Up in the clouds

Argentina⭐ Hi I'm Lola! 25yo -  cis/she her pronouns -  I like cats, art and a lot of other things!

[imsobadatnicknames2]

what’s the real story with argentina being a nazi haven, overblown stereotype or lib fabrication? or more an annoying rhetorical distraction from the fact that the real nazi haven was germany and that denazification simply did not happen?

I mean there *were* cases of nazis being smuggled into brazil, argentina, chile, and paraguay through illegal escape routes colloquially referred to as ratlines. That is a thing that did happen.

However, the way americans in particular seem to latch onto this fact to dismiss any latin american that pisses them off, either in a "well whatever your country gave refuge to nazis" sense, or in a "I'm directly implying your family were escaped nazis" sense (another example I remember seeing once was a post about US imperialism in latin america where a yankee replied that OP had no business bitching about imperialism because she was probably "a white brazilian called Helga or something") is a bit ironic to me, considering that:

The vast majority of german immigrants to these countries in the 20th century were jewish refugees fleeing the nazis

The US took in thousands more nazis after ww2 than the entirety of Latin America combined

A lot of the nazis that *did* escape to latin america did so with the direct help of US intelligence agencies

Nazis that escaped to the US were treated as valuable anti-soviet assets, and many of them were given cushy jobs by the US government. Most of the nazis who escaped to latin america spent their entire lives hiding from the authorities under false identities, and those who were discovered were extradited or jailed

So americans in particular thinking they have any right to joke about latin american countries being nazi havens is just plain xenophobic jingoism

[aisatsaa]

echoes of a full house

[random-ly-obssessed]

getting real tired of the virgin/born yesterday/never ever been exposed to anything tropes. y'all are writing kids 😐 ur not quick with it omg

[kaiwithlove]

۶ৎ date night? | j. logan.

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: where you decide to prank logan by pretending to be excited for a date he never planned. unfortunately, your boyfriend's response to being pranked is to take you on the most thoughtful, romantic date of your life. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: boyfriend!john logan x fem!reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.8k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: pure fluff, established relationship, prank gone wrong (or right?), logan being aggressively boyfriend-shaped, excessive sweetness, reader trying and failing to outsmart her boyfriend, garrett graham being a surprisingly useful best friend, bookstore dates, flowers, lots of hand-holding, kissing, logan remembering every little thing about reader, weaponized thoughtfulness, excessive use of "babe", use of she/her pronouns, reader is explicitly referred to as "girl", emotional damage via acts of service, let me know if i missed any! all characters in this story are adults. english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors. 𝐀/𝐍: alt title: john "whatever my girlfriend wants, she gets" logan. dedicated to the wonderful anon who brought to my attention that using the small font on here made fics hard to read—thank you for helping me get better <3 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎: so high school by taylor swift.

18+; mdni.

The plan had seemed significantly funnier about three hours ago.

The idea started with Hannah—which, in hindsight, should've been your first warning sign.

"Hear me out," she'd said, abandoning her Philosophy textbook entirely to lean across the table toward you and Allie. "You should tell Logan you're excited for the date he planned."

You had frowned. "What date?"

"Exactly."

Across from you, Allie had immediately burst out laughing. For a long moment, you simply stared at the two of them, confused. Then, the realization dawned on you. "Oh, that's evil."

Hannah leaned back in her chair, looking mighty pleased with herself. "Why, thank you."

Now, as you stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, half your closet scattered across the room, you were beginning to realize that there was a very real possibility that Logan would simply smile and nod. The man was impossible to prank—partly because he was so observant, partly because he was so annoyingly nice.

You lifted your favourite dress to your chest, studying it with a critical eye, just as the bedroom door creaked open.

Speak of the devil.

Logan stepped inside, hair still damp around the ends from his shower after practice. He was dressed in a Bruins t-shirt and grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Your eyes met his brown ones, the corner of his mouth tipped upward into that gorgeous smile.

You watched his face as gaze shifted from your face to the mess covering the bed and half of the floor space of the room, then landed right back to you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. His smile widened at the sight of you with that dress. "What happened in here, babe?"

Game time, you thought to yourself, turning to him. "Oh good, you're here."

"Yeah?" confusion flickered across his face as you held up the dress, raising your eyebrows at him in question.

"What do you think of this?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.

Logan dropped his duffel back beside the bedside table, kicking off his shoes. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "You know I love you in everything, babe. But yeah, that dress always looks incredible on you."

You smiled, turning back to the mirror. In the reflection, you could see the mattress dip beneath his weight as Logan perched on the edge of the bed, still studying you with that smile on his face.

You met his stare in the mirror, your mind playing the opening notes of your master plan. "God, I'm so excited for tomorrow."

Logan blinked. "What's tomorrow?"

You almost laughed—almost. But you were determined not to break character, so instead, you forced your face into a look of utter confusion. "What do you mean, what's tomorrow? Its the date you planned for us."

A long pause stretched out between the two of you. Then, Logan's brow creased into a tiny frown. "The... date. Right."

The words coming out of his mouth were perfectly calm, which immediately threw you off, because other than the little crease on his brow, there was no evidence of panic, or confusion—not even concern. You narrowed your eyes.

Interesting.

Logan reached for the TV remote, casually crossing his legs as he leaned back. Your suspicion deepened, because there was no way he was this calm, this collected. There was no date. No reservation, no plans, nothing.

You would've known. He would've told you... unless. A horrible possibility entered your mind, because John Logan was the kindest, most thoughtful man ever, and more importantly, he knew how much you loved surprises. So maybe, just maybe... he'd actually planned something, and you'd accidentally stumbled right into it?

The thought almost made your confidence waver, until you caught the look on his face. His eyes were fixed on the TV, but you knew the expression in his eyes. You'd seen it before—during games, while the two of you studied for finals, before presentations. John Logan was thinking.

You bit back your smile, trying not to completely ruin your own prank, especially as Logan, in the most faux-casual voice you'd ever heard, asked: "So, babe, what're you most excited about?"

Oh, he was fishing—you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out exactly what you were talking about. The realization nearly made you giddy, even as you fought to keep a straight face, shrugging. "Oh, you know what I'm most excited about."

"No, I don't know." The innocence in his voice was almost convincing—almost.

"No?" you asked, fighting to keep a straight face. The two of you stared at each other for a minute, and then—then, Logan's face split into a smile. A beautiful, Logan smile.

Suddenly, your faith in the plan working out wavered, because somehow, against all logic, it suddenly felt like he wasn't the one being set up—you were.

The second the bedroom door snapped shut behind him, Logan knew he was fucked.

Not because there was definitely a date, but because there might be. Which was, somehow, infinitely worse.

"You're pacing, man."

Logan looked up from where he'd been wearing a path into the carpet of his friend's bedroom. Garrett was sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he watched Logan with growing amusement.

Logan opened his mouth to protest, but Garret raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly down at Logan's feet.

Right. He was, in fact, pacing.

Garrett sat up. "Come on, man. What's wrong."

Logan sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, contemplating whether or not he should keep the thoughts plaguing his mind to himself... then immediately abandoned that plan—because Garrett was his best friend, and he was rapidly losing his mind. "She says she's really excited for our date tomorrow."

Garrett blinked. "Is there a reason she should not be?"

"I don't even know if there's a date tomorrow," Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"What the fuck?" Garrett ran a hand over his face. "How could you not know?"

Logan shrugged. "There's a possibility she might be messing with me."

Garrett nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Or," Logan sighed dramatically, collapsing onto the foot of Garrett's bed. "I forgot."

"You forgot a date?" Garrett burst out laughing, and for a moment, Logan genuinely looked around the room for something to throw at his head.

"This isn't funny."

Garrett only laughed harder. "Sorry, man. It kinda is, though."

Logan burrowed his face into the mattress, groaning. "She's picking out dresses and shit, dude."

"Huh."

Logan lifted his head. "What?"

"No idea," Garrett shrugged. "But... if she's trying to prank you, that's hilarious."

Logan narrowed his eyes at Garrett, but his grin only widened. Then, after a moment, he sighed. "Okay, worst-case scenario: you forgot a date with your girlfriend."

Logan winced. "Jesus."

Garrett leaned forward. "No, listen. This is simple. You just need to take her on the greatest date of all time."

Logan blinked. "What?"

"Yeah, man. It's the only way. You gotta plan the date to end all dates."

"Come on, man. This is serious."

"I'm being serious." Garret sat up, his brow furrowing, deep in thought. "Think about it."

Logan usually hated when Garrett said that—because it meant that his friend was about to make an annoyingly good point. And it stood true this time too. Because either way, regardless of whether he was being pranked, or if he'd actually fucked up and forgotten, his girl deserved a date. Heck, his girl deserved everything. "Fuck."

Garrett leaned, back against the headboard, smug smile on his face. "Exactly."

If there really was a date he'd somehow forgotten, this fixed the problem. And if there wasn't—well, he still got to spend a day with you. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Garrett smirked. "There's that face again."

"What face?"

"The one you make whenever she's involved."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

Garrett ignored him, grabbing Logan's phone. "Okay, let's plan the greatest date ever."

An hour later, what had somehow started as a joke had somehow turned into a full-scale operation.

Logan's notebook was open between the two of them, Garrett's laptop balanced on the edge of the bed.

"What's her favorite restaurant?" Garrett asked, frowning at the listings on the screen.

"The sushi place downtown."

The keys on Garrett's keyboard clacked as he wrote it down. "Favorite dessert?"

"Cheesecake from the bakery near campus."

"Favorite flowers?"

Logan didn't even take a moment. "Pink lillies."

Garrett paused, slowly turning his head to look at Logan. "Dude, you answered that way too quickly."

Logan frowned. "I know my girlfriend."

"You know your girlfriend's favorite flower. I don't even know my favorite flower."

Logan couldn't help but let out a laugh at the genuinely offended look on Garrett's face, because it made sense. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, and he wasn't about to let anything—anything—get in the way of making you happy, not even himself.

He could already feel the tension he'd been carrying since leaving the bedroom easing slightly, because now, he had a plan.

Actually, he had several plans—dinner, dessert, a walk afterward, maybe the bookstore you'd been talking about for months. Things that might not look like grand, extravagant gestures on the outside, but things he knew you'd love anyway. Things he knew would make you smile.

