the top corner of the netβperfectly placed, impossible to stop.
Goal.
The arena erupted into celebrations.
Y/n was on her feet before she even realized it, screaming and clapping along with everyone else. Hannah grabbed her arm, jumping up and down, and Allie was shouting something Y/n couldn't hear over the noise.
The team swarmed Logan, piling on top of him in celebration.
But when he finally broke free, his eyes went straight to the stands.
Straight to her.
The game ended moments later, and the team celebrated on the ice before filing toward the locker room.
Logan didn't follow them.
Instead, he skated toward the boards, his eyes locked on Y/n.
"Oh my god," Allie whispered, grabbing Y/n's arm. "He's coming over here."
Y/n's heart was racing as Logan reached the glass. He gestured for her to come down, and before she could think about it, she was moving.
She made her way down the steps, weaving through the crowd until she reached the edge of the rink. Logan stepped off the ice, still in his full gear, his hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving.
He didn't say anything.
He just reached for her, pulling her close, and kissed her.
It wasn't tentative or uncertain. It was firm and full of everything he'd been holding back in fear of losing her.
Y/n gripped his jersey tightly as she kissed him back just as fiercely, her thoughts fuzzy.
The crowd around them erupted into cheers and whistles, but neither cared.
All Y/n cared about at this moment was Logan. His cold hands on her waist, his slightly chapped lips on hers, the way he held her like he was afraid she would disappear.
When they finally broke apart, Logan was grinning, breathless and a little dazed.
"Sorry," he said, his voice rough. "I should've asked first."
Y/n didn't hesitate. She grabbed him by the collar of his jersey and pulled him back down, kissing him again.
This time, when they pulled apart, Logan was laughing softly, his forehead resting against hers.
"So," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "If I ask you to be my girlfriend...?"
Y/n's throat tightened, but she nodded, her smile breaking through. "Yes."
Logan's grin widened, and he kissed her again. This time quick and sweet.
Behind them, Hannah and Allie were freaking out, Garrett was laughing, and Dean was shouting something about Logan being down bad.
None of that mattered to Y/n. The feeling of his lips on hers was worth whatever their friends were going to say.
An hour later, the group was packed into a large booth at Malone's, celebrating the win.
Logan sat beside Y/n, his arm draped casually over the back of the booth, his fingers brushing her shoulder. Every few minutes, he'd lean over and press a kiss to her temple or squeeze her hand under the table.
Y/n leaned into him, her body relaxed in a way it hadn't been in days.
"Okay, but can we talk about that goal?" Tucker said, raising his beer. "That was insane."
"Top corner, baby," Logan said with a grin, though his eyes never left Y/n.
"Somebody's whipped," Dean said, smirking.
Garrett laughed. "It's not exactly a secret."
Logan didn't even bother denying it. He just shrugged, his grin widening. "Yeah. And?"
Hannah and Allie exchanged a look, both of them grinning like idiots.
"I'm so happy I could cry," Allie said dramatically.
"Please don't," Y/n muttered, though she was smiling.
The conversation flowed easily after that. Jokes, teasing and dramatic retellings of the game. Y/n found herself laughing more than she had in days, feeling much lighter.
At one point, Logan leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You okay?"
Y/n nodded, her hand finding his under the table. "Yeah. I'm okay."
Logan squeezed her hand gently, making Y/n smile. She was okay, she was happy.
Later, after the group had started to disperse and the energy had mellowed, Logan and Y/n stepped outside for some air.
The night was cold, the kind of crisp winter air that bit at your skin, but Y/n didn't mind. She leaned against the brick wall of the bar, her hands shoved into her hoodie pockets.
Logan stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked quietly.
Y/n hesitated. She could lie. She could say she was fine and move on.
No. She couldn't, not to him.
"I'm a little scared, I guess," she exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper.
Logan turned to face her fully, his expression serious. "Of what?"
"I don't know," Y/n swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the ground. "That I'm not enough. That I'm too fucked up for this to work. That you'll realize I'm not worth it and leave."
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded.
Logan was quiet for a moment. Then he reached out and gently tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Y/n," he said firmly. "You are enough. You've always been enough."
Y/n's throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
"I see you," Logan continued, his voice steady and sure. "I see how strong you are. How loyal. How much you care about the people you love. I'm not going anywhere. Not because I have to. Because I don't want to be anywhere else."
A tear slipped down Y/n's cheek, and Logan wiped it away gently with his thumb.
"There's nothing wrong with you," he said softly. "You're just you, and that's all I want. You."
Y/n let out a shaky breath, her chest aching in the best way.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and Logan wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For choosing me."
Logan pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Baby, it was always you."
Off The Record // John Logan x Fem!Reader [Chapter One]
Synopsis: Everyone at Briar University knows who John Logan is.
Future NHL star. Campus celebrity. The guy whose name fills headlines and whose face appears on every hockey poster across campus.
As editor of the student newspaper, you've spent years avoiding stories like his.
So when your professor assigns you to write an in-depth profile on one of Briar's biggest athletes, you're less than thrilled.
A disastrous first interview turns into late-night conversations, undeniable chemistry, and feelings neither of you saw coming, until one story threatens to ruin everything.
Pairings: John Logan x Fem!Reader
Taglist: (comment to be added)
CHAPTER ONE
The last thing you expected when you walked into your advanced writing class on a Tuesday afternoon was for John Logan to become your problem.
You slipped into your usual seat near the middle of the lecture hall, balancing a coffee in one hand and your laptop bag in the other. Around you, students settled into conversations about deadlines, internships, and the steadily approaching reality of graduation. The air carried that familiar mix of anxiety and ambition that seemed to define senior year.
At the front of the room, Professor Madison shuffled through a stack of papers and waited for the chatter to die down.
βAll right,β he said, pushing his glasses up his nose, βLetβs talk about your final project.β
A collective groan rolled through the room.
βThe best feature writing isnβt about events, itβs about people. For your final project, each of you will profile someone connected to Briar University.β
Several students immediately perked up. Now, that was interesting.
βYouβll spend weeks with your subject,β Madison continued, βInterview them. Observe them. Learn who they are.β
Your fingers moved across the keyboard automatically as you took notes. The project sounded exactly like the kind of thing that could help when you started applying for jobs after graduation.
βPick someone interesting,β Madison said, βNot just someone accessible.β
A hand shot up near the front.
βWhat about an athlete? Football team?β Sarah asked.
Madison nodded, βNot a bad idea.β
Another student called out, βI call Beau!β
A few people laughed. You shook your head and typed another note. Then, Professor Madison looked directly at you.
βY/N.β
You froze.
βYes?β
βSince youβre the editor of the paper, perhaps you should challenge yourself.β
You already hated where this was going.
βMaybe profile someone who receives attention from everyone.β
Several students exchanged knowing looks.
βOh,β you muttered.
Madison pointed toward the window overlooking Briarβs athletic complex.
βMaybe someone from the hockey team. John Logan, perhaps?β
The room immediately erupted. You closed your eyes. John Logan was one of the most recognizable athletes on campus, and he had quite the reputation on and off the ice. His face, alongside some of his teammates, appeared all over campus on promotional posters, social media graphics, and all over the gossip account, Fifth Line.
βNo.β
Madison blinked.
βNo?β
βNo.β
The class laughed.
You sat back in your chair, βIβd rather interview literally anyone else.β
The laughter grew louder. Madison looked delighted, which was unfortunate. Delighted professors were dangerous.
βAnd why is that?β he asked.
You hesitated. The truthful answer would sound ridiculous. Every time you saw John Logan on campus, he was surrounded by people. Girls practically threw themselves at him at every chance. Every interview heβd ever given sounded exactly the same. You were convinced there couldnβt possibly be anything interesting left to uncover.
Instead, you settled on something different.
βHeβs overexposed.β
The room immediately began laughing again.
Madison folded his arms, βOverexposed?β
βEvery article says the same thing,β you said.
βAnd you know this because?β
βIβve read them.β
βExcellent. Perhaps youβll write a better one.β
You groaned. Madison pointed at you.
βLogan it is.β
The class applauded, those traitors. Just like that, John Logan became your assignment, and unfortunately, your entire semester.
By the time class ended, you had convinced yourself there was still a chance to get out of it. Not a good chance, but a chance nonetheless.
You packed your laptop into your bag and headed straight for the front of the room while everyone else filtered toward the exits. Professor Madison was gathering his notes when you stopped beside his desk.
βNo.β
He didnβt even look up. You stared.
βYou didnβt even let me make my argument,β you said.
βI know your argument.β
βYou donβt.β
βLet me guess, youβre going to tell me that Logan is an easy story?β
You opened your mouth and then closed it. Madison finally glanced up.
βSee?β he said.
You hated it when professors did that.
You sighed.
βYouβve already decided who Logan is.β
βIβve seen him,β you said.
βYouβve seen the public version,β Madison argued.
βAnd you think thereβs some hidden depth that nobodyβs discovered?β you asked.
βI think youβre a good enough journalist to find out.β
You hated that answer. Madison stopped for a second.
βGo spend time with him,β he said.
You made a face. He ignored it.
βMaybe youβll prove yourself right,β he shrugged.
βAnd if I do?β
βThen write that story.β
You stared at him for a long moment.
βFine.β
βWonderful,β he said, smirking.
βIf this turns into a disaster, Iβm blaming you,β you told him.
βI look forward to reading it.β
--
An hour later, you were sitting in the newsroom of the Briar Herald, staring at your laptop with absolutely no intention of working.
The newsroom occupied a corner of the communications building, its walls plastered with old front pages and framed photographs from decades of student journalism.
Normally, you loved being there. Today, though, you were considering throwing yourself out of a window.
Across from you, your friend Emily glanced up from editing a story.
βYou look miserable.β
You dropped your forehead onto your desk as a muffled groan escaped you.
βThat bad?β
βWorse.β
βWhat happened?β Emily asked, her attention focused on me.
Without lifting your head, you said, βProfessor Madison assigned me John Logan for my final profile project.β
βOh my God.β
You lifted your head. Emily was grinning.
βYou donβt understand.β
βYou got assigned one of the hottest hockey players at Briar.β
You pointed at her, βThatβs exactly the problem.β
Emily laughed, βYou poor thing.β
βI am suffering.β
βYouβll survive.β
You narrowed your eyes.
βI have to spend weeks following him around,β you said.
βAgain,β she said, βI fail to see the problem.β
βYouβre useless.β
She laughed.
βYou know what I think,β she said.
βNo.β
βI think youβre annoyed because you know heβs attractive.β
You threw a pen at her. Unfortunately, she caught it.
--
Two days later, you found yourself standing inside Briarβs ice arena with a notebook in one hand and growing regret in the other. The air was cold enough to sting your cheeks. Players flew across the ice in blue while a coach barked instructions from the boards.
The sound was overwhelming. Skates were cutting into ice, pucks slamming into glass, and a whistle echoing through the arena.
You hadnβt attended a hockey practice or game since freshman year. Nothing about the experience made you eager to change that.
You checked your phone, and it was 3:37. Logan had agreed to meet you at 3:30.
A few players skated toward the bench, and you recognized Garrett Graham immediately. Everyone could recognize Garrett Graham. The captain pulled off his helmet and glanced in your direction.
He nudged the player beside him, and he looked over. As he took his helmet off, he was unmistakable. Dark hair, that was damp and curling at the ends, broad shoulders.
He said something to Garrett, who laughed. Logan rolled his eyes and then pushed away from the bench and toward the locker room. A few minutes later, you heard footsteps behind you.
You turned, and there he was. You hated how annoyingly good-looking he was; it felt deeply unfair.
A gray Briar Hockey hoodie stretched across his shoulders now, and despite the cold arena, he looked completely comfortable.
His gaze landed on you, and then his eyes flicked to the notebook in your hand.
βReporter?β
His voice carried the faintest trace of amusement. You already disliked that.
βJournalist.β
The corner of his mouth twitched.
βRight.β
There was a pause.
βIβm John Logan,β he said, sticking his hand out.
βIβm aware.β
His eyebrows lifted. Maybe no one has ever answered him like that. You shook is hand anyway, his grip warm and firm. You pulled your hand back first.
βI'm Y/N. Thank you for meeting me,β you said.
βNo problem.β
βLetβs get started.β
βSure.β
The two of you sat in the empty seats in the arena. You clicked your pen as you opened your notebook.
βWhen did you first start playing hockey?β
John Logan looked completely unimpressed, and somehow, you found that funny. He looked exactly like someone whoβd been asked that question a thousand times before. Unfortunately, you still needed the answer. Judging by the look he was giving you, this interview was about to become very, very difficult.
Logan leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest as if preparing himself for a particularly boring punishment.
βWhen I was four,β he said.
You waited for him to elaborate. He looked at you.
βThatβs it?β
βYou asked when.β
βI assumed youβd elaborate.β
βYou assumed wrong.β
You pressed the tip of your pen harder against the paper than necessary. Across the ice, a puck hit the boards with a sharp crack. You resisted the urge to look toward it, but he did not. His eyes flicked away for half a second, tracking the movement with the kind of instinct that looked less like attention and more like breathing.
Fine. If he wanted difficult, you could do difficult.
βWhy hockey?β you asked.
He looked back at you.
βBecause I liked it.β
You stared at him, and he stared back.
βThatβs still not elaborating.β
Loganβs mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile but close enough to be irritating.
βYou didnβt ask me to elaborate.β
You lowered your notebook, βDo you want to do this interview?β
βNot especially.β
At least he was honest. You almost respected that.