He could feel Garrett's watchful eyes on him and the realization settled warmly in his chest. "You know she's probably fucking with you, right?"

Logan could feel his face splitting into a slow, soft smile, "I know."

Garrett froze, the room enveloped in silence for a moment. Then: "What do you mean, you know? You spent an hour freaking out."

"I wasn't freaking out."

"You absolutely were."

Logan ignored him—because the truth was, he'd known almost immediately. The second you said it, the second he'd seen that look in your eyes—the one you got whenever you were trying not to laugh, he knew.

But that wasn't the point, it was never going to be. Because whether there had been a date or not, now there was. If his girlfriend wanted to spend a entire day together, Logan wasn't going to complain.

Garrett groaned. "Oh, my God."

"What?

"You're so disgustingly in love with her."

Logan considered arguing but instead, he just smiled. "Yeah, man. I am."

For once, Garrett didn't make fun of him for it.

By the time Logan picked you up the next evening, you were beginning to regret everything.

Not because the prank wasn't funny—it was downright hilarious. Or at least, it had been, right until a gorgeous bouquet of pink lillies had appeared on your bedside table with a note in Logan's handwriting.

Fuck, you loved them. They were your favorite flower.

The note read, Pick you up at 8. Wear the blue dress.

Now, standing in front of your mirror, smoothing down the skirt of the blue dress you loved so much, you were beginning to suspect that somewhere along the way, things had gotten out of hand.

A knock sounded from the other side of the door, making your stomach flutter. It was ridiculous—you'd been dating Logan for three years, and yet, as you opened the door, you immediately forgot every coherent thought you'd ever had.

Logan stood in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of dark jeans, navy button-down rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair was falling across his forehead, his brown eyes softening the second they found you— like they always did. Every. Single. Time.

No matter how many years passed, they always softened. "Hi, babe."

A smile spread across your face automatically. "Hi."

For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Logan's gaze landed on the vase of flowers sitting on your bedside table. "You got the flowers I sent you?"

Your heart squeezed. "They're beautiful, Logan."

"I know."

You blinked, and Logan immediately cringed. "Oh, fuck. That sounded terrible.""

A laugh escaped you. "It really did."

He groaned. "I meant you're beautiful."

Your laugh grew louder, and Logan pressed his forehead against the doorframe, hiding his face and the shy, pink flush that was creeping up his cheeks. "I somehow made it worse."

"You absolutely did."

His answering grin was sheepish, beautiful. You slipped your hand into his, softly closing the door behind you. "Ready?"

Logan squeezed your fingers. "Always."

The date was perfect.

Not because of where he took you— though the restaurant was lovely. The bookstore afterward was also lovely. And the bakery where he insisted on buying three different desserts "for research purposes" was lovely.

Not because of any of it. The date was perfect because every stop felt intentional, like Logan had built the entire evening out of tiny pieces of you.

At dinner, he'd ordered an appetizer while you ducked into the restroom right after the two of you arrived, because he knew you always got hungry while looking at menus. At the bookstore, he somehow remembered the title of a novel you'd mentioned wanting to read six months ago. At the bakery, he'd walked directly to your favorite cheesecake without even glancing at the display.

By the time the two of you found yourselves walking along the Charles River, the city lights glittering across the water, you were fairly certain you'd accidentally created the best date of your life.

The realization was mildly infuriating.

Logan glanced at you. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" you frowned.

"You've got your thinking face on."

You rolled your eyes. "I do not."

Logan laughed, the sound settling warmly in your chest. For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, your hand fit perfectly in his. The city hummed around you—comfortable, easy.

Eventually Logan guided you toward a quiet bench overlooking the water. You sat down beside him, your shoulder brushing his. You could smell his cologne, could feel your heart beginning to stutter like it always did around him.

"You know," you said, carefully. "I had a really good time tonight."

Logan smiled. "I'm glad, babe. I did too."

You sighed, because you could feel the guilt winning. "I have to tell you something."

Immediately, Logan looked concerned. Your stomach twisted at the look on his face. God, he was too nice. "I kinda feel bad."

His eyebrows lifted. "About?"

You looked away, suddenly fascinated by the water. "The date thing."

"What about it?"

"Okay," you sucked in a deep breath. "I made it up. There wasn't actually a date."

The silence stretched out between the two of you—unbearable, suffocating, until you couldn't take it anymore. A groan escaped your lips. "Oh, my God, please stop looking at me like that."

Logan laughed. You froze, because it wasn't a surprised laugh, or even a confused one. No, he sounded... amused?

Slowly, you turned toward him, meeting his eyes. He was smiling.

Your eyes narrowed. "John Logan."

His grin widened. "Yeah, babe?"

"Oh, fuck off." The pieces clicked together all at once—the confidence, the calmness, the complete lack of panic. Your jaw slacked. "You knew."

Logan laughed. "I knew."

You stared at him, horrified, offended and impressed. Mostly offended. "When did you know?"

"The moment you said it."

Your mouth fully fell open this time. "You fucking liar."

Logan's shoulders shook with laughter. "You were picking out dresses, way too excited."

"I was acting," you gasped.

"Babe, come on." The words carried approximately zero belief.

You slapped his arm, and Logan caught your wrist immediately, still laughing. "You are unbelievable. You let me think I was winning!"

His grin softened. "You looked so excited." The words came out quietly, simply, like they explained everything.

And maybe, they did.

Logan continued, like it was obvious, like anyone else would've done the same thing. "You were excited, and I like taking you on dates."

You chest tightened. "So you planned all of this?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

The answer left his lips immediately, without hesitation, without uncertainty. "Because I love you."

The words settled softly between the two of you, warm and certain.

You groaned. "Fuck off, Logan. You can't be cute when I'm being mean and trying to prank you."

Logan chuckled, leaning forward, his forehead brushing yours. "You're not mean. You're perfect. And, you're so, so impressed by the fact that I pulled this off."

"I'm not," you scoffed, but you both knew you were lying.

His grin widened knowingly. You hated it—and you hated it even more when he kissed you, slow and sweet, smiling against your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair.

When he finally pulled away, your heart was somewhere around your ankles. "You know what?"

"What?"

You jammed a finger in his chest. "This still counts as me pranking you."

Logan laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench—and somehow, that felt like victory enough.

💌: from kai, with love.

[loveyoubunchies]

Right Answers Only

John Logan x fem!reader

Summary: John Logan thought he was competitive, being an athlete and all. That was until his girlfriend brought him to weekly trivia, leaving him both fearing for his life and hopelessly in love after the night was over.

Warning: None! Pure fluff

A/N: Very indulgent but thought it would be a funny concept. Thought you all might want something different from the Bitch to Me Briar series

“Are you doing anything tonight?” you said over the phone with your boyfriend, Logan.

“No what’s up baby?” he asked.

“Perfect I need you to be my partner in trivia at Trident tonight.”

Logan was aware of your weekly trivia nights with your roommate, Grace. It was a special time just for the two of you which he did not interfere with.

“I’m finally invited to trivia after three months of dating?” he chuckled.

“Do you wanna come or not? Gracie is ditching me for a first date and I need a partner.”

“Sure, since you want me there so badly babe,”he answered sarcastically, “What time should I come over?”

“Like now,” you huffed, “We need to discuss strategy and prep you since you’re a novice.”

“Hey I’m not just a dumb jock.”

“Never said you were,” you sang, “Love you and come over quick!”

Logan got to your place around ten minutes after. It only took one knock on the door for you to quickly pull him inside. You guided him to the couch where he sat and you stood holding your iPad with notes scribbled on.

“What no kiss?” Logan pouted as you were too focused on the competition tonight.

“You can get a kiss if we place tonight,” you said firmly.

So Logan decided to pull you by the belt loops so that you would fall into his lap. You squirmed in protest but his hands stayed on your waist to keep you anchored. He hadn’t seen you all week aside from a brief lunch two days ago. He had an away game last weekend and you were just finishing up your midterms. So no he was not going to apologies for being clingy.

“You’re sexy when you’re passionate,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Whatever,” you scoffed, adjusting yourself on his lap so that you can show him the iPad display.

“There’s seven rounds and seven questions per round,” you began lecturing, “One minute per question.”

“Is this like themed trivia?”

“Just general but each round will have a theme. They are some of the most random categories so I really need you to use that memory of yours,” you said, tapping his head lightly which made him chuckle.

You wished he’d stop laughing as this was no laughing matter. This was trivia night!

“I’ll put my thinking cap on,” he smiled.

“I’ll admit this stuff is kinda hard. Grace and I have only gotten podium maybe five times and we’ve been playing for two semesters now,” you said a bit sad.

“Don’t worry babe,” Logan gave you a squeeze, “If there’s a hockey or video game category I’ll bring home gold for you.”

You gave him a shy smile. Three months of dating this man and you firmly believed that he would do absolutely anything for you. Fixing the drain in your apartment, carrying your shopping bags, making you soup when you’re sick. You had this man wrapped around your finger and you didn’t know how you got so lucky.

When the school worshipped your boyfriend like a Greek god, you were the one he came to immediately after the game. You were the reason he was skipping drinks with the team to support your trivia night.

Logan was thinking the same thing as he watched you babble about strategy and being confident. He also heard you say that you really only wanted to beat one team tonight because the girl was in your class and she’s super rude. Logan remembered her as the girl who bothered you at some party so now he was ready for vengeance tonight.

Logan thought back to how you both met. It was at a random party and Logan had found you outside looking up at the stars. The way the moonlight hit your face, you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Once you started pointing out constellations, that’s when Logan knew he was a goner.

Now his days are filled with you curled up by his side reading while he played video games. Or date nights that were equal parts romantic and spontaneous. And there was no better feeling seeing you wear his jersey for the first time at a home game.

“Ugh I really don’t like her,” you huffed, twisting Logan’s hoodie strings between your fingers, “She also plays with her boyfriend at trivia so we need to show them we’re the better couple.”

“Shouldn’t be hard,” he said, pulling your faces closer, “I think the majority of couples at Briar wish they were us.”

“Yeah we are pretty great,” you grinned.

That’s when Logan took the opportunity to kiss you. He leaned in to softly press his lips against yours which you melted into instantly. One hand moved to cup your jaw while your own tangled in his soft hair. God you could kiss this man forever.

When Logan tried to depend the kiss, fingers creeping under your shirt, you pulled away teasingly watching his body naturally lean in to chase you.

“We have to go,” you announced, hopping up from his lap, “If we don’t get there early all the spots in the front will be taken and our chances of winning will significantly decrease.”

Logan just shook his head as we follows you out the dorm.

—

Logan couldn’t help but smile as you were happily waving to the employees and other patrons at the establishment. Trident was actually a coffee shop but every Thursday they turned it into a bar and trivia night.

You squealed, grabbing his hand to pull him to a small table tucked in the front left.

“This is the spot when Gracie and I got first,” you explained, “It must be a good sign.”

“And you were making fun of me for my game day superstitions,” he joked, shrugging off his jacket.

“Cause your superstitions are stupid,” you said, “I don’t know how having sex 24 hours before a game is bad luck. Wouldn’t that actually improve your performance?”

“Everyone on the team swore a vow and I’m not about to fuck over playoffs.”

“Not even to meet your girlfriend’s needs,” you huffed. You were only joking. Logan performed well above satisfactory in bed.

“Really know how to make your boyfriend feel good,” he laughed, “Do you wanna a drink?”

You gave him a nod while the waitress brought over trivia paper and markers for the table. You gazed over at Logan as his body leaned against the counter. He was wearing a backwards cap and a grey long sleeves that hugged his muscles deliciously. He was a lot larger than the rest of the people around, definitely a new face.

You could see the bartender flutter her eyelashes at Logan as he paid for the two beers. That was the one downside of having the perfect boyfriend. Seemed like everyone wanted a piece of him.

Before you could get jealous, a familiar figure walked in. You already it was Jessica from class from her obnoxiously loud voice that was bossing her boyfriend around. Poor guy.

Jessica and you had mild beef after you called out her not so subtle racist comments she made during your film studies class. That weekend she made a point to spill beer on you by “accident” which had Grace holding you back before you threw a punch. She was also always so loud and rude during class always causing your professor to furrow their brows in impatience. And

She sauntered over to where you were sitting to give an acknowledgement but after noticing the seat was empty she made a point to gloat.

“Sucks that Grace isn’t here,” she said, “I heard one of the categories is serial killers.”

You rolled your eyes not giving her the satisfaction of a response.

Just in time your knight in shining armor was walking back with two beers in hand. His brows raised up in confusion to the couple standing in front of your table.

“Here you go pretty,” he said, sliding a glass over and then taking a seat.

Jessica’s smug smile turned into an expression of shock as she realized who was now sitting across from you.

“Hey you’re John Logan right?” Jessica’s boyfriend asked, “Dude you’re crushing it.”

“Thanks man,” Logan smiled and then looked to you.

“Jessica this is my boyfriend,” you said, trying not to sound too smug.

You were aware she used to have a thing for him after hearing her gossip so loudly about it in class. Little did she know that he was all yours.

There was no response as Jessica quickly stormed off with her boyfriend trailing behind.

“Was that her?” Logan asked, reaching over to pull you seat closer.

He did it with such ease that you felt your cheeks heat up once you were sat close enough he could throw an arm across the back of your chair.

You were not going to be able to focus. You should’ve asked Allie to come instead.

“Yeah doesn’t matter cause we’re gonna beat them,” you grumbled.

“Damn right,” Logan pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before you exclaimed,

“What should our team name be?”

By your frantic tone Logan thought you forgot your phone or keys. He loved how passionate you were about well, everything.

Logan always had a hard time expressing his emotions while you wore them on your sleeve proudly. Since you’d been dating he’s been better at opening up. Only because you were so easy and patient.

“What’s the name you and Grace have?”

“Bikini Bottom,” you said, ignoring his snicker, “But that’s reserved for Gracie and I, so we need another.”

“Can’t we just put our initials?”

“And be boring,” you groaned.

“You’re right,” Logan agreed, “Umm who’s a power couple maybe can do something like that?”

“I like that,” you nodded, “Any ideas?”

“Romeo and Juliet?”

“Logan! They both die,” you chide, “Hardly a power couple if they can’t even stay alive in their universe.”

“I thought it was romantic,” he mumbled, “Star wars? Han Solo and Leia.”

“They were toxic. Both on and off screen.”

Logan huffed in frustration but you were making good points. The room was getting crowded, he looked to the clock to see they were going to start soon.

“How about Mr. And Mrs. Smith? They try to kill each other but then they team up. Kinda like us?”

“I never tried to kill you. It was an accident I ran into on my bike on the way to our first date,” you said, “But I do like that movie.”

“Done,” Logan said, quickly scribbling down the name before you had doubts.

---

Soon trivia began with the host of the explaining the rules and timing of the night. Logan watched as you bounced eagerly in your seat, waiting for the first category to be announced.

"Landmarks"

The first question was "The Hollywood sign originally spelled out which word"

Logan was lost, as you tapped your chin to think.

"I have no clue babe," he said.

"Logan that's not helpful," you grumbled, "I'm trying to think of a reasonable answer. Maybe Los Angeles?"

"Hollywoodland? Like Greaseland?" Logan tried.

"That's actually not a bad idea," you said, writing it down. You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

If that's what it took to impress you he would've stop trying to show off on the ice and pulling his muscles. Although it was always worth seeing you clap eagerly in the crowd whenever he skated by.

-

The game continued and each category got more and more absurd. Luckily you scored with romance novels and you literally shrieked in excitement when the 5th category was hockey history. Logan easily got every question right.

The last category was guessing whether the word was a disease or Pokemon name.

"Ugh I only know the cute ones," you groaned but when you turned to Logan he had a wicked grin on his face.

"Lucky for you I still have my collection tucked under my bed," he said.

You couldn't help but press a kiss to his lips which he was quick to react to.

"Best boyfriend ever," you grinned.

-

The winners were announced shortly after and you and Logan literally stood up and cheered when you got in third. Not first but third. But the smile on your face told Logan you didn't even care.

“I can’t believe we got third!” you exclaimed, skipping on the sidewalk, “What are the odds that there’s a hockey category!”

Logan just chuckled and watch you celebrate. You were waving around the envelope like it was a Stanley Cup, beaming at him.

“And did you see the look on Jessica’s face! Best trivia ever!” you squealed.

That’s when Logan wrapped you up in his arms making you shout in delight while he peppered kisses all over your face. You were smiling so hard your face hurt as Logan look down at you with those adoring eyes.

“Proud of us babe,” he said, “Glad I could be a worthy partner.”

“You did a lot better than I expected,” you said causing Logan to playfully tickle you.

“Absolutely no faith in your boyfriend,” he sighed, hands not leaving your body as you continued your walk to campus.

“I had some faith,” you said weakly.

“I hope Gracie’s date went well cause then we could do trivia double dates,” you pondered, “4 times the brain power we’d be unstoppable!”

God you were so cute, Logan couldn’t help but give you another squeeze.

“My little nerd,” he said making you bark out a laugh.

“You’re also a nerd,” you teased, “No business knowing all those Pokémon.”

Instead of firing back, Logan just scoped you up bridal style making you shriek, wrapping your arms around you neck.

"You're cute when you're competitive," he said, kissing your nose. "Thank you for inviting me tonight."

"Yeah yeah," you shrugged playfully. "You're a pretty great partner. In all aspects."

Logan laughed at your dry humor and just spun both you around as the two of you enjoyed the fall night. Hell Logan would read every atlas and scroll all the wikipedia pages if it meant to keep you smiling as much as you were tonight.

[orbitganymede]

coming out of my hole to say, why does every reader have to be sunshine or cherry or bambi or bubbly or super intensely girly 😭😭 i legit just started a fic that everyone is saying is sooooo good and they described the reader as wearing a peplum dress and ballet shoes with a bright red lip 😭 wtf kinda millennial wear is this and then described her as a baby doll, i’m sick guys, the infantilization is crazyyyy

anyway, sorry to complain i just feel sick as a grown women at all these people only writing ditzy barbi kitty no thoughts baby women

[orbitganymede]

you guys can be mad if you want but i’m not gonna stop saying that there IS a correlation between sunshine!ditzy!bunny!kitty!puppy!cherry!bimbo!barbie!whatever stupid nickname you come up with!reader and white!blonde!skinny!(us only obvs)conservative!reader

also it’s boring! women can think for themselves!

it’s very sad to see so many people against women expressing themselves through fashion and style, somehow we’re back in times where if you don’t wear dresses and skirts and lipstick you can’t be feminine, sad to see, even sadder to see women standing on that. its like i can say i don’t think all women should have to wear feminine presenting outfits to be feminine and im called a pick me but you can say you have to wear feminine presenting outfits to be feminine and somehow you’re not a pick me???? make it make sense.

[iceyngi]

The Uniform Stays ON

☄︎ Warnings: oral (f!receiving), ridin’, sweaty logan, not proofread (it's 3am i'm sorry) ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut. ☄︎ Words: 2800 ☄︎ Summary: You and Logan semi-make up in the locker room after an argument.

💭: am I toxic? lol🧍🏾‍♀️you all are making my logan obsession become so much worse!! i’m supposed to be a loyal dean girlie pls! but... i have some more logan fics to get to which i am very excited about hehe... if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc, it means a lot xx

Read the original request here. 〣 Find my Off Campus Masterlist here.

You paced the length of the Hawk’s arena hallway, trying your best not to let your impatience show. The muffled sound of celebratory music thumping from the main arena doors down the hallway doing nothing but making you even more antsy.  

Under your impatience, you were furious. You had been furious since last night, when you and Logan argued over something so miniscule that you couldn’t even remember what it was about. While you don’t remember the cause of it, you do remember that you’re furious about it.

It didn’t help that the two of you hadn’t spoken to one another from since he had said, “I love you, but I’m not doing this right now.” and walked out of your dorm, slamming the door on his way out. Okay, he hadn’t actually slammed the door but, to you, he basically did. And that made you furious.