βGreat,β you said, βThat makes two of us.β
His eyebrows lifted again, and this time the almost-smile became real. It changed his whole face, which was unfortunate information for you to now possess. He went from handsome in the predictable, campus-athlete way, to something warmer and harder to look away from. You hated that too.
βThen why are you here?β he asked.
βBecause I was assigned to you.β
βOuch.β
βYouβll recover.β
You flipped to a clean page, mostly because the first page already looked aggressive with your half-written notes and the dark indentation of your pen.
βLook,β you said, forcing your voice into a professional tone, βIβm not trying to waste your time.β
βCouldβve fooled me.β
You inhaled through your nose, taking a deep breath, before you hit one of Briarβs beloved hockey stars with a spiral notebook.
βIβm trying to write a good profile,β you said, βNot a puff piece, or a stats recap, or another article about how many goals youβve scored and which NHL teams are scouting you.β
That caught his attention. His gaze sharpened, amusement thinning into something more guarded.
βAnd what exactly are you trying to write?β
βThe truth.β
He laughed once, but there wasnβt much humor in it.
βAbout me?β
βYes.β
βYou donβt know me.β
βThat is traditionally why interviews happen.β
This time, you could hear laughter nearby. Logan turned his head and saw Garrett standing within earshot.
βDonβt you have something to do?β Logan asked him.
Garrett lifted both hands innocently.
βJust hydrating.β
βYouβre eavesdropping.β
βAlso that.β
Logan muttered something under his breath before turning back to you.
βSo,β you said, βDo you want to keep giving me one-word answers, or do you want to help me make this not terrible?β
He studied you for a second too long. Then, he stood up.
βI have class in twenty,β he said.
Of course he did. You checked the time on your phone.
βYou agreed to thirty minutes,β you said.
βI agreed to meet you.β
βYouβre unbelievable.β
βIβve heard.β
You snapped your notebook shut and stood. βFine.β
Something flickered across his face.
βYouβre leaving?β he asked.
βYou have class.β
βI said in twenty.β
βAnd in the seven minutes youβve given me, youβve answered only a couple of questions with a combined total of maybe twelve words. Iβm not sure twenty more minutes will change anything.β
His grin returned, sharper now.
βYou always this dramatic?β
βOnly when provoked.β
βGood to know.β
You shoved your notebook into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. The interview was a failure. A complete, humiliating, unusable failure. You had maybe two sentences of material, and one of them was that heβd started playing hockey at four, which was about as interesting as writing that water was wet.
You brushed past him and toward the exit.
βHey, Reporter.β
You stopped, and slowly turned back around.
βJournalist.β
Loganβs smile widened like heβd been waiting for that.
βRight,β he said, βJournalist.β
You should have kept walking.
βWhat?β you asked.
He nodded toward your notebook, βYou didnβt ask your best questions.β
You narrowed your eyes, βWhatβs the point when you barely answered my first ones.β
βThose were terrible.β
Your mouth fell open a little. His grin turned smug. You took one step back toward him.
βMy questions were fine.β
βYour questions were boring.β
βYou hardly answered them. Your answers were boring.β
He smirked at you.
βOkay,β you said slowly, βWhat should I have asked?β
Logan didnβt answer immediately, and you noticed a small tightening around his eyes. Then, he shrugged.
βGuess thatβs your job to figure out.β
Then, he walked away. Just like that.
You stood there in the arena, cold and irritated and aware that he had somehow managed to make the failed interview feel like a challenge. This was probably exactly what he wanted.
Garrett Graham had come off the ice now, walking past you.
βFor what itβs worth, I think he likes you.β
You turned your glare on him.
Garrett only smiled.
βProfessionally,β he added, as he went toward the locker room.
You headed out of the arena with frozen fingers, no usable story, and the deeply unpleasant suspicion that John Logan was not nearly as simple as you had wanted him to be.
Summary: Y/n transfers to Briar to play on the women's soccer team and reunite with her childhood best friendβ Hannah Wells. Overly protective and convinced that John Logan is in love with Hannah, Y/n is determined to keep him away. Logan is intrigued, and mildly annoyed at the new girl that keeps scaring women away from him.
TW: ANGST (fluff at end), cursing, past death of a parent, family issues, BIG TIME mommy issues
a/n: i was sad, so now you guys have to be (jk it has a happy ending). also, we're almost done with this series which is insane. thank you guys for all the support <3 <3
previous | part 9 | next
Y/n was heading to the athletic center for team conditioning when she saw him.
Daniel. Her brother.
In Briar practice gear, walking towards the rink with a hockey stick slung over his shoulder, talking animatedly to one of the assistant coaches.
Y/n stopped dead in her tracks.
Her stomach dropped.
For a second, she just stared. Daniel was supposed to be at home, hours away. He wasn't supposed to be here.
She forced herself to keep walking, her mind racing. If Daniel was here, thenβ
She didn't even want to think about it.
But as she rounded the corner toward the athletic center, she saw them.
Her mom and Carl, standing with Coach Jensen, watching the hockey team practice. Her mom had her arms crossed, that polished, composed expression on her face. Carl patted Daniel on the shoulder affectionately, gesturing for him to join the Briar team on the ice.
Y/n froze. They were all here, and didn't even bother to shoot her a text.
She stood there for a moment, just watching. Her mom laughed at something one of the coaches said. Carl nodded approvingly at Daniel's play. They were happy, watching their son play like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Y/n's hands curled into fists at her sides.
She turned and walked directly toward the stands, her soccer bag slung over her shoulder, her jaw tight.
"Hey," she said, her voice carefully controlled as she approached them.
Her mom's expression brightened in that fake, performative way. "Oh, Y/n, there you are! We were hoping to run into you."
Hoping to run into you. Not planning to see her. Not going to tell her. Just hoping.
"How long have you been in town?" Y/n asked, her voice tight.
"We got in this morning," Carl said casually, gaze still on the players. "Daniel was invited to come practice with Briar, so we came straight here."
This morning. They'd been on campus for hours and hadn't told her.
"We were going to try and find you after, if we had time." Her mom added quickly, as if that made it better.
Y/n didn't respond for a moment. She just looked at them standing there like this was totally normal. Like showing up on her campus without a single heads up was okay.
"You didn't think to tell me you were coming?" Y/n asked finally, her voice quiet but sharp.
"Y/n, don't be dramatic," Carl said. "We're here to support Daniel."
"Right," Y/n said, her voice cold. "Of course you are."
Her mom's expression shifted, becoming defensive. "We can talk about this later. Let's not make a scene."
Y/n felt something hot and angry building in her chest. They didn't get to just show up. They didn't get to demand her time without even having the decency to tell her they were coming. They didn't get to act like this was fine.
"Fine," Y/n said finally, her voice clipped.
Her mom blinked, surprised by the edge in Y/n's tone. "Of course. We can get dinnerβ"
"No," Y/n said. "Right after practice. Not at dinner."
She turned and walked away without waiting for a response, her mind already spinning with everything she wanted to say.
Y/n skipped conditioning.
It wasn't something she did often. She considered herself to be disciplined, committed, the kind of player who showed up even when they were exhausted. But after seeing her parents she needed time to think. To figure out what the hell she was going to say to them. She would deal with Coach Dawson's wrath later.
She'd walked out of the rink in a daze, her mind racing. They'd shown up without telling her. Not even a quick text message. With consideration for her schedule or her feelings. And now they wanted to have dinner like it was normal?
No. She needed to confront them, but not like this. Not without thinking it through. There was so much she wanted to say to them, but she needed to get her head wrapped around it all first.
So Y/n had made her way out to the hallway near the locker rooms. She leaned against the wall trying to collect her thoughts, her soccer bag tossed to the ground beside her.
She sat there until practice ended.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice her family approaching until they were already there.
Her mom and Carl walked down the hallway like they owned the place.
Y/n's stomach dropped as she braced herself.
Down the hallway, the hockey team's locker room door swung open.
Logan stepped out first, his hair damp from the quick shower he'd taken. Garrett followed, then Dean, Tucker, and a few other guys.
They were laughing about something but the laughter died the moment they heard voices echoing down the hall.
Raised voices.
Logan stopped walking.
"Is thatβ" Garrett started.
"Y/n," Logan finished quietly.
They were standing at the mouth of the hallway, the only exit route blocked by Y/n and her family in the middle of the corridor. The guys exchanged glances.
"Should weβ" Dean started.
"No," Garrett said quietly. "Just give them a few minutes."
He ushered the players, besides back into the locker room, trying to give their friend some privacy.
Logan hesitated, "I'm staying out here. Just in case she needs us."
Garrett paused before nodding to Dean and Tucker, "Alright, we'll stay out here for now. But if things get too much, we should leave."
So they stood there, trapped in the awkward position of being too close to leave but too far to intervene.
"I'm sick of giving my everything just to get absolutely nothing in return," Y/n said, her voice breaking slightly.
Her mom's expression hardened. "You're being dramatic."
"Am I?" Y/n's laugh was hollow. "You didn't come to any of my games in high school. You didn't ask about my college applications. You didn't even ask why I transferred here. You just assumed I'd figure it out on my own because I always do."
"You've always been independent," Her mom said defensively.
"I didn't want to be independent," Y/n said, her voice cracking. "I wanted a mom. I wanted parents who actually cared about me."
Carl stepped forward, arm stretched out. "Y/n, I think you need to calm downβ"
"Don't," Y/n said, her voice sharp. She turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "You don't get to try and parent me now. Not after ignoring my existence the second you got married to my mom. You lost your chance to be a father to me, so fuck off."
Carl's face went red. "You don't speak to me like that, young lady."
"Why not?" Y/n shot back. "You've not my dad, you're just some guy my mom married to numb the pain. So don't stand there and pretend like you have any right to tell me what to do."
Her mom's voice rose, clearly agitated. "Y/n, that's enough. You need to apologize to Carl right now."
"No," Y/n spit out.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no," Y/n repeated. "I'm not apologizing for telling the truth."
Logan's hands curled into fists at his sides.
He could see Y/n now, standing in the middle of the hallway, her shoulders tense, her voice shaking with barely controlled emotion.
He'd never seen her like this.
Garrett put a hand on his shoulder, a silent warning to stay put.
He did. Barely.
"How dare you speak to him like that," her mom said, stepping forward. "He's done nothing but support this familyβ"
"Support Daniel, you mean," Y/n said, her voice rising. "Because that's all you've ever cared about. Daniel's hockey. Daniel's future. Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. It's like you don't even fucking know me!"
"That's not true," her mom said, but her voice wavered.
"Then prove it," Y/n said. "What position do I play in soccer?."
Her mom opened her mouth, then closed it.
Y/n laughed bitterly. "That's what I thought."
"You don't understand what it's been like," her mom said, her voice rising. "Raising you after your father died. Trying to hold everything togetherβ"
"I was there too, Mom," Y/n said bitterly. "I know how hard it was for you. I saw how much it hurt you, but that doesn't give you the right to treat me like I'm invisible."
Her mom's face twisted with anger. "You think you're so perfect, don't you? You think you're the victim in all of this?"
"I think I deserved better," Y/n said quietly. "I have spent my entire life trying to prove myself to you. Trying to be good enough. Trying to get you to notice me. But no matter what I do, it's never enough. Because I'm not your perfect baby boy."
"You're being unreasonable, donβt blow this out of proportion," her mom snapped.
"I'm being honest," Y/n said, her hands shaking. "All Iβve ever wanted was for you to show me love. Instead you treat me like I'm a burden."
The hallway went silent.
Then her mom's expression shifted, something dark and ugly crossing her face.
"You want to know the truth?" her mom said, her voice shaking. "I think you are a spoiled, entitled, bratβ one that I didn't raise you to be. Your father would be so disappointed in the person you've become. God, do you know how much easier my life would've been if it was you instead of him?"
The words hung in the air like a bomb.
Y/n felt the ground drop out from under her.
"What?" she asked weakly.
Her mom's face went pale, realizing what she'd just said. "That'sβ that's not what I meant."
Y/n stared at her, tears starting to fall. "What else could you have possibly meant?"
"Y/nβ"
"No," Y/n cut her off, voice breaking. "You don't get to take that back. You finally said what youβve always wanted to."
"I didn'tβ"
"Yes, you did." Y/n's hands were trembling. "You've always blamed me for him dying, haven't you? You've always looked at me like I was a reminder of him."
Her mom didn't answer.
Y/n felt a part of herself shatter.
She hastily grabbed her soccer bag from where she'd dropped it and walked down the hallway without looking back.
Logan didn't think.
The moment Y/n left, he moved.
Garrett's hand shot out to stop him. "Loganβ"
Logan pulled away without looking back. "Not now."
"Logan, wait a second!" Tucker called after him, but he was already pushing through the doors.
Y/n made it outside before her legs gave out.
She sank down onto the front steps of the athletic center, her soccer bag falling beside her. Her chest felt tight, her breathing shallow. The words kept replaying in her head, over and over.
You instead of him.
She pressed her palms against her mouth, a sob wracking through her.
"Y/n."
Logan's voice was quiet, careful.
She didn't look up. She couldn't, tears streaming steadily now.
Logan sat down beside her on the steps and wrapped her in a tight hug. Y/n immediately leaned in, hands gripping his shirt. He just sat there, steady and present, stroking her hair softly until the sobs subsided.
"She didn't mean it," Y/n hiccuped, her voice hollow. "Right? She didn't mean it."
Logan's jaw tightened. "It doesn't matter if she meant it or not. She had no right to say that to you."
Y/n leaned back, her vision blurred with tears. "What am I supposed to do now?"
"You let it go," Logan said quietly. "You stop trying to prove yourself to people who will never see you., and you let the people who actually care about you be there for you. Or at least you try to."