Despite your stubborn vow to ignore him until he came crawling back to you, you still found yourself sitting in the stands with Hannah and Allie to watch the game. You had, childishly, planned to look unbothered and uninterested in the game. You had even practised your yawn. But, from the moment that Logan took to the ice to the time he got off it, you were on the edge of your seat.

He played like a man possessed. Obviously, he was just as furious as you were and he had channelled all of that into the game. He was checking the Harvard guys into the plexiglass with such a force that you swear you saw it wobble. He threw his head back and roared when he scored, it took all of your dignity to not start moaning right there and then.

Every time he skated past your section, chest heaving under the padding, you became a little less angry with him. And, somehow, a whole lot more furious with him.

And this wait was making it worse.

The double doors of the locker room finally clicked open; the team flooding out in chaotic chatter. You watched as the partners gravitated towards their boyfriends. That should be you and Logan, but it’s not because you’re ‘fighting’. You stayed with your back against the wall, waiting for the hallway to clear. You knew that Logan wouldn’t be coming out with them.

Once the hallway cleared and the voices faded, you pushed open the door and stepped into the way-too-brightly lit locker room.

Logan was sitting in his stall, his forearms resting heavily on his knees as he stared blankly at the Hawks logo on the carpeted floor. His thick, dark curls fell over his eyes, soaked with sweat. He was still in his uniform, only his skates and helmet were off, discarded somewhere on the floor.

Even from across the room, you could feel the pent-up aggression vibrating off of him in waves.

When the door clicked shut behind you, his head snapped up. You leant back against the it, refusing to come in any further. You’d already taken the first step towards him. Now he had to come to you. His eyes narrowed on you, dark and intense.

“You’re still here,” he rasped. It wasn’t a question, but you answered it anyway.

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. And, because you were being petty, added, “and, I’m still mad at you.”

Logan snorted, running a tense hand through his damp hair. He slowly stood up and walked over to you, stopping inches away from you.  

Without his skates, he didn’t tower over like he would have done on the ice, but he was tall enough and wide enough to make you feel surrounded as you stood up straighter against the door.

His jaw clenched as he looked down at you and you felt a sudden heat pooling between your legs.

“I’m still mad at you,” he fired back.

“Mhm,” you murmured.

Your eyes greedily looked over him. The way his brow was furrowed. The sharpness of his jawline. The way he watched you looking all dark and serious. He looked rugged, undone, and it was so attractive to you that it made your heart ache and pussy clench.

His jaw clenched under your scrutiny, his gaze dropping to your lips as his breathing became shallower, more uneven.

“Have you come to pick another fight?” Logan asked.

“Maybe,” you countered, your voice steady despite your racing pulse. “Why? Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Well, then I’m not here for that.”

“Then why are you here?”

He knew why you were here, the asshole. He could see your eyes travelling his body. He could see you watching the sweat roll down his neck. There’s no way he didn’t notice your chest rising or the way your eyes had dilated. He just wanted to hear you say it.

He leant forward slightly, hands slamming against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you there.

God, the smell of him. From this close, it was overwhelming. The smell of his sweat shouldn’t have pulled you in the way it did. But there was something so him and so masculine about the way he smelt.

That’s how you knew you were down bad.

You looked up at him, your stubbornness and pride pushed aside by the unadulterated need. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

He didn’t answer and worse, he didn’t kiss you. Instead, the motherfucker smirked at you. He slipped his hands under your thighs, grabbing a hold of your ass and effortlessly lifted you up. He pressed you back against the door and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him.

The padding under his jersey prevented you from being chest to chest, forcing him to lean forward and tilt his face towards yours.

He hovered there, his lips a fraction away from yours, so close that you could feel the rapid puff of his warm breath on you, but he still wouldn’t kiss you. He stared down at your lips, then looked back up at you. You looked into his eyes, seeing the intensity of last night’s anger, tonight’s victory, and his raw desire for you. It was one of the things you loved most about him, he couldn’t hide anything in his eyes.

You felt a vein in your neck throb. You tilted your chin up, expecting him to crash his lips against yours now that you’ve made the first move. But Logan deliberately pulled his head back just an inch further. Teasing you. Letting you ache for it.

“Asshole,” you muttered, your fingers digging tightly into the damp fabric of his padded shoulders.

“Say that again.”

Instead of answering, you tried to pull his head down, but he held his ground. Keeping his eyes locked on yours, he shifted his weight, deliberately grinding his hips forward to press the hardness in his pants right against you.

“Ass. Hole.” You punctuate each syllable, if that’s what he wanted, you would give it to him.

His eyes flared as heat ran through his body. He ground into you again, making your breath hitch.

Lifting you higher in his arms, he pressed himself against you. His dick was twitching in his pants, and he so desperately needed relief.

“What am I going to do with you?” He let out an exasperated laugh as he tilted his head and leant into you.

The first touch of his lips was just a soft brush, but it still sent a ripple down your spine. You hadn’t expected him to be so delicate after the way he’d been looking at you and teasing you. He lingered there, brushing his lips across yours.

He brushed his lips against yours once more, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, biting and tugging slightly.

You moaned.

The second the sound left your throat; Logan released your lip and kissed you for real. It was bruising and desperate and exactly what you needed to get out the frustrations of the last 24 hours. His hands were suddenly all over you in a frantic blue, sliding up the hem of your shirt, cupping your ass to lift you higher, caressing your face to tilt your mouth deeper into his.

Clinging to his neck, you were only faintly aware that he had begun moving. He kept his lips on yours, carrying you across the room as he stumbled to his locker.

He didn’t break the kiss until he was in front of his locker. As his hands slid from your ass, to your waist, he pulled back, eyes locking onto yours as his chest heaved.

“Pants off,” he said, voice gruff.

The moment you unwrapped your legs from him and stood up, he was there to help you with your jeans. His fingers were trembling as he frantically tried to undo the button.

Once your jeans slid down, you sat back on the black cushion of his locker bench, looking up at him with your heart hammering in your chest.

Logan dropped to his knees, settling right between your legs. His hands gripped your knees, spreading your legs open to look at the wet patch on your panties.

He stayed there for a beat, thinking about exactly how he wanted to devour you first. He settled on your thighs first.

His hands stayed gripped on your knees as he leant forward, pressing kisses and sucking on the sensitive skin along your inner thigh, travelling up. He got unbearably close to where you were waiting for him, already soaked, before trailing back down again.

You let out a frustrated whimper, your fingers clawing at his scalp.

On his third journey up, a heavy hand came to your stomach as he gently guided you to lean back against the wooden cubby. At the same time, his other hand slid around your lower back.

With an effortless tug, he pulled you forward until your ass was right at the edge of the bench. You rested one leg over his shoulder, completely opening you up to him.

It had only been a day and a half since he last had his face buried between your legs, but to him, it might as well have been an eternity.

“Fuck, baby, I missed this,” he said as he buried his face between your legs, inhaling you in.

With one hand, he slid your panties to the side and parted one of your folds so he could lick a fat stripe up your pussy. He did it again, and again, and again, lapping up the juices there before moving to focus on your clit.

Your hips bucked into his mouth as he flicked his tongue against you. He had no more intentions to tease you; he wanted you to cum on his face.

He used his nose to rub against your clit and you shamelessly rolled your hips over it. The friction feeling so good.

A whine caught in your throat as he dove back in with his tongue, flicking from left to right.

“Logan~~.”

He looked up at you, spit and arousal shining on the lower half of his face. “Feel good, baby?”

“So, good, you always make me feel so good.” You curled your fingers in his dark curls, pushing him back between your legs.  

Chuckling at your impatience, he went right back to work. His hand slipped under the hem of your top again so he could squeeze and knead your breast, the other still holding your panties so he could get at you.  

You tugged at his hair as he pressed his tongue against you and swirled it in uncontrolled circles.

When he was between your legs, all he cared about was giving you exactly what you wanted. What your body needed. You needed, he obliged, tongue continuing to flick and swirl against you.

“Don’t stop– I’ll...”  Your thought died on a moan.

The locker room was filled with the wet sounds of him moving his mouth against you, and the loud lewd moans that you freely let out. You didn’t care if anybody was around to hear you. In fact, you wanted them to hear just how good Logan was to you.

He could feel himself getting drunk off of the taste of you, his body was warm and buzzing. He was starting to feel delirious as your hips rolled on him.

The pressure of his tongue on you was perfect, you could feel the pleasure build steadily within you.

“Your tongue feels so good, Loge,” you praised. You were close. So close.

“Then come for me,” he said as he slid two fingers inside of you, curving and caressing your walls.

Shockwaves of pleasure ran over you as you came, clenching on his fingers. He kept his mouth on you through it, humming and moaning at the taste of you.

When your body finally settled, he sat back on his knees, panting heavily as his lips glistened in the harsh fluorescent blue lighting. You reached over, pulling him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

“Wanna ride you, Loge,” you mumbled against his lips.

Logan didn’t need to be told twice; he was already thumbling with his pants when you pulled back to take your panties off.

The pants were barely down past his knees when you gently pushed him to lie flat on the carpet and straddled him.

“Just lay back, let me take care of you now,” you soothed as you ground against him, leaving a trail of slick arousal on his aching dick.

He practically whimpered as you continued to slide over him.

“B-baby.” His hands came to your waist, thumbs digging into your skin through your top. “Let me fuck you.”

Looking down at him, his eyes were half-lidded as they pleaded you. Who were you to argue with those beautiful brown eyes.

Lifting your hips up slightly, you held his dick to guide it into your pussy.

As your hole stretched around his tip, he let out a strangled moan. You watched him as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, coming to a full seat.

He throbbed and twitched within you, his thick head leaking pre-cum. You circled your hips, relishing in the feeling of him rubbing against your walls.

You hadn’t even really moved yet and he already looked wrecked. His mouth was hung slightly open, eyes squeezed shut. You craved more, to see him absolutely shattered by you.

Bracing your hands on his on the still damp fabric of his Briar U jersey, you began to move. You don’t raise your hips high, choosing smaller bounces and grinds of your hips.

For a few minutes of bounces, he let you set your pace, grunting and groaning as you sensually moved over him.

Each bounce brought him to the brink of desperation, his restraint wearing thin.

The hands on your waist tightened as he helped guide your rhythm in desperation. He needed you faster, he needed you to slam back down onto him harder.

“You were so hot out there.” Your voice was breathy, bouncing on him the way you were had you exhausted. “I wanted to touch myself just watching you play.”

The praise made him grip you impossibly tighter, made him slam you back down even harder.

His dick curved just the right way to hit your g-spot, causing you to see stars as you clenched around him. You moaned in tandem, his head thrown back as a result of your vice grip.

You didn’t care that if anyone opened the door right now, they’d come face to face with you bouncing on it. He didn’t care that the carpet rubbed at his ass as he tried to thrust up into you, limited by his pants around his ankles.

All you both cared about was the way you were wrapped around him, and the sounds that tumbled from his mouth as he got close.

It took a few more harsh bounces from you for him to unload into you. The hands on your waist held you in place as he filled you up. You purposely clenched, milking him for all he had.

“Fucking hell.”

You collapsed against his padded chest, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your breathing slowed. You turned to inhale the fresh sweat on his neck. “You need a shower.”

Logan wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tighter against him. An exhausted smirk tugging at his lips. “So do you, coach is going to be pissed if you drip cum onto his floor.”

You were still furious with him, and his stupidly hot face. You knew the fight wasn’t actually over. But, if this is what being angry with Logan brought you, then you were more than happy to pick another fight tomorrow.

[iceyngi]

Cupid's Bow

☄︎ Warnings: None ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating: PG ☄︎ Words: 1000 ☄︎ AN: written for this request and i incorporated this comment too. gave myself a good little giggle writing this so i hope everyone thinks i am as funny as i think i am. hope you enjoy, comments and feedback are always appreciated xoxo ☄︎ Summary: Logan retells the story of your meet cute (a lil follow up to Falling for You (Literally) and the guys think Logan has lost his mind.

It takes Logan 20 minutes longer to get home than it should. His tailbone is still sore from hitting the ice, and he’s doesn’t want to make the injury worse. He has to be able to play on Friday, you said you’d consider coming.  

Despite the ache radiating from his lower back, he limps home with a wide grin on his face, replaying the images of you that he had committed to his memory. Every now and then, he hears the sound of your laughter ringing in his ears. He doesn’t even notice the extra time that it takes to get back to the house.

Logan swings the front door open and goes straight for the sofa, collapsing on top of Tucker’s bare legs. Tucker, who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone, immediately yelps. “Ew! Logan, what the fuck man. Why are you wet?”

Tucker pulls his legs out from under the wet fabric of Logan’s jeans. Garrett, who is sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop open, and Dean, who’s raiding the fridge with a girl on his arm, both look over to see what the commotion is.

Logan turns to look over at them, a dazed, loopy, smile plastered across his face. “I met her,” he grins, completely ignoring Tucker’s protest. “The love of my life.”

Over by the fridge, Dean turns to exchange a look with Garrett who just shrugs and mouths, ‘No idea.’

Garrett shuts his laptop halfway and turns to Logan. “Okay, sure...” he says slowly.

“Seriously, why are you wet!” Tucker demands again, wiping his legs with his hands.

“Oh. I was chasing after her and I slipped on some black ice,” Logan says, his smile never fading.

Everyone in the room pauses to look at Logan. Dean is the first one to speak. “You were chasing after a girl... at midnight... in the dark?”

Logan sits up, wincing and rubbing his aching tailbone. “It wasn’t like that. It was romantic.” Dean snorts and Logan ignores him. “I hit the ground so hard I thought I died. But when I opened my eyes, she was leaning over me. She literally had a golden halo around her head. The snow was falling in slow motion. I thought she was an angel and asked her if I was in heaven.”

Dean full on belly laughs now. “You did not use that line on her, did you?”

“I mean it worked, so whatever. You can’t ruin this for me, bro.”

That makes Dean laugh harder.

Tucker looks at Logan, squinting at him with deep concern. “Logan,” he says slowly, “Did you hit your head on the ice?”

“No! Well, maybe a little, but that’s not the point.”

Tucker turns his head to look at Garrett, who turns to look at Dean.

“Well, I wish you and your imaginary girlfriend many years of happiness. I’ve got business with a real girl to attend to,” Dean chuckles as he pulls his girl back up the stairs.

Logan looks over and watches Dean disappear around the corner of the staircase, scowling. “She is not imaginary. She’s real. And she’s witty. And she’s beautiful. And real.”

Garrett bursts out laughing, shutting his laptop completely. “The more you say she’s real, the less real she sounds.”

“No,” Logan whines. He can’t understand why the existence of your perfectly realistic meet-cute is being denied.

“She’s real, she took my hand.” He raises the hand that you held to help him stand in the snow, as if that proves your existence. “And she said she’ll consider coming to the game on Friday.”

Garrett and Tucker look at Logan’s outstretched hand.

“Look, if she actually comes to the game on Friday, I’ll pay for your first date,” Garrett laughs. “In the meantime, go get some ice for your head... and ass.”

Logan drops his hand, glaring at them both.

“You’ll see,” he mutters, wincing as he stands and limps down the hallway to his room. The dazed, loopy, smile returns the second his door is closed. He doesn’t care what they say. He knows you’re real.

⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆

As usual, the arena is completely packed and the energy is electric as they take to the ice. Logan plays like a man possessed, every time he has a free moment, his eyes scan the rows of the crowd, searching for you.

By the third period, he still hasn’t found you and the boys are giving him shit for it.

“See your imaginary girlfriend yet, Logan?” Dean teases, squirting water into his mouth.

Logan ignores him, hopping over the boards as the whistle blows. He still has time to spot you, he knows you’re in the room. That “I’ll consider it.” was basically a promise.

With two minutes left on the clock, Logan scores a blinder and the crowd erupts. He lets out a triumphant shout, skating towards the corner to celebrate. But, as he nears the boards, his eyes lock onto a face in the second row.

It’s you.

You’re in the crowd, clapping and cheering as the fans around you go wild. Your eyes meet his through the glass and you give him a little wave.

He slows his skate towards you, lifting up his right knee and balancing on one leg, he mimics shooting off an invisible arrow aimed right at your heart.  

Just as he puts his leg back down, Dean and Tucker crash into him, wrapping him into a tight hug. They slap his pads and helmet, celebrating the game winning shot, but Logan completely ignores them, his gaze still locked on to you.

He breaks away from their grip just enough to shoot you a wave. Dean looks confused and follows the direction of Logan’s wave.

In the second row of the stands, you’re blushing as you laugh and wave back again.

“No fucking way,” Dean mutters, his jaw dropping as he looks between you and Logan. “Is that...?”

Tucker looks over too, eyes wide. “Holy shit. Halo girl is actually real.”

Off Campus Masterlist

[vyvilha]

i think i don't really vibe with most other fans of my favorite male characters is because they usually depict them too much of a man, and i am not interested in men, i am interested in The Character. and i am not saying that they should depict them as women, or nonbinary, or should depict them as feminine, no, not at all. but there's like, you know, you can depict a male character as The Character, and you can depict them as The Man. do you get me? like, i go to the fandom looking for art and fics, and it's just, regardless of his actual characterization, it's all just fantasizing about some kind of an abstract dominant patriarch, wearing my favorite character's face. it may be the most totally-wouldnt-have-normal-relationships (and sometimes even would-literally-abuse-you) kind of guy, and you join a dedicated space for his fans, and all they talk about is how they want to marry and start a tradcore 50s style nuclear family with him. it can be a guy who's arrogance and attempts of domination are explicitly shown to be a facade that hide the fact that he's actually kind of a massive pathetic wet loser, and you go to his fics, and they're all depicting him as a caricaturish daddy dom. at this point it's like, do you even like the character at all, or do you just like The Man, and project this man onto whatever character you find visually attractive? and these people kind of, really really poison actual discussion of the character, who is kind of a fucked up evil person (i only like *those* types, so im talking about them) because they see analysis of the actual character as an attack on their fantasized daddy dom husband, who is actually isn't The Character at all, and is simply a face of the day for The Man

[allywritesmanythings]

࿔⋆❆ John Logan Headcanons ࿔⋆❆

Logan is all cocky grins and teasing charm on the surface, but with you he’s surprisingly steady and intense underneath. He’s protective in a playful way that still carries weight, he’ll throw an arm around your shoulders in public, tug you into his side, and shoot a lazy smirk at anyone who looks too long. If someone gets pushy, the grin fades, his voice drops, and he steps in with that quiet “she’s with me” that leaves zero room for argument.

He notices everything, even when he acts like he doesn’t. The way you bite your lip when you’re anxious, your favorite study snacks, how you hum when you’re happy. He’ll show up with exactly what you need (sometimes stolen from the team fridge) and drop it in your lap with a wink and a “Figured you could use this, baby.”

Post-game routine: After a win, Logan is hyped, sweaty, adrenaline-pumped, and looking for you immediately. He’ll pick you up right outside the locker room, kiss you like he’s trying to climb inside you, and murmur filthy promises against your mouth about celebrating later. After a loss he gets broody and self-critical. He’ll pull you into his lap on the couch in his Briar hoodie, bury his face in your neck, and let you run your fingers through his hair until the tension melts. You’re the only one who can make him laugh again.

He’s unexpectedly domestic once you’re together. Logan loves lazy nights in his room: ordering pizza, playing video games with you between his legs, or slow mornings where he makes terrible pancakes but serves them with that charming grin like they’re gourmet. He’s the guy who does your laundry when you’re buried in exams and leaves little sticky notes with dumb jokes on your stuff.

Logan calls you “baby” with that trademark smirk, but it turns rough and needy when he’s turned on. He also loves throwing in “princess” when he’s being a teasing shit, and “my girl” in that low, possessive tone that makes your knees weak, especially when he’s got you pressed against a wall.

He’s incredibly handsy. Logan can’t keep his hands off you, whether it’s resting on your thigh while driving, sliding under your shirt to trace your skin when you’re cuddling, or pulling you onto his lap during movie nights so he can play with your hair and kiss your shoulder. He loves skin-to-skin, especially after games, just holding you close so he can feel your heartbeat.