Y/n's looked down. "I don't know how to do that."
He reached out, hesitating for just a second before cupping her face. "You don't have to do it alone anymore, Y/n. You have Hannah. You have Allie. You have all of us."
He paused, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.
"You have me."
Y/n stared at him, her chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with her mother.
"Loganβ"
"I mean it," he said, his voice steady. "Whatever you need. I'm here."
It felt like a weight was finally lifted off of her. One that had been there since her dad died.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
Logan didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the cold February air seeping through their clothes. Y/n's breathing was now coming in steady, even breaths, though her eyes were still red and watery.
Logan glanced at her, his thumb tracing absent circles on the small of her back. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's get you back home."
Y/n nodded, too exhausted to argue.
Logan stood first, helping her gently to her feet. She swayed slightly, and he steadied her with a hand on her elbow. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Y/n croaked. "I'm good."
Logan led her to his truck and opened the passenger door for her. Y/n climbed in without a word. As he rounded the front of the truck, she leaned her head against the window, letting her eyes close.
Logan started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. The drive was quiet, but wasn't uncomfortable. Y/n was grateful he didn't try to fill the silence with empty reassurances or questions she didn't have the mental energy to answer.
Logan spoke up, "Garrett called Hannah," he said, his eyes on the road. "She and Allie know what happened. They're waiting for you."
"Okay," she whispered, like if she talked any louder she would break down again.
Logan glanced at her briefly, his expression soft. "They love you, Y/n. A lot."
Y/n didn't respond, but knew he meant it.
When they pulled up to the building, Y/n hesitated before opening the door. Logan noticed immediately.
"You don't have to go in if you're not ready," he said gently.
Y/n shook her head. "No. I want to."
Logan nodded and got out, walking around to open her door. Y/n stepped out, and together they walked up to the suite.
The moment Y/n opened the door, Hannah was there.
She didn't say anything. She just pulled Y/n into her arms and held her tight.
Y/n's breath hitched, and for a moment, she thought she might start crying again. Instead, she just held on, her fingers gripping the back of Hannah's sweater like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
"I'm so sorry," Hannah whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry."
Y/n shook her head against Hannah's shoulder. "It's not your fault."
"I know," Hannah said, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "But I hate that she said that to you. I hate that she made you feel like you weren't enough or like you aren't loved."
Y/n's throat tightened, and she looked away.
Hannah cupped Y/n's face gently, forcing her to meet her eyes. "Listen to me," she said firmly. "You are enough. You have always been enough. No matter what your mom said or did, that doesn't change. You hear me?"
Y/n's lip trembled as she nodded weakly.
"You will always have us," Hannah continued, her voice breaking slightly. "Always. We're your family, Y/n. Me, Allie, Logan, Garrett, all of us. We're not going anywhere."
Y/n let out a shaky breath, her chest aching in a way that was both painful and healing at the same time.
Allie appeared beside them, her expression soft and full of concern. She reached out and squeezed Y/n's hand. "Hannah's right," she said quietly. "Like it or not, you're stuck with us."
Y/n let out a weak laugh, wiping at her eyes. "I think I can live with that."
Allie smiled and pulled her into a hug, sandwiching Y/n between her and Hannah. "Good. Because we're not letting you go."
Y/n closed her eyes, letting herself be held by the two people who had been her anchors in the transition to Briar. For the first time since the fight, she felt like she could relax properly.
When they finally pulled apart, Y/n turned to find Logan still standing by the door, his hands in his pockets, watching quietly.
Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them.
"Thank you," Y/n said softly.
Logan shook his head. "You don't have to thank me."
"I know," Y/n said with a weak smile.
Logan's expression softened and gave her a small nod.
Hannah glanced between them, a knowing look crossing her face, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she looped her arm through Y/n's and guided her toward the couch. "Come on. We're having a movie night with all the people who love you."
Allie grabbed a blanket from the chair and draped it over Y/n's shoulders. "I'll make us some popcorn. With extra butter, obviously."
Y/n sank into the middle of the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. Logan lingered by the door for a moment longer before Hannah waved him over.
"Come on, the rest of the guys are already on their way." she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Logan hesitated, then nodded with a slight laugh. "Okay."
He sat down on the end of the couch, and Y/n found herself leaning slightly in his direction, drawn to the quiet steadiness he radiated.
Allie queued up a movie and Hannah settled in beside her. A few minutes later, Garrett, Dean, and Tucker walked in.
"We brought food," Tucker grinned, holding two takeout bags.
They all settled in, eating and watching some dumb comedy that Allie picked. Y/n finally let her eyes flutter closed, exhaustion washing over her. Her body settled into Logan's side as she fell asleep, his arm instinctually wrapping around her.
from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.
word count : 6.1k (sorry) β enemies to lovers, kind of β logan is moody β SMUT, minors DNI β Enjoy and please tell me what you think !
One β "Oh, fuck!"
The music wasnβt just loud; it was vibrating through the old floorboards and thumping directly against your ribs. Youβd only been there for twenty minutes, entirely dragged along by Hannah, who was currently tucked under Garrettβs arm near the doorway. Watching them was sweetβalmost nauseatingly soβbut it left you feeling like a ghost drifting through a sea of oversized jerseys, loud hockey players, and the thick scent of cheap beer. For the most part, the rest of the boys were incredibly welcoming; even though you'd just met them tonight, they were already loud, inherently kind and easy to be around.
βExcept for John Logan.
You hadnβt actually been introduced to him yet, but youβd felt his suffocating vibe the moment he walked through the door. He looked like absolute thunder. Briar had dropped a frustrating, tight game that evening, and while Garrett was channeling his nervous energy into playing the charismatic host, Logan was wearing his irritation like armor. Leaning against the kitchen counter with a dark scowl that practically screamed at people to stay away, his knuckles were white around his glass, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for a reason to snap.
βNavigating that crowded, chaotic kitchen with a brim-filled, sticky mixed drink was your first mistake. Your second was catching the rubber toe of your sneaker on the lifting edge of a rogue anti-fatigue mat near the sink.
βYou stumbled forward, your arms flailing wildly in a desperate, ungraceful bid for balance. You didnβt fall, but your cup did a violent, mid-air flip, slipping from your fingers. A torrential wave of sticky, dark rum and cola splashed directly across the pristine gray fabric of Loganβs Henley shirt, soaking through the chest, darkening the material instantly and dripping down the front of his dark jeans.
ββLogan froze. His head snapped down slowly, looking at the huge, dark stain spreading across his clothes, and then his gaze lifted to yours. His eyes were blazing, a dangerous brown, entirely unamused and dripping with venom. "Oh, fuck!" he snapped, his voice cutting right through the ambient noise like a knife. He pulled the wet, heavy fabric away from his skin with two fingers, a look of pure annoyance twisting his features. "Are you serious right now? Watch where the hell you're going."
βThe sheer aggression in his tone caught you completely off guard, instantly sparking your own deeply ingrained, stubborn nature. You had been about to apologize profusely, the words of remorse already forming on your tongue, but the bite in his words choked them right out of your throat. You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down under his glare. "It was an accident," you retorted, pulling a few crumpled, napkins from the counter and shoving them toward his chest. "You don't have to be a complete dick about it. Itβs just a shirt, I'm pretty sure you'll survive."
β"It's a wet, sticky shirt at the end of a terrible, exhausting fucking day," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he batted your hand away with a harsh flick of his wrist. He didn't take the napkins; they fluttered uselessly to the floor. Instead, he leaned down slightly, giving you a long, icy glare that made you feel about two inches tall, his jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle tick. "Next time, look up from your feet." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and storming down the hallway toward the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.
βYou stood there rooted to the spot, your cheeks burning with a toxic mixture of intense embarrassment and sudden, deep-seated dislike. Garrett materialized at your side a split second later, a sympathetic, slightly apologetic grimace on his face as he patted your shoulder gently. "Hey, don't sweat it," Garrett reassured you quietly, glancing warily toward the stairs where Logan had disappeared. "Loganβs just in a brutal mood because of the game, and he hates losing more than anyone. He's usually a great guy, I swear. Heβll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow morning."
βYou forced a tight, fake smile and nodded, but as you looked down at your empty, sticky hands, a bitter taste lingered in your mouth. Spoiler alert: he wouldn't forget. and neither would you.
Two β "Fuck you"
A few weeks later, the initial friction hadnβt dissolved; it had hardened into a permanent, icy chill. You tried your best to play nice for the sake of Hannah and Allie, but Logan made it incredibly difficult. You saw how he was with the rest of their circleβfiercely loyal, easygoing, and warm. He was the kind of guy who quietly made sure Allie and Hannah got home safe from their late shifts and spent his free afternoons helping Jules with media stuff. He was patient with the entire world. But the exact millisecond you walked into a room, his posture stiffened and his jaw set. You hated being the sole exception to his good nature, so you simply stayed out of his way.
βThe breaking point came on a gray, rainy Tuesday afternoon. You and Hannah had walked over to the hockey house to help Tucker untangle a massive, soul-crushing history assignment he was drowning in. The three of you were spread across the dining table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of highlighters, laptop cords, and heavy library textbooks.
βThe back door clicked open, and Logan walked in. He was wearing his Briar athletic gear, a damp towel slung over his shoulders from a post-practice shower, his hair messy and wet. He looked exhausted, his shoulders tense, carrying the unmistakable hangover of a brutal morning practice. Instead of walking past to the kitchen, he paused by the table, leaning over Tuckerβs shoulder to scan the open pages. He let out a heavy, deliberate sigh. β"Youβre using the wrong primary sources for that era, Tuck," Logan said, his voice dropping into that effortless, uninvited authority. "You need the economic logs from the eastern front, not these political manifestos. Youβre going to tank your thesis statement with those."
βTucker blinked up, looking miserable. "Wait, really? I thoughtβ"
β"We checked those, Logan," you interrupted, keeping your voice level and calm as you kept your eyes on your notebook. "We've got it handled," you smiled, trying to remain polite.
βLogan didn't move. His eyes slid slowly down to the side of your face, unamused. "Right. Because you're an expert on 20th-century economic trade?"
β"No," you said, your pen pausing on the page. "But I can read a syllabus. If you're so worried about Tucker's academic results, you could have sat down and helped him yourself already."
βLoganβs jaw tightened, a sharp spike of tension instantly replacing his usual easygoing demeanor. He took his hands out of his pockets and leaned forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table, firmly invading your space. Tucker shot Hannah a wide-eyed, panicked look across the textbooks, both of them suddenly bracing for impact.
β"I gave him my old notes weeks ago," Logan shot back, his voice dropping into something smaller, tighter. "But sure, ignore the guy who actually passed the class because you're too stubborn to take a note from me."
β"I'm not being stubborn, you're just being a patronizing prick," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. "Youβve been hovering over this table for five minutes just looking for a problem because you had a bad day and want to take it out on someone."
βLogan let out a harsh, dry laugh, though there was a flicker of genuine frustration in his eyesβthe look of a good guy who couldn't understand why he kept letting you bait him. "Take it out on someone? Trust me, if I wanted to take anything out on someone, I wouldn't waste my time on you. I'm trying to keep my friend from bombing a midterm because he made the mistake of letting you organize his thoughts."
β"My thoughts are perfectly fine, Logan," Tucker muttered quietly under his breath, his eyes glued to his laptop screen, desperately trying to dissolve into the background.
β"They're fine when you're left alone, Tuck," Logan said, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring his teammate's plea. "Not when you're letting someone drag their own contrarian agenda into your coursework."
β"A contrarian agenda?" You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. Hannah flinched at the sharp noise, withdrawing her hands from the table and motioning for Tucker to leave the potential future crime scene. They both complied quickly, knowing you both well enough to understand that trying to reason with you in that moment would be pointless. "Are you actually insane? I'm sorry that anyone else having a brain in this house threatens your need to micromanage every single thing that happens under this roof."
β"It doesn't threaten me at all," Logan said, standing up straight and towering over you, using his height to crowd your space until his shadow completely blocked out the light from the window. The sheer, uncharacteristic anger rolling off him was suffocating; Tucker actually slid his chair back a few inches, completely done with trying to intervene at this point. "It annoys me. You annoy me, actually. I'm not going to walk on eggshells in my own dining room because you can't handle a basic correction."
β"I can handle a correction if it's respectful," you shot back, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you refused to take a step away from him. "You don't want to help Tucker. You just want to feel like the smartest guy in the room and that is annoying."
β"I dontβ," Logan started, a nervous scoff escaping his lips. "You don't know anything about me. Please let's keep it this way, since you clearly can't stand me anyway."
β"You're the one who treats me like an absolute inconvenience the second I breathe in your direction!" you yelled, the weeks of being ignored, brushed off, and glared at finally boiling over into raw, unadulterated anger. "If you hate me being here so much, just say it. But stop acting like I'm the one bringing the venom into this house when you're the one dripping it."
βThe air between you turned completely volatile, thick enough to choke on. A strange, angry electricity snapped between you, the argument completely detached from history or homework now, exposed and raw. Logan stared down at you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he tried to swallow down the sheer frustration rolling off him in waves. βHe leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle violently ticked in his cheek.
"Fuck you," he whispered.
βThe words hit with a cold, deliberate weight that vibrated in the dead-silent room. βBefore you could fire back, Tucker's voice boomed from the kitchen archway, stern and completely done with both of you. "Enough! Both of you, cut it the hell out."
βBut the damage was done. The look in Logan's eyes made something tight and painful twist in your chest. You refused to sit there and breathe the same air as him for another second. Blindly turning around, you grabbed your laptop and notebook, shoving them into your backpack with rigid, uncooperative hands.