Spicy side: Logan is a playful tease who loves taking his time and driving you crazy. He’s filthy with his mouth (both talking and otherwise), constantly praising you with “Fuck, you’re so perfect for me” and “That’s it, baby, let me hear you.” He’s into eye contact, that cocky grin while he watches you fall apart, and a healthy dose of possessiveness, marking your neck and thighs so you remember exactly who you belong to. He’s also down for spontaneous, fun sex, shower, car, against the door the second you get home.

Future headcanon: When he makes it to the NHL, Logan stays the same cocky, loyal guy because of you. He still sends you dumb memes from the road and flies you out whenever he can. Eventually he proposes in the most Logan way possible, maybe during a private skate at the rink where you first met, down on one knee with that boyish grin, telling you he’s been yours since the beginning. He wants the loud, chaotic family life with you.

[kaiwithlove]

۶ৎ paper rings, picture frames & dirty dreams

welcome to the dollhouse, dear reader!

short summary: where john logan wants to propose. unfortunately, the engagement ring is expensive, your future apartment is expensive, life is expensive, and he's slowly losing his mind. pairing: boyfriend!john logan x fem!reader word count: 6.2k warnings: angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort, secret engagement planning, financial insecurity, discussions of money, reader thinking logan is cheating, emotional repression, crying, proposal anxiety, mild swearing, mentions of grief/loss of a parent, lots of kissing, dean di laurentis being aggressively unhelpful, garrett and tucker being the voices of reason for once, paper ring proposal, excessive use of "babe", tooth-rotting fluff at the end, reader is referred to as a she & as a woman, let me know if i missed any! all characters in this story are adults. english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors. a/n: full disclosure, i was bawling my eyes out writing this. i love logan so much. also, dean deserved at least three separate concussions for his behavior in this fic. also, i was very inspired by this. what's kai listening to: paper rings by taylor swift.

18+; mdni. likes, comments and reblogs are always and forever appreciated <3

The place was perfect.

You stood in the middle of the empty apartment, taking in the floor to ceiling windows, the marble of the breakfast bar, the pretty little notch in the kitchen island you couldn't wait to turn into a coffee bar. You could almost see it, almost smell the coffee brewing as the early morning sunlight filtered into room, caressing Logan's face with its golden fingers as he made breakfast. You could almost feel the way his mouth would curl against yours in a soft smile as you kissed him good morning, could almost hear his voice—

"Babe?" Logan's footsteps were soft against the hardwood floors as he rounded the corner with the realtor who was showing you the apartment. His dark hair was falling onto his forehead, blue eyes immediately finding you standing in the middle of the empty room. "What do you think?"

You meet his gaze, melting into him as he wraps an arm around your waist—casual, sweet. You loved that about him, loved that he wasn't a grand gestures, in-your-face romantic. He was steady, calm, the harbor in a storm. "I love it, Logan. It's beautiful."

He smiles at you, squeezing your waist before turning back to the realtor, Anna, taking off to follow her as she continued with the tour of the house. The property was honestly lovely—the kind of apartment you could see yourself living in after the two of you graduated college in a few months.

Senior year had been blissful, to say the least. After you and John finally—finally—began dating toward the end of your freshman year, life at Briar had transformed into something you never would've pictured for yourself. Weekends spent with the boys at the Hawks House, hanging out with Hannah and Allie on game days, parties that somehow always ended with you and Logan sneaking off to the firepit to sip beer and look at the stars. It was honestly hard to believe that you had been dating for only a couple of years—it felt like a lifetime.

And now, with finals, and graduation, and Logan being a shoo-in for the Bruins alongside Garret, you were excited to start the rest of your lives together. Most conversations these days between you and Logan were about apartments, where you guys would live after graduation. You were excited to move out of New Hastings and into Boston, where you'd been offered a job that was honestly, your dream since the day you walked into Briar U.

As Anna wrapped up the tour, you slipped your hand into Logan's, his palm rough, calloused against yours. Anna smiled as she handed you one of the brochures for the apartment. "So, the apartment would be around $3,900 a month. Utilities are not included, of course. I'll need the first and last month's rent if you decide to take the unit. The amount for the security deposit, as well as my fee is at the back of the brochure. If you have a few minutes, I'd recommend taking a walk around the block, familiarizing yourself with the neighborhood. I think you'd really like it."

You felt Logan's arm tense. Not too much—slight enough that you were sure you'd imagined it at first. But then, as you slipped the brochure into your purse, walking down the stairs, you noticed the slight crease in his brow, looking down at his phone. "Is everything okay?"

His gaze snapped up to yours instantly, his face softening the way it always did when he looked at you. "Of course it is, babe. Wanna take a walk around the block, see what's around?"

The two of you stepped out into the evening sun, hand in hand. The apartment was located in Beacon Hill, in a charming old brownstone. The cobblestone streets were lined with little luxury boutiques, antique stores, and gorgeous art galleries.

You passed several such stores in blissful silence, glancing idly at the displays in the windows, until—

"Oh, my God."

Logan was nearly yanked off-balance as you stopped short in front of the window of a jewelry store, mouth agape, staring at a pair of gorgeous diamond earrings. You turned to Logan. "These are exactly like the ones my mom had when I was a kid!"

Logan's face softened immediately. "Yeah?"

You turned back to the window display, pressing closer to the glass, close enough that your breath began to fog up the pane. The earrings were beautiful—simple diamond studs surrounded by a delicate halo of smaller stones. They were elegant, timeless.

"When I was little, my mom had a pair exactly like these. She wore them everywhere. To work, to date nights with my dad, even grocery shopping." A laugh escaped you, your gaze still fixed on the display, unable to tear your eyes away. "I used to sneak into her room and try them on when she wasn't looking."

Logan smiled faintly. You missed the way it didn't quite reach his eyes. "They're nice."

"Nice?" you repeated in mock offense. "John Logan, these are stunning."

"Right." Logan cleared his throat. "Stunning."

You finally dragged your attention away from the display to look at him properly. You couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was off. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but he hadn't been himself lately.

It had been happening more and more often—little moments where he seemed to disappear into his own head, where his smile seemed forced, where his eyes got this distant, faraway look in them, like he wasn't quite in the moment with you.

The crease between his brows was back.

Before you could even open your mouth to ask him about it, his phone buzzed, startling him. His hand immediately to his pocket, pulling out the lit up screen. Logan angled it away from you before you could even catch a glimpse of the caller ID, but you could see the look on his face—something between panic and relief.

Logan cleared his throat. "Sorry babe, I gotta take this."

"Everything okay?" you asked, trying to ignore the sickening sinking feeling blooming in the pit of your stomach.

"Yeah." The words spilled out of his mouth a little too quickly. Almost as if he could see the wheels in your head turning, Logan curled the corner of his lips into a smile—that familiar smile that usually settled every worry in your chest.

This time, it didn't.

Logan didn't seem to notice. "I'll be right back," he said, stepping away before you could say anything else, already lifting the phone to his ear.

You watched him retreat down the sidewalk, broad shoulders tensing underneath his jacket. You watched as his free hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing the spot at the top of spine like he always did when he was stressed.

Your stomach knotted itself further. Maybe it was hockey, maybe graduation, maybe apartment hunting. God knew the two of you had enough going on lately to make anyone lose their mind.

But somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else.

You forced yourself to let it go, instead you turned back toward the jewelry store window. The earrings sparkled underneath the warm display lights—and before you could talk yourself out of it, you were reaching for the door handle.

A small bell jingled overhead as you stepped inside. The store was lovely. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting soft light over glass display cases. You felt like a kid in a candy store.

A saleswoman was by your side almost immediately. She looked to be in her fifties, dressed impeccably in black. "Welcome, dear. Can I help you with anything?"

You smiled, pointing toward the window. "Could I see those diamond earrings, please?"

"Excellent choice," the woman said, her face brightening.

A few moments later, she was placing them carefully on a velvet tray. Up close, they were even more beautiful. Gently, delicately, you lifted one. The diamond caught the light, scattering a million tiny rainbows across the glass.

Your mother's face flashed through your memory—helping you zip up your prom dress, teaching you how to curl your hair, laughing so hard tears rolled down her cheeks at Thanksgiving dinner. A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest, but it had nothing to do with the earrings and everything to do with the woman who raised you.

"Would you like to try them on?" the saleswoman asked.

You swallowed the lump of emotions in your throat as you nodded, lifting the stud to your ear. The woman stepped forward, helping you fasten them.

Slowly, you turned your head to the side, glancing in the mirror. Your face immediately cracked into a smile. "Oh."

"I take it that's a yes?" the saleswoman laughed.

You turned your head to the other side, watching them sparkle. They really were almost identical—close enough that your mom would've loved them. Without thinking too hard about it, you asked, "How much are they?"

The saleswoman named the price.

They were expensive—definitely expensive. But not impossible.

You'd been saving aggressively ever since accepting your job offer in Boston. Between that and the graduation gifts from family, you could afford them quite easily.

You looked at yourself one more time, thinking about your mother, about all the milestones waiting just around the corner—graduation, moving to a new city, a new life. "Can I give them gift wrapped?"

The saleswoman smiled knowingly. "Of course."

Twenty minutes later, you stepped back onto the sidewalk carrying a small, cream-colored shopping bag tied with a pink satin ribbon.

The evening sun was beginning to dip lower between the brownstone buildings. Down the block, you could see Logan, still on the phone. His back was turned you, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans, the other pressed tightly to his forehead.

Your smile faded. The call had clearly lasted longer than expected.

As if sensing your gaze, Logan looked up, his entire expression changing the moment he saw you. The tension vanished, the crease on his forehead smoothening out. His smile returned, easy, warm, and familiar.

But this time, you were almost certain it wasn't real.

His gaze dropped to the shopping bag in your hand. Something flashed across this face so quickly you nearly missed it. It wasn't annoyance, wasn't surprise—it was something heavier.

Before you could figure out what it was, it was gone, and Logan was walking toward you. "Ready to keep walking?"

You slipped your hand into his, the shopping back swinging lightly from your wrist. "Yep."

Logan squeezed your hand—one, two, three times.

Together, you continued down the cobblestone street, neither of you noticing that the things you weren't saying were beginning to pile up between you.

At first, you told yourself you were imagining things.

Logan had a lot on his plate—he really did. Graduation was only a few months away now, and the Bruins had practically been circling him for over a year now. Between practice, games, classes, apartment hunting, and preparing for an entirely new chapter of your lives, it would've been strange if he wasn't stressed.

That was what you told yourself, anyway.

It was becoming a lot harder to believe, now that three weeks had passed and nothing had changed. In fact, if anything, you were afraid they'd gotten worse.

The first thing you noticed were the late nights. Logan had always been the kind of person who could fall asleep practically anywhere—on the couch, during movies, in the passenger seat of your of your car on the trips home for Thanksgiving.

But now? You woke up at two in the morning to find his bed empty.

The first time it happened, you found him sitting at the table in the Hawks House' kitchen, his tired face bathed in the blue light of his open laptop.

When he noticed you, he slammed it shut so quickly that you jumped. "Jesus, Logan."

"What're you doing awake at this hour?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"I could ask you the same thing."

You could've sworn he looked almost guilty as he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just couldn't sleep."

At the time, you'd accepted the explanation... until it happened again. The second time, he was sitting on the balcony, the third time, in the living room. The fourth time he was on the living room couch, claiming he was reviewing paperwork for the Bruins.

Every answer felt reasonable, but every answer somehow made you feel worse—because none of them explained why he looked so nervous, so guilty every time you caught him, or why he hid whatever was on his laptop, or why his phone suddenly never left his side.

You noticed the last part one Thursday afternoon, when the two of you were sprawled across the couch, your head in his lap, his fingers twisted in the ends of your hair as he watched a hockey game.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and Logan lunged for it so quickly you were nearly thrown off his lap. The movement was so abrupt that both of you froze.

A tense silence settled over the room. You had that feeling again—that strange, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach like the day he got that phone call outside the jewelry store. It was stronger now, more potent, almost tangible.

Logan stared at you, forcing a laugh. "Sorry, babe."

Nothing—no explanation. You tried not to think about it, but once the thought entered your head, it became impossible to ignore, because there other things, too. Tiny, insignificant things that probably meant nothing... except they didn't feel like nothing.

You started noticing how often he stepped away to answer incoming calls, how frequently he angled his phone away from you. How many texts arrived late at night. How distracted he became whenever you asked him if everything was okay.

One evening, you were brushing your teeth in his bathroom when his phone lit up on the counter.

You weren't trying to snoop—genuinely. Your eyes simply caught the notification as his phone screen lip up with an incoming text. Your chest tightened—no name, just an unsaved phone number.

The screen darkened before you could read the message. Your fingers itched to reach out and hit the power button, to see what the text was, but no. You trusted Logan—you trusted him with your life.

A moment later, Logan entered the bathroom, almost as if he heard the distinct ding of the incoming text from where he lay on his bed. His gaze immediately found the phone, then you.

The tension in his shoulders materialized instantly. "What?"

You flinched at how sharp the word came out. "Nothing."

His face softened immediately. He stepped inside, reaching around you to pick up the phone, planting a soft, gentle kiss on your temple. "I'm sorry, babe."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, but the damage was already done. That night you lay in bed next to him, staring at the ceiling. Try as you might, you couldn't fall asleep.

It was ridiculous. Logan loved you, you knew that. You'd never doubted it for a second, not once in almost three years.

John Logan wasn't a cheater. He wasn't.

So why did it suddenly feel like he was hiding something? The question followed you everywhere—to class, to work, to lunch with Hannah and Allie.

Which, unfortunately, spending time with Hannah and Allie only made things worse, because apparently, you were terrible at hiding your emotions.

"You okay?" Hannah asked, setting her coffee down.

You looked up from the drink you'd absentmindedly been stirring. "What?"

"You haven't heard a single thing we've said for the last ten minutes," Allie frowned. "Is everything okay with you and Logan?"

You immediately forced a smile, even as the concern in her voice made your stomach twist. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's okay."

The silence stretched as neither of them looked convinced. Then, Hannah's eyes narrowed. "Oh, my God."

"Hannah, no—"

"You think Logan's cheating on you."

The words came too fast out of your mouth. 'I do not."

Allie and Hannah exchanged a look that you could read all too well. It was a look you knew meant they didn't believe you.

"Oh, my God," Allie echoed.

You groaned. "I don't think he's cheating."

"Okay," Hannah said slowly. "Then why do you look like you're about to throw up every time somebody says his name?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Nothing came out—because saying it out loud would somehow make it real. It would make the the late nights, the secretive phone calls, the hidden laptop screens, the weird tension, the distance, the uncertainty—all of it would become far too real.

Suddenly, your coffee tasted like battery acid. Allie's face softened. "Oh, honey."

"I know how this sounds," you whispered, wrapping both hands around your cup. "I know Logan would never—"

The words caught in your throat. Would he?

The awful little voice in your head whispered something ugly—you'd trusted people before, you'd been wrong before. And lately, every time you looked at Logan, it felt like he was standing just a little bit farther away than he used to. Not physically, but emotionally, like there was an entire conversation happening inside his head that you weren't allowed to hear.

The thought made your chest ache, because the worst part wasn't the possibility that he was cheating.

The worst part was that for the first time since you'd fallen in love with John Logan, you weren't completely sure what was going on inside his heart.

John Logan had never thought buying an engagement ring would make him feel like he was losing his mind.

And yet, somehow, here he was—three P.M. on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded by his teammates, staring at a spreadsheet. A fucking spreadsheet. He stared at the screen, already able to feel a headache building as he fiddled with an old receipt from Malone's.

"You know," Dean said from where he was sprawled across the couch, "most people use computers for porn."

Logan didn't even look up. "Shut up."

"No, seriously. Every time I see you lately, you're glaring at that thing like it personally offended your family."

Across the room, Tucker glanced over from his phone. "What's on it?"

"Nothing."

"That's a lie," Garrett said immediately.

Logan finally looked up only to see that all three of them were staring at him, judging him. And honestly, fair. He'd been acting like an asshole for weeks. He knew that, but the worst part, he couldn't seem to stop.

Every time he thought he had things under control, something happened that sent him spiraling all over again—like the earrings.

Jesus Christ, the earrings.

He'd watched you walk into that jewelry store and nearly had a heart attack—not because you'd bought something, but because you'd looked so happy, so excited. He couldn't forget the way your entire face had lit up, and

all he'd been able to think was that the earrings probably cost more than the ring he could currently afford. The thought had followed him home, into bed, into practice the next day, into every waking moment since then.

Logan rubbed a hand across his face. "I need a drink."

"It's three o'clock," Tucker pointed out.

"I need several drinks."

Dean sat up. "Okay, that's it."

Logan frowned, his fingers folding and unfolding the scrap of paper he was still holding on to. "What?"

Dean pointed at him. "You've been weird for a month. Like, you look like you're about to be executed."

"Pretty fucking accurate," Garrett snorted.

Logan glared at both of them in vain—neither of them seemed even remotely intimidated.

Eventually, Garrett sighed. "Dude."

The single word carried enough weight that Logan meet his watchful eyes, studying him carefully. "You gonna tell us what's going on?"

The silence stretched out between them. Logan looked away first, and that, unfortunately, that answered the question.

Three seconds later, Dean practically launched himself off the couch. "Holy shit."

Tucker sat up straighter, meeting Dean's widened eyes. "Holy shit."

Garrett groaned. "Oh, for fuck's sake., what?"

Dean pointed toward Logan. "He's proposing."

Logan froze as the room fell silent, Garret's jaw dropping, Tucker's eyes widening. Then—

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT."

"Keep your voice down, Di Laurentis!" Logan snapped, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face.

Dean looked personally offended. "No."

"Tucker?"

"Nah, dude."

Logan looked over at Garret, who was already laughing. "Come on man, you too?" he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. This was a mistake—a massive mistake.

"I don't even have a ring yet." The words slipped out before he could stop them. Immediately, all three guys went quiet.

Garret frowned. "What do you mean?"

Logan let out a slow breath. If he was already talking, he might as well finish. "The ring I want is too expensive, and every cheaper option feels wrong." Neither of them seemed particularly impressed, but Logan pushed forward anyway. "She deserves something nice."

"She deserves you," Tucker said.

Logan ignored him. "She loves jewelry." The memory of the earrings flashed through his head again—the way your eyes had lit up, the excitement in your voice, the sheer joy.

Dean groaned. "Oh my God." He was looking at Logan like he was an idiot—all three of them were. That annoyed him, because he was already very well aware of the fact that he was being an irrational idiot. "You think she cares about how much the ring costs?"

Logan opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. Before he could force his brain to string the words together, Garret beat him to it, staring pointedly at the piece of paper Logan was still messing around with. "She'd say yes if you propose with a Ring Pop."

"That's not the point," Logan sighed.

"That's exactly the point."

The front door opened before Logan could argue, the sound instantly drawing everyone's attention. A second later, a lilting, beautiful laugh floated into the house—a sound Logan would recognize anywhere. Your laugh.

His stomach tightened, eyes immediately looking for you as Hannah and Allie entered the house. You followed close behind, and immediately, every ounce of progress he'd made disappeared. Because there—shopping bags. Everywhere.

Bright little logos, gold embossing of luxury brands, of little boutiques, of department stores. Logan could feel his pulse spike. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean tensing, muttering under his breath, "Oh, for the love of God."

Logan shot him a warning look. Dean rolled his eyes so hard Logan was almost genuinely impressed.

He saw your sift through the room, landing on Logan, and for a moment, a flash of emotions flickered across your face—relief, followed by uncertainty, then settling into something colder, emptier, something that made his stomach drop.

"Hey." Your voice was soft, polite and distant.

Logan hated it with every ounce of his being. "Hey, babe."

You smiled, the look never reaching your eyes. A moment of tense silence enveloped the living room. Logan could feel every single pair of eyes zeroed in on the two of you, and apparently, you could too, because you shifted uncomfortably. "I think I'm gonna put my stuff away."

Before Logan could respond, you disappeared up the stairs. The silence that followed was deafening, everyone's eyes trained on Logan until Dean let out an exasperated sigh, smacking the back of his head.

"Ow!" Logan groaned. "What the fuck?"

"Go."

Logan was up on his feet immediately, slipping the folded paper object into his back pocket before Hannah and Allie could get a good look at it.