β"I'm leaving," you muttered, keeping your eyes glued firmly to the floor as you pushed past Hannahβs reaching hand on the way out. You grabbed your jacket from the hook and left through the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame, stepping out into the pouring, cold rain with the echo of his voice looping in your head like a curse.
Three β "Fuck off"
βFor the next month, you became an absolute expert at avoiding John Logan. You turned it into an art form. If he was at a crowded house party, you stayed firmly in the kitchen or on the opposite porch. If the entire group gathered at Malone's, you ensured you sat on the exact opposite end of the long table, hidden behind Dean's loud gestures.
Because of this, you never saw the way his eyes silently followed you when you entered a room, or the almost guilty look that crossed his face whenever your name came up in conversation. He knew he'd crossed a line by cursing at you like thatβbut your unbreakable silence gave him absolutely no room to apologize, and his own stubborn pride kept him from forcing the issue.
βThere were small signs of his guilt, though. One random Thursday afternoon, he showed up at the place you shared with Hannah and Allie, claiming he was just dropping off a spare hockey hoodie Garrett had left in his truck. You had stayed in your room with the door cracked just an inch, watching through the tiny gap as he lingered by the entrance, his eyes constantly drifting toward your door,Β silently checking to see if you'd come out. You hadn't moved an inch, holding your breath until he finally left.
βEventually, Hannah and Allie staged a full-blown intervention. A brand-new club had opened downtown, and they absolutely refused to let you stay home and rot in your room, even though they openly admitted the boys were all coming along. You finally relented, numbing your spiking anxiety by pouring yourself two heavy pre-game vodka crans before leaving the house.
βThe club was a massive sensory overloadβflashing neon lights, artificial fog, and heavy, chest-thumping bass that made communication impossible. By midnight, everyone was comfortably, heavily drunk. You were leaning your back against the sticky mahogany bar, sipping a gin and tonic, when you finally caught sight of him through the pulsing crowd.
βLogan was laughing at something Beau said, a dark red bandana tied tightly around his messy hair, looking effortlessly, devastatingly handsome in a black fitted t-shirt. As if sensing the weight of your gaze, his head turned. His dark eyes locked directly onto yours across the smoky crowded room. He didnβt look away. He held your stare for a second, then two, then three β a strange, intense, unreadable heat settling over his features before a group of dancers blocked your view.
A few minutes later, a guy from one of the campus fraternities slithered up next to you on the edge of the dance floor. He was loud, sweaty, and smelled entirely too much like cheap cologne and whiskey β but a little bit of dancing could help taking your mind off of a certain hockey player, you thought. You enjoyed it at first, moving along, focusing on the music, the stranger getting closer and closer as the playlist progressed. But then, just as you started to feel good - just the right amount of alcohol in your veins to feel lighter and relaxed - he tried to grind his hips against yours. You tried to step back, laughing it off politely at first, pushing his hands away, but he didn't take the hint. His hands came down on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him with a grip that was far too tight and aggressive.
βBefore you could even raise your hands to shove his chest, a massive shadow loomed over both of you.
βA now familiar hand gripped the frat guyβs shoulder, spinning him around with enough force to make his sneakers squeak on the floor.
β"Fuck off," Logan snarled, his voice a low, lethal vibration that cut right through the heavy bass of the music. He leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the guy. "Get your fucking hands off her and fuck off right now."
βThe guy looked at Logan and wisely raised his hands in surrender, backing away rapidly into the foggy crowd without throwing a single punch.
βLoganβs breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides as his eyes scanned the immediate area like a wild animal looking for another threat. He looked ready to tear the entire club apart with his bare hands. Anxious that he might actually chase the guy down for a fight, you stepped directly into his line of sight, capturing his attention.
β"Logan," you breathed, your voice soft and entirely stripped of its usual sarcasm. Without thinking about the consequences, you reached out, your bare fingers wrapping around his forearm.
βThe exact millisecond your skin met the warm, rock-hard muscle of his arm, Logan froze entirely. It was the first time the two of you had ever willingly, gently touched, and the effect was instantaneous. The blinding anger seemed to drain out of him in a single breath, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of air. He looked down at your small hand resting on his arm, his skin tingling where you touched him, and then he slowly, deliberately lifted his gaze to your eyes.
βThe noisy club, the flashing strobe lights, the roaring bass, the alcoholβit all faded into irrelevant background noise. You stood face-to-face on the crowded dance floor, completely motionless, just looking into each other's eyes. Your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, not from fear of the frat guy, but from a sudden, dizzying, terrifying realization. Looking into his wide, intensely focused eyes, you realized you didn't hate him. Not even close. And from the soft, almost vulnerable parting of his lips, he didn't hate you either. You weren't close to being friends yet, but the ice had officially shattered into a million pieces.Β
Four β "What the fuck"
The shift between you was subtle, but it was absolutely undeniable. The sharp hostility was gone, completely replaced by a quiet, lingering, heavy awareness that neither of you knew quite what to do with.
βA week later, you were sitting in a sunlit corner booth at Maloneβs. You were completely, entirely absorbed in a brutal, multi-chapter study session for your finals, a pair of heavy over-ear headphones clamped securely over your ears. The sweet, nostalgic melody of American Pie was playing through the speakers, and without even realizing it, you were softly humming along to the chorus, tapping the cap of your yellow highlighter rhythmically against the open pages of your textbook.
βYou were so deeply focused on your notes that you didn't hear the diner's front door chime, nor did you see Logan walk in. He was there to finalize the last-minute details for the upcoming Hockey Fundraiser with Hannah and Della. But the exact moment his eyes scanned the room and spotted you sitting alone in the corner booth, he stopped dead in his tracks.
βHe didnβt approach right away. He just stood near the counter, watching you. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to your faint, slightly off-key humming.
βPrickled by the sudden, distinct sensation of eyes on you, you blinked and lifted your head from your textbook. Logan instantly wiped the smile from his face, clearing his throat roughly and pretending to read a missing cat flyer on the bulletin board.
βYou pulled your headphones down, a small smirk playing on your lips. "You know, if you stare any harder, you're going to burn a hole right through my skull, Logan."
βInstead of snapping back with a sarcastic, biting retort like he used to, Logan let out a soft chuckle. He walked over to your booth and, to your surprise, slid into the bench by your side, his knee almost touching yours.
β"Just making sure you weren't torturing the rest of the innocent customers with your singing," he teased gently, his shoulder brushing against yours in the tight space.
βYou rolled your eyes, but there was no spite left in your expression. "I happen to have the voice of a literal angel, thank you very much. You're just jealous."
βThe playful banter slowly subsided into a comfortable silence. Logan looked at you, his expression turning a little more serious, his eyes softening as his voice dropped to a much quieter register. "Heyβ¦ are you doing okay?" Since what happened the other night, obviously implied by the way he looked at you right now, concern written all over his face.
You felt a warm flush creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks. "I'm okay, thank you" you smiled and he nodded, both silently agreeing not to discuss this unpleasant event anymore. You paused, looking down at his large hands resting on the table before forcing yourself to look back up. "How are you doing ? With the fundraiser and everything, I mean. You look like you haven't slept in a week."
βHe seemed genuinely surprised that you were asking about him. Really, truly asking. He leaned back against the vinyl booth, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he completely opened up to you. He talked about the immense stress of managing the team's high expectations, his constant worries about Julesβ upcoming exams, and the suffocating pressure of the NHL scouts attending the next three games. You listened intently, never interrupting, offering gentle encouragement and a few dry, sarcastic jokes that had him laughing quietly into his palms. For a full hour, the two most stubborn, argumentative people at Briar University justβ¦ talked.
β"Well," you finally said, checking the diner clock and reluctantly packing your laptop into your bag. "I have to get to my shift at the library. Don't let Della bully you into paying extra for the tableware."
β"I won't," Logan said, his eyes tracking your every movement, lingering on your face. "See you around?"
β"See you around." You gave him a small, genuine smileβthe first real one he'd ever received from youβand walked out into the crisp afternoon air, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.
βInside the booth, Logan sat completely still for a long, agonizing moment. He watched your retreating figure through the glass window until you turned the corner and disappeared from view. Slowly, he let out a shaky exhale, burying his face entirely in his hands. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
β"What the fuck," he whispered into the empty diner booth, his voice laced with a mixture of absolute awe and sheer, unadulterated panic. He was screwed. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed, and he knew there was no turning back.
Five β "Well, fuck"
βThe night of the Briar Hockey Fundraiser at Maloneβs was a chaotic, high-energy, glittering success. The entire diner had been completely transformed for the eveningβthe regular tables had been pushed to the far perimeter to create a makeshift dance floor, strings of warm fairy lights hung across the ceiling, and a massive turnout of wealthy alumni, boosters, and students kept the bar utterly slammed.
βYou had dressed up significantly for the occasion, wearing a form-fitting, emerald green silk dress that Allie let you borrow from her closet - of course. You spent the first half of the night talking to Hannah near the punch bowl, but your eyes kept unconsciously tracking a certain someone across the room.
Logan was entirely in his elementβcharming the older donors, laughing easily with his teammates, and looking entirely too edible for your own good.
βAround midnight, the formal event finally dissolved into a proper, rowdy college party. The DJ cranked up a heavy, slow, rhythmic pop song, the bass echoing through the floor, and the dance floor filled up with couples. You were navigating the edge of the sweaty crowd, trying to find Allie when a sudden, firm, yet gentle pull on your wrist guided you backward.
βYou spun around on your heels, your chest bumping right into Loganβs broad torso. "You've been actively dodging me all night," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your skin as his large hand settled naturally around yours. The casual, unhesitating intimacy of the gesture sent a fierce, blinding jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
β"I wasn't dodging you, I was letting you do your official host duties," you shot back, a wicked, playful smile spreading across your lips. The alcohol gave you a surge of confidence, and you looped your arms slowly around his neck, stepping closer into his personal space until there was absolutely no air left between you. "Besides, I didn't think you could actually handle me dancing with you."
βLoganβs dark eyes lit up instantly, a dangerous, competitive challenge flaring in his pupils. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer. "Oh, really? Try me, sweetheart."
βYou didn't hesitate. As the heavy beat of the music dropped, you shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, and sinfully against his. You leaned in close, your lips brushing the warm shell of his ear as you whispered, "You're all talk, John Logan. Let's see if you can actually keep up with me."
βYou pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the crisp fabric of his shirt, tugging him rhythmically, tightly against your body. The friction was immediate, heavy, and intoxicating. Loganβs breath hitched audibly in his throat. A dark, intense flush crept up his neck, coloring his sharp cheekbones as his hands settled on your waist, his fingers digging firmly into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping helplessly to your parted lips, entirely overwhelmed and undone by the sudden confidence of your movements. He could feel exactly how much you were affecting him, his body reacting instantly to the touch of your hips.
A breathless, desperate laugh escaped him. He jerked his head back for a split second, fighting a losing battle for self-control. "Well, fuck," he muttered, his voice raw, completely devoid of its usual composure.
β"Did I break the big, tough hockey player already?" you cooed, tilting your chin up tauntingly, your noses almost touching as you continued to sway against him.
β"You wish," he groaned, his thumbs stroking the bare skin of your lower back where your dress dipped low. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you even tighter against his lower body, matching your sinful rhythm perfectly, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity that made it very clear the playful teasing was rapidly turning into something much more dangerous and inevitable. When the night finally forced you apart, it didn't feel like a goodbye β it was a promise.
Six β "Fuck"
Some things are bound to reach a breaking point, and the agonizing tension building between you for months was no exception. Three nights later, Briar won a massive game and the ensuing after-party at the boys' house was pure chaotic madness. The house was packed to maximum capacity, a sweaty, pulsing mass of drunken celebration, loud music, and screaming students.
βBut you and Logan weren't paying any attention to the party. For the past two hours, you had been moving around the house like two high-powered magnets β constantly drawing closer, stealing long, heated glances across the crowded rooms, the unspoken, heavy weight of the fundraiser hanging between you.
βSeeking a brief moment of quiet to cool down your flushed skin, you headed down the dark back hallway toward the upstairs bathroom. Just as you reached out for the brass doorknob, the door swung open from the inside.
βLogan stepped out.
You nearly crashed straight into his chest, cutting your breath short as you ground to a halt mere inches from him. The hallway was swallowed by shadows, save for the frantic strobe lights bleeding in from the living room. Logan stared down at you, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling in sync with the thick, suffocating heat pulsing through the house.
βNeither of you said a single word. The months of toxic banter, the vicious, screaming arguments, the desperate avoidance, and the agonizing teasing all converged into a single, breathless, breaking second.
βLogan reached out with lightning speed, his large hand wrapping around your waist, and shoved you backward into the bathroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind you and twisting the lock with a sharp, echoing click.
βBefore the sound of the lock could even fade, his mouth crashed onto yours.
βIt was an absolute explosion. The kiss was passionate, borderline feral, a violent release of pure, pent-up, crazy frustration. You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, your hands flying up to rip into his dark hair, pulling him down toward you out of sheer desperation. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of pure hunger, pinning your body flat against the heavy wooden door, his thick thighs crowding tightly between yours. His hands were absolutely everywhereβclutching your face, tracing the line of your throat, gripping your hips with a bruising, desperate force that felt incredibly, entirely right.
β"Logan," you whimpered against his mouth as he tore his lips away to kiss your jawline, your neck - his hands sliding down to frantically bunch up the silk fabric of your dress.
βWith a sudden burst of strengh, he hooked his large hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly into the air. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist as he deposited you onto the cold marble edge of the bathroom sink counter. He didn't waste a single second. His hands slid all the way up the bare, warm skin of your thighs, finding the edge of your underwear. His fingers quickly found your slick, burning, over-sensitized core, rubbing against you through the damp fabric with a rhythm that made your head tilt back and earned a large grin from him.
βYou arched your back off the counter, a loud sob escaping your lips, your fingers digging deep into his shoulders.
β"You like that?" Logan growled against your neck, his voice dripping with lust. His fingers moved faster, driving you up a steep, agonizing cliff. "Tell me you want it."
β"Logan," you breathed out, "please," you cried out, your head tossing back against the large bathroom mirror. Your hands flew down to his waist, frantically, blindly fumbling with the button of his jeans. You shoved the denim down his hips until his length snapped freeβthick, heavy, and pulsing with heat. The moment your fingers wrapped tightly around him, moving in a fast, desperate stroke, Loganβs eyes rolled back.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his neck. He couldn't endure the exquisite torture for long, his quiet moans matching your own, before his large hand clamped over yours, freezing your movement. "Stop, stop," he panted, his chest wild, his forehead pressing against yours. "I'm going to come right now if you keep doing that. I need to feel you, right now."
With trembling, frantic hands, he reached into the small drawer next to the sinkβDeanβs emergency stashβand ripped open a foil condom wrapper, spitting the plastic away and rolling it onto himself in one fluid, desperate motion.
Then he stepped back between your open thighs. His hands gripped your hips with an iron hold, dragging you to the very edge of the marble counter. He aligned himself against you, waiting just long enough for your frantic nod of approval. With one heavy, unyielding, possessive thrust, he buried himself completely inside you.
The sheer, overwhelming pleasure of that sudden fullness hit you both at once, fracturing the quiet of the bathroom with a sharp, mutual gasp. Instead of slowing down, the friction only stoked the fire, drawing a long, ragged, shattered exhale from deep in Logan's chest. His pupils were completely dilated, dark and wild with pure lust as his forehead dropped heavily against your shoulder.
"Fuck," he groaned into the crook of your neck, his voice a raw, visceral prayer vibrating against your collarbone.
His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like an anchor as he immediately established a rhythm. The restraint dissolved into pure instinct. He pulled you flush against him, his thrusts becoming powerful, deep, and utterly relentless from the very start. Every heavy drive forced a breathless cry from your lips, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. You rocked together on the cold edge of the marble sink, your bodies generating a feverish heat that defied the chilly stone beneath you.
The bass from the after-party still thudded through the floorboards, a distant, muffled reminder of the chaotic world outside, but within the locked walls of the bathroom, that world was entirely forgotten. There was only the slick, friction-heavy slide of skin against skin, the frantic tangle of your fingers in his hair, and the hot, primal rhythm consuming you both.
The friction was dizzying, driving you both toward a precipice that neither of you could fight anymore. Loganβs pace turned frantic, his breath coming in harsh, ragged stabs against your ear as his hips slammed against yours with an undoing, desperate urgency. Every stroke sent a white-hot wave of pleasure straight to your core, tightening the coil inside you until it was agonizing.
You choked out a breathless, broken sound, your hands clamping onto his biceps as your head thrashed back against the mirror once more.
He didn't need words to know you were right there. He buried his face in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he delivered three more devastatingly deep, relentless thrusts.
That was the final breaking point. Your walls clamped down around him tight and pulsing, fracturing your breath into a loud, ruined cry as your entire body shattered into a blinding, head-to-toe release.
Hearing you break completely ruined him. Logan let out a guttural, unhinged groan that vibrated deep in his chest. His jaw locked, his body rigid and trembling as he gave one last, deeply possessive shove, throwing his weight into you as he came violently inside the condom. He held himself deep within you, his hips shuddering against yours as he rode out the waves of his own release, the two of you panting heavily in the quiet aftermath, entirely spent.
Seven β "Fuck it"
Roughly thirty minutes later, the two of you finally emerged from the bathroom. You had tried your absolute best to fix your chaotic appearance in the mirrorβre-applying a bit of smudge-proof lip gloss, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of your dress, and trying to tame your wildly tangled hair with your fingersβbut the physical evidence of what had just occurred was written all over your faces. Your skin was flushed a deep unmistakable pink, your lips were incredibly swollen and red, and Logan was walking with a loose, stupidly contented, proud stride, his hair completely disheveled and sticking up in directions where your fingers had repeatedly torn through it.
βThe exact moment you stepped back onto the floor of the crowded living room, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the air.
Dean was leaning against the back of the sofa, a beer dangling from his fingers and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. His eyes darted from you to Logan, zeroing in instantly on the faint trace of your lip gloss smeared along Loganβs jawline.
β"Well, well, well," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. "Must have been a pretty intense plumbing emergency in there. Either that, or you two just went ten rounds with a blender. You might want to wipe your face, Logan."
Your cheeks instantly burned. You took a step back. "Dean, shut up, we were justβ"
But Logan didn't let you finish the lie. He looked down at you, catching the slight panic in your eyes, and then looked over at Dean, who was practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.
Instead of getting defensive, Logan just let out a short, quiet laugh. The stubbornness, the secrecy, the remnants of your old feudβit all suddenly felt completely irrelevant. He was tired of hiding it.
"You know what? Fuck it," Logan muttered.
Before you could process the words, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw as he pulled you flush against his chest. Right there by the sofa, he leaned down and kissed you.
Dean threw his arms up in a dramatic, sweeping gesture. "About damn fucking time! Graham, you owe me twenty bucks!"
When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were bright, a relaxed, genuinely happy smile playing on his lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. You looked up at him, the noise of the party fading into the background, finally realizing that the long, argumentative journey of seven dirty words had brought you exactly where you were supposed to be.
Summary: Y/n transfers to Briar to play on the women's soccer team and reunite with her childhood best friendβ Hannah Wells. Overly protective and convinced that John Logan is in love with Hannah, Y/n is determined to keep him away. Logan is intrigued, and mildly annoyed at the new girl that keeps scaring women away from him.
TW: cursing
a/n: it's all coming togetherrrr *rubs hands together like a fly*
previous | part 8 | next
Y/n woke up to sunlight streaming through her window, a dull fuzziness behind her eyes that made her want to crawl back under the covers and sleep for another three days.
She groaned, rolling over and feeling blindly for her phone on the nightstand.
The screen lit up, making her squint at the brightness as her eyes adjusted.
Two texts from Logan.
Her heart did a weird little flip before she even read them.
Logan
(1:28 AM) get home safe
(9:03 AM) it was nice talking with you and your inner demons last night
Y/n stared at the phone, biting her lip despite herself. She could practically hear his voice saying it. That dry, teasing tone but with that underlying warmth that made her cheeks warm.
She typed back quickly, before she could overthink it.
Y/n
(10:19 AM) yeah, i had a lot of fun. so did the demons
She hit send and watched the screen.
Delivered.
Then, almost immediately,
Read.
Y/n's stomach fluttered again, something she had a feeling she'd need to get used to. She watched as the three little dots appeared at the bottom of the screen.
Then they disappeared.
Then they appeared again.
Disappeared.
Y/n sat up, her pulse picking up. What the hell was taking so long?
The bubbles reappeared one more time, and Y/n held her breath.
Finally, a message came through.
Logan
(10: 21 AM) tucker beat me to it last night, but you looked beautiful
Y/n's breath caught.
She read it again.
You looked beautiful.
Her face went hot. Her stomach did a full somersault. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and suddenly the room felt way too warm.
She stared at the text, rereading it over and over, her thumb hovering uselessly over the keyboard.
What was she supposed to say to that?
Thanks? Way too casual.
I know? Absolutely not.
You looked nice too? Maybe?
Y/n groaned and flopped face first into her pillow. This was ridiculous, she didn't get flustered so easily. She didn't get flustered over guys. Especially hockey guys. Yet here she was, laying in bed like an idiot, her face burning because Logan told her she looked pretty.
She threw the covers off and bolted out of bed.
Hannah and Allie were in the common area when Y/n burst through the her bedroom door.
Hannah was curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone with a mug of coffee in hand. Allie was starfished on the floor, one arm draped over her eyes.
"You're being too loud." Allie groaned.
"I'm literally just breathing," Hannah said without looking up.
"I know."
Y/n stopped in the middle of the room, standing directly in front of them. Her heart was still racing, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.
"Okay," she said, her voice coming out louder than she intended. "So you guys may have been right."
Hannah looked up, confused. "About what?"
Y/n took a breath. "I think I like Logan."
For a second, there was silence.
Then Hannah screamed.
"I KNEW IT!" She jumped up from the couch, nearly spilling her coffee everywhere. "I FUCKING KNEW IT!"
Allie sat up quickly, her headache forgotten. "OH MY GOD, FINALLY!"
"Okay, wait, calm downβ" Y/n started, but it was far too late.
Hannah was already grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Tell me everything. Right now. What happened? When did you realize? Was it last night? Oh my god, it was last night, wasn't it?"
"Han, I can't tell you if you're shaking meβ"
"Sorry, sorry." Hannah let go but didn't step back. Her eyes were wide, practically glowing with excitement. "Okay. Talk. Now."
Allie had abandoned her hangover entirely and was now sitting forward, elbows on her knees. "Start from the beginning. I want all the details."
Y/n sighed and sank onto the couch. "Okay, so... you know how i was kind of weird around Logan when I first got here?"
"Kind of weird?" Allie raised an eyebrow.
"Alright, fine. I was really weird around Logan," Y/n amended, rolling her eyes. "It's because I thought he had feelings for Hannah."
Hannah blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I thought he liked you," Y/n said, looking at her best friend. "And I didn't want him messing things up with you and Garrett, so I was... running interference."
Hannah's jaw dropped. "You thought Logan liked me?"
"Yes! I mean, he was always so nice to you, and he always looked at you a certain way, and I justβ" Y/n groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I was trying to protect you, you're happy with Garrett. You deserve to have that."
Allie let out a laugh. "Oh my god. That's why you kept scaring off those girls."
"I wasn't trying to scare anyone off," Y/n said defensively, peeking through her fingers. "I didn't even realize what was happening. I was just... around him a lot because I was trying to keep him away from Hannah. If girls got scared off, that's justβ" She shrugged. "My reputation, I guess."
"So it was a side effect," Hannah said, understanding dawning on her face.
"Yeah, I suppose so." Y/n dropped her hands. "Then my car broke down, and Hannah sent Logan to pick me up, and he confronted me about it in the car."
"He confronted you?" Hannah asked, eyes wide.
"Yeah, I mean he was pretty nice about the whole thing. He just asked why I was being so weird around him. So I told him what I thought, and he just... laughed." Y/n dropped her hands. "He said he thought he had feelings for you a while ago, but figured out that he just wanted what you and Garrett have. Not you specifically."
Hannah looked stunned. "Wow, I had no idea."
"Neither did I, clearly," Y/n said. "After that, we cleared the air and things got better. We started actually talking, and he'sβ" She hesitated. "He's really easy to talk to."
Allie grinned. "And then?"
"And then last night happened." Y/n pulled her knees up to her chest. "At the party, I overheard that girl talking about me. The juvie rumors, the loose cannon stuff. I just needed some air, so I went out to the porch."
"Logan followed you," Hannah said, her voice soft.
"Yeah." Y/n nodded. "We talked. Like, actually talked. I told him about my family, and he opened up about his. It just felt so real, you know? Like he actually understood me."
Allie's expression softened. "That's huge, Y/n."
"I know." Y/n's voice was quiet, then spitting out quickly. "Also we almost kissed after."
Hannah gasped. "What?!"
"We were sitting on the steps, talking, and then he leaned in. We were so close, like, lips almost touching kind of close." Y/n's recalled frustratedly. "And then Beau came out and interrupted."
"I'm going to kill him," Allie said flatly. "Like fully murder a man."
Y/n laughed despite her annoyance. "It's fine. I mean, it's not fine, but Beau was oblivious. And very drunk." She pulled out her phone and handed it to Hannah. "He texted me this morning."
Hannah read the messages, her eyes widening. Then she passed the phone to Allie, who let out a delighted squeal.
"'You looked beautiful'?" Allie read aloud. "Oh my god, Y/n, he lovesss you."
"Allie," Y/n said, her voice slightly panicked. "Now I don't know what to say back. I've been staring at it for like ten minutes. I feel bad leaving him on seen."
Hannah grabbed the phone. "Okay, we'll help you respond. What are you trying to say?"
"I don't know, that's the problem!" Y/n said. "Like, 'Hey, I think you're really hot, and nice, and wanted to kiss you, but I'm not obsessed with you or anything'."
"Okay, so, flirty but casual," Allie suggested.
Hannah nodded, already typing. "How about, 'you didn't look so bad yourself'?"
"Too casual," Allie said. "What about, 'you clean up pretty well too'?"
"That's better," Hannah agreed.
Y/n groaned. "I hate this. Why is texting so annoyingly difficult?"
"Because you like him," Allie said with a grin. "And you're scared."
"I'm not scared," Y/n protested.
Hannah gave her a look. "Y/n. You literally ran out here in a panic because he complimented you."
"...Maybe I'm a little scared."
"That's normal," Hannah said gently. She handed the phone back. "Here. Send this, 'thanks, you didn't look too bad yourself :)'"
Y/n looked at the message, then back at Hannah. "The smiley face feels like too much."
"It's not too much," Allie said. "It's cute. Send it."
Y/n hesitated, then hit send before she could change her mind.
The three of them stared at the phone in silence.
Delivered.
Read.
The typing bubbles appeared almost immediately.
Logan:
(10:35 AM) i'll take not too bad
Y/n let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Allie leaned back in her chair, looking smug. "I told you guys from the beginning. I knew there was something there."
"You did," Y/n admitted. "In my defense, I really did think he was madly in love with Hannah. Though, I think I started to like him that night at Malone's after my first game. I just didn't want to admit it to myself"
"Why not?" Hannah asked, her voice curious but not judgmental.
Y/n was quiet, trying to find the right words. "I don't know. I guess I didn't think it was possible? Like, I've spent so long being the person people are intimidated by, or the person people whisper about when I pass them. But Logan, he's nice. He checks in on people and makes sure they get home safe." She looked down at her hands. "I didn't think someone like that would be interested in me."
"Y/n," Hannah said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "You're not just the person people are scared of. You're loyal, and protective, and funny, and so much more than what people say. Logan obviously sees that."
"And honestly?" Allie added. "I think he likes that you're a little intense. You're not some random puck bunny just trying to fuck him. You're you. And that's what makes you interesting."
Y/n felt her throat tighten. She wasn't used to people seeing her, like truly seeing her and not running in the opposite direction
"No, really," Allie grinned, "He couldnβt stop staring at you the entire game."
"Okay, but now I need details," Hannah said, "What do you actually like about him? Besides the fact that he's nice."
Y/n groaned. "Do I have to?"
"Yes," Allie said firmly. "We've been waiting for this moment for weeks. Tell us or I'll let my hangover finally consume me."
Y/n sighed, but she couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "Okay, okay. He's... he's genuinely sweet. Like, not in a performative way. He just cares about people. And he actually listens, not just waits for his turn to talk."
"Good start," Hannah said, motioning for her to continue.
"I like his sense of humor," Y/n continued. "He's funny in a really dry, sarcastic way that I can bounce off of." She hesitated. "He makes me feel... safe. Which is weird, because I don't usually feel that way around people."
Allie's expression softened. "That's not weird, Y/n. That's really sweet."
"And," Y/n sighed, her face heating up, "okay, fine. I'm attracted to his sad, brown, puppy dog eyes. Happy?"
Hannah let out a shriek. "I KNEW IT! I called it! I literally called it!"
"Yeah, yeah," Y/n admitted, laughing despite herself. "You were right about my type."
"Nice hair, good smile, dry humor, sad brown eyes," Allie recited. "Nailed it."
Y/n grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. "Shut up."
Allie caught it, laughing. "You're down so bad."
"I know," Y/n said, and for the first time, she didn't feel the need to deny it. "I am."
Hannah pulled her into a hug, and Allie joined in a second later, the three of them squished together on the couch.
"We're so proud of you," Hannah said, her voice muffled against Y/n's shoulder.
Summary: Y/n transfers to Briar to play on the women's soccer team and reunite with her childhood best friendβ Hannah Wells. Overly protective and convinced that John Logan is in love with Hannah, Y/n is determined to keep him away. Logan is intrigued, and mildly annoyed at the new girl that keeps scaring women away from him.
CW: cursing, sexual jokes, drinking
a/n: oh i think you guys will like this one. lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist or if your tag didn't work !!
previous | part 7 | next
That Friday night, the hockey team was throwing a party to celebrate their first win of the season. Hannah and Allie had been talking about it all week, how Dean knew how to throw a good party. Now they were scattered across Y/n's room, music blasting from Allie's phone as they got ready.
"I don't know what to wear," Y/n said, glaring at her closet like it had personally offended her.
"What do you mean you don't know what to wear?" Allie asked, appearing in the doorway with a makeup bag in hand. "Just wear something cute."
"I don't really do parties," Y/n admitted, pulling out a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie. "This is usually what I wear."
Allie's eyes widened in shock and horror. "Oh, absolutely not."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, if you're going to class," Hannah said with a laugh. "We're going to a party, Y/n. Put on something that makes you feel hot."
Y/n groaned. "I'm not trying to look hot. I'm just trying to not look like a total idiot."
"You're not going to look like an idiot. You're already hot, we're just accentuating it." Allie said, already digging through Y/n's clothes.
Y/n was perched on the edge of her bed, watching as Allie pulled out various tops and held them up, shaking her head at each one. "Do you own anything that isn't baggy?"
"I'm an athlete," Y/n said bashfully. "Most of my clothes are more for comfort than style."
"Comfort is great," Allie said, still searching. "But tonight, we're going for sexy."
Hannah looked up from where she was sitting at Y/n's desk, applying mascara in the small mirror. "Just let her dress you. It'll be easier."
Y/n sighed, giving in. "Fine. Nothing crazy, though."
Allie grinned ecstatically, a sparkle in her eye. "Define crazy."
Twenty minutes later, Y/n was standing in front of the mirror
Allie had dressed her in a cropped maroon tank top that showed off her midriff and a black denim mini skirt that hugged her hips. It wasn't overly revealing, but it was definitely more than Y/n usually wore.
"I don't know," Y/n said, tugging at the hem of the crop top.
"Are you kidding?" Allie said, stepping back to admire her work. "You look amazing."
Hannah looked up from her phone and whistled. "Damn, Y/n. You've been hiding those abs."
"And those legs! Dean better watch out." Allie added playfully.
Y/n laughed, glancing down at her stomach. "I'm a D1 athlete, it'd be surprising if I didn't have at least some muscles."
"Still," Allie said, adding some last minute touches. "You're like ripped. Logan's going to lose his mind."
Y/n's rolled her eyes, face warm. "This has nothing to do with Logan."
"Sure it doesn't," Hannah said, grinning.
"I'm serious."
"So are we," Allie said, handing Y/n a pair of sneakers. "Now put these on and let's go. We're already late."
Y/n slipped on the sneakers and grabbed her phone, following Hannah and Allie out of the suite. As they walked toward the hockey house, Y/n felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. She wasn't used to parties. She wasn't used to dressing like this, and she definitely wasn't used to the way her heart sped up at the thought of seeing Logan.
"Relax," Hannah said, linking her arm through Y/n's. "You're going to have fun."
"Yeah," Allie added. "And if you don't, we'll leave early and get pizza."
Y/n smiled. "Deal."
The house was packed.
Music that could be heard from outside pounded through the walls. Y/n followed Hannah and Allie inside as they weaved through the crowd. The air was thick with the smell of beer and sweat, and the bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor.
"This is insane," Y/n said, raising her voice to be heard over the music.
"This is a hockey party, babe!" Allie shouted back, grinning. "Come on, let's find the guys."
They pushed through the crowd, eventually finding Garrett, Dean, and Tucker in the kitchen. Garrett was pouring drinks, Dean was laughing at something Tucker said, and Tucker was leaning against the counter, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Logan was there too, leaning against the fridge with a beer in hand, talking to Garrett about the game.
"There you are!" Garrett said, spotting Hannah. He pulled her into a kiss, making Y/n smile at the two.
"Y/n," Dean said, handing her a drink. "You made it!"
And then Logan looked up.
His eyes found Y/n, just a casual glance at first, but then they stopped. His gaze did a slow, deliberate trail down her body. From her face to her shoulders, lingering for a moment on the exposed skin of her midriff, then down to her legs. The skirt. His eyes snapped back to her face, his jaw tightening slightly.
He looked away quickly, taking a long sip of his beer.
"Barely," Y/n said, taking the cup. She didn't notice Logan's sudden interest in the kitchen tile. "This place is a madhouse."
"That's the point," Tucker said, clearly already a little tipsy. "You look great, by the way!"
Y/n cocked an eyebrow, chuckling. "Thanks, Tuck."
Garrett glanced at Logan, who was looking very intensely at the ground, and smirked. "Logan, you good, man?"
"I'm fine," Logan said quickly, his voice slightly rough. He cleared his throat. "It's just hot in here."
Dean bit back a grin. "Dude, It's like thirty degrees outside."
"Shut up," Logan muttered, taking another swig.
The first hour was awkward. Y/n didn't know most of the people there and felt a bit out of place. She stuck close to Hannah and Allie at first, sipping her drink and trying to will away the nerves.
But gradually, as the alcohol warmed her system and the music became less overwhelming, she started to loosen up. She found herself laughing at Tucker's terrible jokes, arguing with Dean about whether soccer or hockey was harder, and even joining Garrett in a round of beer pong.
"You're terrible at this," Garrett said, laughing as Y/n missed another shot.
"I'm a soccer player, we don't use our hands!," Y/n shot back, giggling.
"All I'm hearing are excuses."
By the middle of the party, Y/n was actually having fun. She was talking, laughing, and for the first time in a long time she didn't want to immediately leave.
She was in the kitchen talking with Tucker about the best pizza place around campus when she noticed Logan across the room. He was talking to a group of guys, but his eyes found hers, and he smiled.
Y/n smiled back, her heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again.
"You good?" Tucker asked, following her gaze.
"Yep," Y/n said quickly, turning back to him. "I'm great."
Y/n went to grab another drink, weaving through the crowd toward the kitchen. She was pouring herself a drink when she heard a voice from somewhere behind her.
"I don't know why you guys hang out with her."
Y/n froze, her hand stilling on the bottle.
"What do you mean?" a guy's voice asked.
"That girl," the first voice said. Y/n recognized it now. It was the blonde girl she saw talking to Logan a few weeks ago. "Y/n, or whatever her name is. I heard she went to juvie or something. Like, she's gotten into a bunch of fights."
Y/n's jaw tightened, but she didn't turn around. Just kept listening
"That's not true," another voice said. It was Dean. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm just saying," the girl continued. "Her temper's so bad. Did you see her at the soccer game? She was being crazy, yelling at the ref. I wouldn't want to be around someone like that."
"She's not crazy, she's my friend." Dean said, his voice firm. "And you don't even know her, so maybe don't talk about shit you clearly don't understand."
There was a pause, and Y/n could feel the tension in the air.
"Whatever," the girl said finally. "I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."
Y/n set down her half made drink and slipped out of the kitchen before anyone could see her.
She pushed through the crowd and out the front door, the cool night air hitting her like a relief. She walked down the porch steps and sat down, resting her elbows on her knees.
She wasn't upset. Not really. She'd heard worse. But it still stung, hearing someone talk about her like that. Like she was some kind of ticking time bomb.
She took a deep breath and stared out at the street, letting the noise of the party fade into the background.
"Hey."
Y/n jumped, not having heard the door open. She looked up to see Logan standing at the top of the porch steps, hands in his pockets.
"Hey," she said, offering a small smile.
"This seat taken?"
"Only by my inner demons."
Logan sat down beside her with a laugh, close enough that their shoulders brushed. For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just sat there, the muffled bass from inside vibrating faintly through the walls.
"You okay?" Logan asked finally.
"Yeah," Y/n said. "Just needed some air."
Logan hummed, looking unconvinced. "I heard what that girl said."
Y/n glanced at him, then shrugged . "It's fine."
"It's not fine."
"It is," Y/n said, her voice steady. "I'm used to it."
Logan frowned. "Why didn't you say anything? You could've shut her down."
Y/n shrugged. "What's the point?"
"The point is she was saying things that aren't true."
"People always talk shit about me," Y/n said simply. "After I got arrested, rumors started spreading. Especially once I started getting noticed for soccer. I tried to set the record straight at first, but it didn't stop. People believe what they want to believe."
Logan was quiet, brown eyes boring into her.
"I guess I just stopped caring," Y/n continued, absentmindedly playing with the hem of her skirt. "It's easier that way."
"That doesn't seem fair."
Y/n smiled faintly. "I guess it's not."
Logan shook his head. "You shouldn't have to deal with that."
"No," Y/n said. "But honestly? It kind of helps me in soccer."
Logan cocked his head. "How?"
"When your opponents are scared of you, they hesitate," Y/n said. "And when they hesitate, it gives me an opening. So if people want to think I'm some hothead who's going to snap at one wrong word, that's fine. Let them. It makes my job easier."
Logan stared at her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. "That's... kind of genius, actually."
Y/n laughed softly. "I don't know about genius, but it's effective."
They fell into a comfortable silence. Like they understood each other in a way they hadn't before.
"Can I ask you something?" Logan said after a moment, turning to look at her again.
"Shoot."
"Why'd you really transfer here? To Briar, I mean. Hannah said something about wanting a fresh start, but..." He trailed off, leaving the question open.
Y/n was quiet for a long moment, fingers still picking at her skirt. "My dad died when I was a kid," she said finally, her voice steady. "After that, everything kind of fell apart. My mom started blaming me for things. Stupid stuff. Then she married my stepdad, Carl, who's just... distant. Never really was a part of my life. My half brother, Daniel, got all the attention. He's their perfect baby boy, you know? The hockey star. And I was just the extra baggage."
She shrugged, but there was a heaviness to it. "I wantedβ needed to get away from all of it. Live my own life. Hannah was here, and when I got the offer, it felt like I could actually breathe for once."
Logan was quiet, eyes still on her. Then he said quietly, "My mom's in rehab. For like the hundredth time. My sibling keeps thinking this time will be different, that she'll actually stick with it. And my dad..." He shook his head. "He's a general piece of shit. We're always stressed about money because of it all. I have to figure things out on my own a lot."
He looked at Y/n. "I get it. Feeling like you don't have anyone in your corner, that it's just you."
Y/n turned to look at him, and saw something familiar in his gaze. He understood. Not in a pitying, 'sorry for your loss' type of way, but in a way that she knew he'd lived it too.
"Yeah," she said softly. "I guess you do."
Logan's gaze held hers, and the air between them seemed to thicken. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I think you're intense. In a good way, but you're way more than thatβ And we're all happy you came to Briar. I'm happy you came to Briar."
Y/n's breath caught. He was closer than she'd realized, his dark eyes locked on hers. The dim porch light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.
"Thanks, Logan," she said softly.
Logan's gaze dropped to her lips, just for a second, and Y/n's heart skipped a beat.
He leaned in slightly, and Y/n found herself leaning in too. The space between them shrinking steadily. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, could see the way his eyes darkened as he got closer.
Their lips were a breath apart, almost touching. Y/n's eyes fluttered shutβ
"Logan! We need you for flip cup!"
They both jerked their heads back, the moment gone. Beau was standing in the doorway, too drunk to realize he'd just interrupted.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, " Logan said, his voice strained. He cleared his throat and stood up. "I'll be right there."
Beau disappeared back inside, and Logan looked down at Y/n, his expression somewhere between frustrated and apologetic.
"I shouldβ" He pointed a thumb vaguely behind him.
"No, yeah," Y/n said quickly, standing up. "I'll be in in a second."
Logan hesitated, like he wanted to say something, but then he just nodded and headed back inside.
Y/n stood there for a moment, her heart still pounding, lips tingling.
Then she took a deep breath, smoothed down her skirt, and followed him back into the house.
Summary: Y/n transfers to Briar to play on the women's soccer team and reunite with her childhood best friendβ Hannah Wells. Overly protective and convinced that John Logan is in love with Hannah, Y/n is determined to keep him away. Logan is intrigued, and mildly annoyed at the new girl that keeps scaring women away from him.
TW: minor cursing, brief sexual topics, mentions of SA (Hannah), talks of violence
a/n: i'm a weak woman and have posted the parts i have written..., as always lmk if you didn't get tagged or if you want to be!!
previous | part 6 | next
Hannah sprawled across her bed, phone in hand, while Allie sat cross-legged on the floor painting her nails. Dean leaned against Hannah's bed, arms crossed, looking mildly concerned about whatever was about to happen.
"Oh right," Hannah said, sitting up suddenly. "Logan texted me after he dropped Y/n off at practice."
Allie's head snapped up. "And?"
"And he said, and I quote, 'Your friend's cool. We're good now.'" Hannah grinned. "We're good now. That's progress."
"That's huge. I mean a very man answer, but still progress," Allie said, capping the nail polish. "She's actually talking to him now instead of acting like every girl near him is a threat."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "So what do we do now? Because if something doesn't happen soon, I'm going to die."
"Dramatic much?" Hannah .
Dean clutched a hand over his chest, "You wound me, Wellsy."
Hannah swung her legs off the bed and stood up, pacing slightly. "Okay, so now that Y/n and Logan are finally on good terms. No more weird tension, no more her thinking he's into me. They're starting from scratch, which is perfect."
"Perfect for what?" Dean asked.
"For us to actually get them together," Allie said, like it was obvious. "Before, she was all weird around him, but now she has no reason to be. That's our chance."
Dean sighed, but still leaned in. "You two are relentless."
"Thank you," Hannah said brightly, turning to Allie. "So what do we do now? We can't be too obvious or Y/n will shut it down immediately."
Allie thought for a beat before snapping her fingers. "We need to create opportunities. Natural ones. Like, situations where they end up spending time together without it feeling forced."
"It is forced. By us." Dean deadpans.
"Study sessions?" Hannah suggested, ignoring the blond.
"Do they even have any classes together?" Dean asked.
Hannah frowned. "I don't think so. Logan's a business major and Y/n's studying kinesiology."
"Okay, scratch that then," Allie said. She stood up, careful not to smudge freshly painted nails, and started pacing in the opposite direction from Hannah. "What about group hangouts where we subtly pair them off?"
"Like how?" Dean asked.
"I don't know, like if we're all going somewhere, we make sure they end up sitting together or walking together. Stuff like that."
Hannah nodded slowly. "That could work. But we'd have to be subtle, Y/n's good at reading people. Especially me."
"Agreed," Allie said. "So we play it cool. Just, y'know, gentle nudges."
Dean looked between them. "You two realize this could backfire spectacularly, right?"
"Or," Hannah said, grinning, "it could work perfectly and we get to watch them fall in love."
"You really are a hopeless romantic," Dean said.
"God forbid a girl wants to see one of her best friends be happy, Dean." Hannah sassed.
Allie clapped her hands, bringing their attention to her. "Okay, so here's the plan. Y/n's first game is this weekend, right?"
Hannah nodded. "Saturday at two."
"Perfect. We all go to support her. Then after the game, we suggest grabbing food or something to celebrate. We make sure Logan and Y/n end up nice and cozy next to each other."
"That's good," Hannah said, taking this all way too seriously. "Low pressure, group setting, but they're still forced to hang out directly."
Dean shook his head, amused. "You two have really thought this through."
"We're invested in our friend's love life," Allie said simply.
Hannah's phone buzzed, and she glanced down at it. "Oh, Y/n just texted. She says practice went well, meaning she didn't get murdered by her coach, and thanks for sending Logan."
Allie grinned. "See? They're already being nice to each other. This is going to work."
"Let's hope so," Dean said. "Because if it doesn't, I'm blaming both of you."
"Deal," Hannah and Allie said in unison.
The Briar women's indoor soccer field was packed for a Saturday afternoon. The stands were filled with students, parents, and a handful of scouts scattered throughout.
Y/n stood on the sideline, rolling out her shoulders as Coach Dawson went over last minute instructions. Her jersey felt stiff and new, the number 8 heavy across her back. She could feel the adrenaline starting to ramp up, that familiar buzz that made her fingers twitch in anticipation.
"Alright," Coach Dawson said, addressing the team. "Let's show them what Briar soccer looks like. Y/n, you're our new starting center mid. Control the flow of the game, play smart, and don't be afraid to push forward if you see the opportunity. The other team doesn't know you or your play style, use that."
Y/n nodded once firmly. "Got it."
The whistle blew, and Y/n jogged onto the field, taking her position for kick off. She scanned the opposing team, sizing them up. They looked fast, organized. Good. Easy games are no fun.
The starting whistle pierced through the air, and the game began.
Y/n received the ball from a striker, a quick pass back to left wingback before sprinting forward into space. The game moved fast, both teams testing each other, looking for weaknesses. Y/n stayed central, her eyes constantly scanning the field.
Ten minutes in, she intercepted a pass in the midfield, her foot darting out to poke the ball away from an opposing midfielder. She took two touches forward, then sent a long ball out wide to her winger, who sprinted down the line.
"That's yours!" Y/n shouted, already moving into position.
The cross came in a bit too high, though, and Y/n's teammate met it with a header that soared over the crossbar.
"Unlucky shot!" Y/n called, clapped the girl on the back and moved back into position. "You'll get the next one!"
In the stands, her friends had claimed a section near the midfield line.
"Woah, she's good," Tucker said, leaning forward.
"Really good," Garrett corrected, watching Y/n drop back to win another fifty fifty.
Logan didn't say anything. He just watched, eyes glued to her.
Twenty minutes into the first half, Y/n picked up the ball in the midfield and drove forward. She cut inside, evading one defender with a stepover, then another with a sharp change of direction. She was ten yards outside the box when she saw the opening and struck the ball cleanly with her right foot.
It curled toward the top corner, and for a moment, it looked like it was going in.
The keeper dove, fingertips just grazing the ball enough to push it wide.
"Damn," Dean muttered.
Y/n put her hands above her head, breathing hard, then jogged back into position.
The game stayed close, both teams battling for control of the ball. Y/n was everywhere, but as the first half bore on, her frustration seeped out.
A bad call from the ref, a foul that should've been given but wasn't, and Y/n threw her hands up. "Are you serious?!"
The ref ignored her.
"That was a foul!" Y/n shouted, louder this time.
"Y/n, let it go," Jess called from the side.
Y/n clenched her jaw and turned away, but the tension was written all over her face.
Logan noticed. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, watching her closely.
A few minutes before halftime, Y/n went in for a hard and clean tackle, but the opposing player went down dramatically, clutching her ankle.
The ref blew the whistle and pointed at Y/n. Yellow card.
"What?!" Y/n snapped, taking an angry step toward the ref. "I got the ball cleanly, I didn't even touch her!"
"Y/n," her captain gave a warning, jogging over and putting a hand on her shoulder.
Y/n shook her off, still glaring at the ref, but she backed off. She took the card, shoved it in her waistband, and stalked back to her position.
"She's got one hell of a temper," Allie said quietly.
"Yeah," Hannah said, biting her lip in an attempt to suppress a smile. "She always has. More so when she plays."
Logan couldn't tear his gaze away. There was something about the way Y/n played. The raw intensity, the sharp focus in her eyes, the way she commanded the field like she owned it. She wasn't just good. She was fierce and unrelenting. Watching her move with that kind of purpose, that kind of controlled aggression, did something to him he wasn't expecting.
The second half started, and Y/n came out even sharper. She won a ball in midfield, turned, and sent a perfect through ball to her striker, who slotted it into the bottom corner.
1-0.
The team erupted into cheers, Y/n doing a little celebration dance.
Cute, Logan thought.
"That's my girl!" Hannah shouted, jumping to her feet. A grinning Y/n mimed shooting an arrow at her, Hannah clutching her heart dramatically. Both unable to control their laughter.
The rest of the game was even more intense than the first half. The opposing team pushed hard for a goal. Y/n dropped further down field, helping the defense hold the line. She threw herself into tackles, tracked back swiftly, and barked orders at her teammates.
With only about a minute left, an opposing forward managed to break through the line, barreling towards a 1 vs 1 with the goalie. Y/n sprinted back, her legs burning, closing the gap within seconds. She dropped in with a perfectly timed, albeit reckless, slide tackle that sent the ball out of bounds.
The crowd roared, Allie and Hannah jumping up and down while hugging. The guys clapped and let out whoops of celebration.
Y/n got to her feet, breathing hard.
Logan watched her, something shifting inside him. It wasn't just admiration anymore. It was something deeper, something that made his pulse quicken. The intensity in her movements, the way she refused to give an inch, the sharpness of her presence on the field. It was magnetic. He was drawn to it in a way he'd never felt before.
The final whistle blew. Briar won 1-0.
Y/n's teammates swarmed her, pulling her into hugs and cheers. She laughed, wholeheartedly, her face flushed and hair sticking to her sweat caked forehead.
Logan stood up with the rest of the group, clapping, but his eyes stayed on her.
"She was incredible," Allie said, grinning.
"Yeah," Logan said quietly.
Garrett glanced at him, then smirked. "You good, man?"
Logan blinked, pulling his gaze away. "Yeah. I'm good."
But he wasn't. Not really. Because somewhere between the first whistle and the last, something had shifted. And Logan wasn't sure he could shift it back.
An hour later, they were all crammed into a booth at Malone's. Y/n had showered quickly in the locker room but her hair was still damp.
"To Y/n!" Hannah raised her beer. "First win of the season!"
Everyone clinked glasses, and Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "It wasn't just me out there, you know."
"Yeah, but you were a beast out there," Dean said. "That slide tackle at the end? Insane work."
"Thanks." Y/n took a sip of her drink, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle in her chest.
The booth was tight. Hannah had slid in first, pulling Garrett in next to her. Allie followed, dragging Dean along. Tucker grabbed a chair from a nearby table and pulled it up to the end.
Which left Y/n and Logan.
"Guess we're squishing in," Allie said brightly, way too innocent.
Y/n shot her a look but slid into the booth. Logan followed, settling in beside her. Their shoulders brushed, and Y/n shifted slightly in an attempt to give him space. But the booth was small, and there were three large hockey players manspreading.
Logan cleared his throat, reaching for his drink. He was acutely aware of how close she was. The faint smell of her shampoo, something warm and floral. The warmth radiating off her skin. The way her knee bumped his under the table when she adjusted.
He took a long drink of his beer.
Y/n, meanwhile, was trying very hard to focus on the conversation happening across the table. Hannah was telling some story about her music theory professor, and Allie was laughing so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
Yet Y/n kept noticing Logan. The way his arm rested on the table. The way he leaned back slightly, relaxed but still present. The low rumble of his voice when he spoke.
She took another sip of her drink and mentally scolded herself.
They ordered food. Wings, fries, mozzarella sticks. The kind of greasy, satisfying stuff that tasted better after a win. The conversation flowed easily, bouncing between classes, hockey practice, and Y/n's game.
"Okay," Dean said suddenly, leaning forward with a grin. "We need to play a game."
"Oh god," Garrett muttered.
"What kind of game?" Tucker asked, eyes lighting up.
"Something like never have I ever," Dean said. "You could also just ask a question, and if someone doesn't want to answer, they drink."
"So basically truth or drink," Allie said.
"Exactly."
Hannah clapped her hands together excitedly. "Let's do it."
Y/n raised an eyebrow. "This feels like a trap."
"It's not a trap," Allie said, grinning. "It's bonding."
"Sure it is."
Logan glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You scared?"
Y/n met his eyes. "Of a drinking game? No."
"Then let's play," Dean said, raising his glass. "I'll start. Never have I ever... failed a class."
No one drank.
"Boring," Allie groaned. "My turn. Never have I ever hooked up with someone in this friend group."
Hannah and Garrett both drank. Dean and Allie drank.
Y/n laughed. "I mean, what were you guys expecting?"
"Your turn," Hannah said, nudging Garrett.
Garrett thought for a second. "Never have I ever... been in a physical fight."
Y/n, Logan, and Tucker all drank.
"Really?" Allie looked at Logan, surprised.
Logan shrugged. "Hockey. It happens."
"It does. Like a lot," Dean said. "Okay, my turn again. Never have I ever... had a one-night stand."
Everyone but Y/n and Hannah drank.
Y/n hesitated, then took a small sip.
Logan glanced at her, but she didn't meet his eyes.
The game continued, the questions getting progressively more ridiculous. Never have I ever skinny-dipped. Never have I ever lied to get out of a date. Never have I ever drunk-texted an ex.
Then Hannah leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Never have I ever been arrested."
Y/n groaned immediately. "You asshole."
She picked up her drink and took a long sip.
The table went quiet.
"Wait, what?" Dean said, eyes wide.
"You've been arrested?" Garrett asked, genuinely surprised.
Y/n set her glass down, shrugging. "Yeah. Once."
"For what?" Tucker asked.
Y/n hesitated. "Wrong place, wrong time."
Hannah snorted. "That's not the whole story."
Y/n shot her a look. "Han."
"What?" Hannah said innocently. "They're gonna find out eventually."
Logan was watching her now, his expression unreadable. "What happened?"
Y/n sighed, running a hand over her face. "It's not a big deal."
"Clearly it was if you got arrested," Dean said.
Y/n looked at Hannah, who just nodded. Y/n exhaled slowly, then leaned back against the booth. "Fine. There was this guy in high school. He uh... he assaulted Hannah at a party."
The table went still. Garrett squeezed Hannah's hand under the table. She squeezed back once.
"She told me about it." Y/n continued, her voice filled with disdain. "So I found him in the hallway between classes. I got arrested for assault on school grounds."
No one said anything for a moment.
Then Garrett spoke, his voice low. "Did he press charges?"
"No," Y/n said. "My stepdad knew his dad and were able to work it out, so they dropped it. I still got arrested, still have a record."
"Good," Allie said fiercely. "He deserved it."
"Damn right he did," Garrett added, his jaw tight.
Logan was quiet. He looked at Y/n, really looked at her for the first time. The protectiveness. The pure unadulterated loyalty. The fact that she'd risked everything to defend her best friend.
"You didn't have to do that," Hannah said softly, her eyes a little glassy.
Y/n looked at her. "Yes, I did. I'd do it again."
Hannah laughed airily, reaching across the table to hold Y/n's hand. "Still, you were the only one who actually stood up for me back then."
Tucker raised his glass. "To Y/n. For being a badass."
Everyone raised their glasses, and Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "You guys are ridiculous."
"We're serious, as cheesy as that was," Allie said. "You're a great friend, and we're glad your ours now too"
Y/n took another sip of her drink, feeling the weight of their eyes on her. Though this time it didn't feel like the disappointed or resentful ones she was accustomed to. It felt supportive, like they truly understood her.
Logan shifted beside her, his arm brushing hers. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear, "I think you did the right thing."
Y/n turned to look at him. His expression was sincere, his dark eyes steady on hers.
"Thanks," she said softly.
Their eyes held for a beat longer than necessary. Then Y/n looked away, her heart beating a little faster.
The game continued, but the energy had shifted slightly. The questions were lighter now, less pressing. Y/n felt herself relax, the tension in her shoulders easing as the alcohol warmed her from the inside out.
And when Logan's knee bumped hers under the table again, she let it rest against hers.
Logan has a habit of looking for you the second he walks into a room; it doesn't matter if it's a crowded party, the hockey arena, or a lecture hall. His eyes automatically scan the space until they find you and the moment they do, his entire posture relaxes.
He is constantly finding reasons to be near you without realizing he's doing it. You'll be sitting on the couch and somehow he'll end up right beside you, one arm stretched behind your shoulders, his knee pressed against yours. If someone points it out, he'll look genuinely confused and mumble something about there not being enough room elsewhere.
He grew up learning how to fix things, so whenever you mention even the smallest inconvenience, he's already figuring out a solution. A squeaky door, a broken lamp, a loose shelfβhe treats every problem like a personal mission. You once joked that he was your handyman and he spent the next week pretending to be offended while secretly loving the title.
Heβs a sucker for hair pulling and when you force him to look at you while riding him. Logan is always focused on your face, taking all the expressions you make as he pulls you down on his member. He also loves calling you petnames like baby, angel, sunflower.
Logan absolutely melts when you're proud of him: he'll brush off compliments from teammates, coaches, and professors, but if you tell him you noticed how hard he's been working, he gets all quiet. His ears turn red and he suddenly becomes very interested in whatever is happening across the room.
He's big into praise when you both are having sex too, either it's receiving or giving: you'll never hear him degrade you, even if you beg for it. No, he wants to tell you how good you are being, how well you did.
Logan is surprisingly affectionate when he's tired. His usual confidence disappears completely and he'll drape himself over you, tuck his face into your neck, and grumble every time you try to get up. If you tell him you need to do something important, he'll mumble, "Five more minutes," like a giant overgrown puppy.
He gets ridiculously protective when you're sick. The second you mention feeling unwell, he's showing up with medicine, blankets, soup, and enough supplies to survive a natural disaster. He'll spend the entire day hovering around you asking if you need anything, even when the answer is always no.
He loves seeing you in his clothes; his hoodies, his shirts, even his pajamas pants either they fit you or not. He acts like it's a bother, like he wants to complaint about it, but it's all fake. He tells you that you can keep it and that he will buy more and he secretly hopes you will steal the new ones too.
Will definitely make love to you while you are wearing his hoodies; it's all soft, tender sex while whispering into your ears how pretty you are. You are his partner, he loves you so much, he wants to stay in your warmth forever. He can smell you everywhere and it drives him crazy in the softest way possible.
Logan likes listening to you talk, even about things he knows nothing about. You could spend twenty minutes explaining a hobby, a TV show, or college drama, and he'll pay attention the entire time. Not because he's interested in the topic itself, but because he loves the way your face lights up when you're excited.
He loves seeing you at his hockey matches; either you like it or not, he knows you will always be here to support him in his hobby. He's also glad that you get along with his friends, because to him, they are his second family after Jules and you are a part of it too.
taglist οΉ @ravensreadingrecs @nuitts @filthgf @avasarchve @girldisrupted @userhotd @wiishies @cheriedove @corvusmorte @purplerainx1 ( to be added )
Summary: Y/n transfers to Briar to play on the women's soccer team and reunite with her childhood best friendβ Hannah Wells. Overly protective and convinced that John Logan is in love with Hannah, Y/n is determined to keep him away. Logan is intrigued, and mildly annoyed at the new girl that keeps scaring women away from him.
CW: cursing
a/n: the slowburn continues... lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist :>
previous | part 5 | next
Y/n was fifteen minutes from campus when her car started making a noise that could only be described as deeply and horrifyingly wrong.
She'd already been running late already. Practice started in thirty minutes, and Coach Dawson had a strict rule about being punctual, something about 'if you don't show the effort to show up on time, don't expect to have time on the field'. Y/n eased onto the shoulder, the engine sputtering before shutting off completely with a sickening hiss.
"No, no, no, c'mon you piece of shit!" she muttered, turning the key. Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. "No, wait, I didn't mean it. Please don't die on me." She pleaded with her car.
Y/n practically went through all 5 stages of grief in the span of 30 seconds.
She dropped her forehead against the steering wheel and let out a long, deep sigh. Then she grabbed her phone and called roadside assistance.
The guy on the line was infuriatingly calm about the whole situation. "We'll have someone out there in about forty-five minutes."
"Forty-five?" Y/n repeated, looking at the time. "I need to be somewhere in half an hour."
"Sorry, ma'am. That's the earliest we can get to you."
She hung up and stared at the dashboard. Her practice bag sat in the passenger seat, mocking her. She could already hear Coach Dawson's sharp voice in her head.
Y/n scrolled through her contacts and hit call.
Hannah picked up on the second ring. "Hey, everything okay?"
"My car died," Y/n said flatly. "I'm on the side of Route 9, and I have practice in thirty minutes."
"Holy shit. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I pulled off on the shoulder before it broke down completely. A tow truck's coming, but I need a ride back to campus. Can you pretty please help me out, best friend in the entire world?"
There was a pause. Y/n could hear muffled voices in the background.
"Yeah, don't worry," Hannah said. "I'll get someone to come get you. Just stay put."
"Thank you so much, Han," Y/n said, groaning in relief. "Seriously, you're the best."
"I know I am. Send me your location. Someone'll be there soon."
Y/n sent the pin and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. At least she wouldn't have to explain to her Coach why she missed practice.
Fifteen minutes later, a car pulled up behind hers.
Y/n glanced in the rearview mirror and froze.
Logan's truck.
"Great." She sat there for a second, processing. Then grabbed her soccer bag and got out.
Logan was already standing by his driver's side door, hands in his pockets. "Hey."
"Hey," Y/n said slowly. She walked over, gripping the strap of her bag. "Hannah sent you?"
"Yep." He nodded, walking over and opening the passenger door for her. "Hop in."
Y/n hesitated, then realized she had no other options, climbed in. But as she settled into the seat, Hannah popped her in head from the back seat.
Y/n's head whipped around. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm staying with your car," Hannah said simply, unbuckling and opening the back seat door. "You can't just leave it alone on the side of the road."
"Hannah, you don't need to doβ"
"I know I don't have to. I want to." Hannah smiled at her. "Besides, Garrett's already on his way to pick me up from the mechanic once the tow truck gets here. It's fine."
"You're sure?" Y/n asked, still uncertain about leaving her alone.
"Positive. Plus you're already running late." Hannah leaned forward and squeezed Y/n's shoulder. "Go. Don't let Coach Dawson kill you."
Y/n wanted to argue, but Hannah was right. She sighed, defeated. "Okay. Thank you."
"That's what I'm here for," Hannah said, plucking Y/n's keys out of her hand and hopping out of Logan's truck.
Logan pulled back onto the road, heading toward campus. Y/n glanced back once to see Hannah waving at her through the rear window.
When they turned a corner and Hannah disappeared from view, the reality of the situation hit Y/n. She was alone in a car with Logan.
The silence stretched uncomfortably.
Y/n stared out the window, hyper-aware of every sound. The hum of the engine, the faint music playing lowly from the radio, her own breathing.
She picked at her nails absentmindedly.
Logan glanced at her, then back at the road.
Y/n cleared her throat. "Thank you for doing this."
"No problem."
Another stretch of quiet.
Y/n could feel the tension building in her chest. This would be the longest fifteen minutes of her life.
"Okay," Logan said suddenly. "What's going on with you?"
Y/n froze. "What?"
"You've been acting weird around me since we met." He kept his eyes on the road, his tone even. "And I can't for the life of me figure out why."
Y/n's stomach dropped. "I haven't been weird."
"Y/n. You have." He glanced at her. "You're friends with everyone else. But with me? It's like I ran over your puppy or something."
Y/n opened her mouth, then closed it. Her face felt hot.
"I just want to know why?" Logan asked. "Did I say something? Do something to offend you?"
"No," Y/n said quickly. "No, you didn't do anything."
"Then what?"
She stared at her hands. Then took a breath.
"Do you have feelings for Hannah?," she asked finally.
Logan's head turned slightly, not expecting that at all. "What?"
"I've just seen the way you look at her, especially around Garrett," Y/n said, the words coming out choppily. "I just don't want anything to mess that up for her. She's been through so much and deserves to finally be in a happy relationship with someone who loves her. I guess I was trying to keep her safe, in a way. That's why I've been... like that."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Logan laughed.
Not a mean laugh. Just genuine, surprised amusement.
"You're serious?" he said.
Y/n's face burned, arms crossed defensively. "Yes."
"Y/n, I don't have feelings for Hannah."
"I know what I saw, Logan, I literally read people every day on the field," she muttered, eyes narrowing.
Logan was still grinning. "How did you even get that idea?"
"You're telling me you don't even like her, like even a little bit?!" Y/n scoffed. "You were being all mushy eyed to her at Malone's, and you mentioned her a couple times, and I just..." She paused, realizing how ridiculous she sounded, "I thought you were into her."
"So you decided to run interference."
"I wasn't running interference," Y/n said. "I was just... looking out for her."
Logan raised an eyebrow at her.
"Okay, I was running interference," Y/n admitted. She covered her face with her hands. "God, this is so fucking embarrassing."
"It's kind of funny," Logan said.
"It's not funny."
"It's a little funny." He was still smiling. "You were trying to protect her. It's actually kind of cute."
Y/n peeked at him through her fingers. "So you're not mad?"
"Why would I be mad?" Logan said. "You thought you were doing the right thing. I mean, you were wrong, but still."
Y/n dropped her hands and let out a long breath. "I'm sorry. I should've just asked instead of assuming. I was kind of a bitch to you."
"Maybe a little," Logan said. "But we're good. Really."
They drove in silence for a moment, but this time it felt lighter.
"For the record," Logan said, "Hannah and Garrett are solid. I'm not trying to get in the middle of that. If anything, I guess I just want to something like they do"
"Yeah," Y/n huffed. "I figured that out eventually."
"Eventually," Logan repeated, amused.
Y/n shot him a look, but she was smiling now too.
They pulled into the Briar athletic center, and Logan stopped near the soccer field.
Y/n grabbed her bag and opened the door, then paused. "Hey, do you think we could, like, not tell the others about this?"
Logan looked at her. "About you thinking I liked Hannah?"
"Yeah. If they find out, they'll never let it go. Especially Hannah and Allie."
Logan considered this. "Fair. They'd probably turn it into a whole thing."
"Exactly."
"Alright," Logan said, making a zipping motion over his lips. "My lips are sealed."
"Thank you." Y/n climbed out, then leaned back in. "And really, thanks for the ride."
"Anytime," Logan said, smiling.
Y/n shut the door and headed toward the field, feeling lighter than she had in days.
Behind her, Logan watched her go, shaking his head with a soft look.