And for once, nobody argued. Nobody joked about him being whipped, nobody teased him for being wrapped around your finger—because even they could feel the tension, the distance, the way something had shifted between the two of you.

Logan found you in your bedroom, the shopping bags sitting on the floor next to the bed. You stood on the far end, unpacking them carefully, methodically, like you were trying really hard not to think about something.

The look on your face made his chest hurt. "Babe?"

You glanced up, eyes sliding over his face before going right back to what you were doing. "Hi."

The polite distance in your voice was killing him. Logan stepped closer, words tangling in his throat. He needed to explain, needed to tell you. Except, as it always did in any important moment, his words failed him.

You stared at him expectantly for a moment, then sighed. "I got you something."

"What?" Logan blinked, confusion clear on his face as he accepted the small box you were holding out to him. His emotions knotted tight in his throat as he opened it, because something made you think of him.

Inside, on a delicate velvet cushion, sat a Bruins keychain—a simple, unremarkable trinket that brought him to the forefront of your mind while shopping. Undeniable proof that you were thinking of him, even when you were out with Hannah and Allie, even when you were clearly vexed with him.

His throat tightened. "Babe—"

"I thought you'd like it," you said softly. The smile that accompanied the words was small, sad.

Logan hated it, but more than that, he hated the realization that he'd brought that expression on your face. Because the weeks of stress, of secrecy, of acting like a complete asshole had clearly taken a toll on your relationship, and now—now you were looking at him like you weren't sure what to do with him anymore.

Logan cleared his throat. "I think I owe you an explanation."

You met his eyes, and for the first time all day, he saw something other than distance—hope. It was tiny, fragile, almost undetectable, but it was there.

"Okay," you whispered. The word had barely left your mouth when his phone rang. Logan froze. No. No, no, no.

He glanced down at the caller ID, his heart sinking, and sure enough, it was the jeweler—the custom jeweler he'd been working with for weeks, the one he'd been desperately waiting to hear from.

Before his very eyes, your expression changed. The hope vanished, replaced by the same cold indifference as before. Logan's pulse quickened. "Babe—"

"It's fine."

"I just need a minute."

You waved your hand dismissively, stepping back to create physical space between the two of you. "It's fine, Logan."

His phone continued to ring as he realized this was all his doing. All this distance between the two of you was his creation. The realization hit him like a punch in the ribs, gutting him almost as thoroughly as you brushing past him with the words, "I'll see you downstairs."

And just like that, the conversation was over.

His phone rang again, demanding his attention once more. Logan stared at the screen, then out the bedroom room at the empty hallway you'd disappeared into, and for the first time in weeks, a terrifying thought entered his mind: maybe the ring wasn't the thing he should've been worried about losing.

The call lasted several minutes—several long, agonizing minutes.

Logan barely heard half of what the jeweler was saying, his mind barely registering the words. Custom setting. Center stone.

Any other day, it would've been exactly the conversation he'd been waiting for, but instead, all he could think about was the look on your face when you walked out of the room.

By the time he hung up and headed downstairs, he felt sick.

The house was louder downstairs, Dean arguing with Garrett about something while Hannah laughed. A hockey game was playing on the television like background noise.

Life was continuing exactly as normal, which somehow made everything worse—because nothing felt normal.

Logan found you sitting alone in the lawn chairs by the firepit in the backyard. The sun was beginning to set, painting the yard pink and gold.

You were curled up on the chair, knees tucked against your chest. For a minute, he stood there, just outside your line of sight, wondering how he'd managed to screw up so fucking royally.

The floorboard of the back stoop creaked beneath his weight as he took a step toward you. You lifted your head, your face closing off the second you saw him—and that was the moment Logan truly knew that whatever was happening between the two of you wasn't something he could smooth over with a kiss and an apology. "Can we talk?"

You stared at him for several seconds, then nodded slowly. "Sure."

He lowered himself into the chair next to you, a heavy, uncomfortable silence settling between the two of you—the kind that hadn't ever existed before.

Finally, you spoke. "Are you cheating on me?"

The question hit him so hard he physically recoiled. "What?"

Your laugh was humorless, boken. "I asked if you're cheating on me."

"Babe—"

"Because I don't know what else I'm supposed to think anymore." The words were spilling out faster now, like they'd been trapped inside you for weeks. "You won't talk to me. You leave the room to answer phone calls. You hide your laptop every time I walk in."

Logan's stomach dropped. He opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going.

"You barely look at me lately." Your voice cracked—just slightly, just enough that the sound tore straight through him. "And every time I ask what's wrong, you tell me you're fine."

And suddenly, Logan could see it, could see the weeks of secrecy, of distance, of unexplained behavior through your eyes. God.

Of course you'd think that.

Your eyes were shining now. "You know the worst part?" you whispered, looking away. "I would've rather had you tell me the truth."

The sentence shattered something inside him, because you genuinely believed it. You genuinely thought there was another woman. That after everything—after three years, after every promise, every late night conversation making plans for your future together, you thought he was capable of hurting you like that.

And it wasn't because you didn't trust him, but because he'd given you every reason to question him, to harbor these thoughts.

The realization hit him like a freight train.

"Baby, no," he whispered, his voice cracking. "No."

You blinked. "What?"

"No." The words stumbled out of his mouth broken, desperate. "I'm not cheating on you. God, no."

You stared at him, hurt and uncertainty written all over your tear stained face. He'd done that. He'd put that doubt there. The realization made Logan drop his head into his hands.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then everything he'd been carrying for months finally spilled out, summed up in eight simple words. "I was trying to buy you a ring."

Complete silence. Logan turned his head toward you to see your brows furrowed. "What're you talking about?"

Logan laughed, a miserable, exhausted sound. "The phone calls, the laptop, all of it. I wanted it to be perfect. The proposal, the dream, everything."

He could see your mouth parting slightly in surprise, but he couldn't stop the words from tumbling out anymore, couldn't stop the tears blurring his vision as he continued in messy, unfiltered sentences. "You love beautiful things,"

"Logan—"

"No, listen. You do." A helpless smile tugged at his mouth. "You stop at every jewelry store window."

You laughed softly despite yourself. "I do not."

"You absolutely do."

A tiny ember of warmth flickered between the two of you, then disappeared. Logan swallowed hard. "The earrings."

Your smile vanished. "The earrings?"

"That day in Boston. Babe, you were so happy."

You stared at him, completely lost, and suddenly Logan felt absolutely ridiculous, but he continued anyway, pushing through the discomfort of laying his heart bare, because where else would he be safe if not with you? "I couldn't stop thinking about how much you loved them."

"Because they reminded me of my mom."

"I know," Logan's voice dropped. "I know, babe. That's what made it worse. Because all I could think about was that if those earring made you so happy, your engagement ring should make you even happier."

He laughed shakily. "And every ring I could afford felt wrong. I kept looking at our apartment options, at budgets, at our future."

His eyes met yours, voice choking as a single tear finally escaped the confines of his long lashes. "I want to give you everything, my love. I want you to have the life you deserve."

"John."

"And it's—it's killing me that I can't do it. It was killing me that I couldn't afford the ring I wanted for you."

You hand flew to your mouth, the tears in your eyes mirroring his.

"And then I started thinking maybe I should wait." Logan shook his head. "But I don't want to wait."

A tear slid down your cheek. "John."

He barely noticed. "I want to marry you."

The words landed heavily between you—simple, honest, terrified.

Logan looked away, unable to hold your gaze anymore. "I know its stupid. I know how insane I sound." Silence, for a moment. Then, quietly: "But you deserve so much better than what I can give you right now."

The sound of your chair scraping as you stood up made Logan finally lift his eyes up off the floor. You crossed the space between the two of you without hesitation. Your hands found his face—warm and familiar and feeling like coming home.

"So let me get this straight." Your thumbs brushed beneath his eyes. "You thought I cared more about a ring than I care about you?"

Logan winced. "When you put it that way—"

"John Logan." The fondness in your voice made his heart stutter. "I like jewelry. I like sparkly necklaces and expensive dress. I like shiny things—but none of those things are you."

His breath caught in his throat as you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. "I don't care about a large sparkly diamond."

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

'You d—"

"I'd marry you with paper rings, John Logan," you whispered, as his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you to him like you'd disappear if he let go. "I'd marry you with a twist tie. I'd marry you with nothing at all. You're the one I want, and nothing's ever gonna change that."

Logan's vision blurred again, because suddenly, all those nights, all those spreadsheets, all the fears—they all felt so small compared to this, compared to what he had with you. Compared to the certainty in your eyes—the certainty he'd been too stupid to trust.

Something in Logan's chest stuttered, because suddenly, he remembered the folded receipt, still sitting in his pocket. He'd been folding and refolding it between his fingers while Garrett and Dean gave him hell earlier, creasing the paper absentmindedly, and before he could think, his hand was moving.

You frowned as he dug into his back pocket. "What're you doing?"

Logan looked down, letting out a watery laugh.

"Jesus." Carefully, he pulled out the crumpled strip of paper. The receipt had been folded and twisted so many times that it barely resembled what it once was.

Except somehow, he'd managed to fold it into a ring.

A crooked, terrible ring—the saddest excuse for jewelry in human history.

You stared. "Oh my God."

Heat flooded Logan's face. "I was nervous."

A laugh escaped you. "What does that have to do with—"

"I don't know." He was laughing now, too, half-hysterical, half-relieved. "I just kept folding the damn thing."

The ring sat trapped between his fingers, somehow more important than any diamond he'd spent months obsessing over. There was no diamond, no grand romantic gesture. Just you—just the love of his life.

Logan knelt, and despite all the words spilling out of him only moments before, the only word that parted his lips was, "Please."

"Are you serious?"

Logan's voice shook. "I don't have the ring yet. I don't have the proposal I wanted to give you. I don't have it all figured out right now. But I know I want forever, and I don't want it with anyone but you."

A tear tracked it's way down your cheek. "John."

"I know it's not much, but—"

"It's perfect."

"It's literally made out of a receipt."

You laughed through your tears. "So?" The sound nearly stopped his heart. "So was our first grocery list."

Logan laughed—a real laugh this time, the first one in weeks. "Please, babe? Will you marry me?"

"Yes. Yes, you big idiot, of course I'll marry you."

You stared the paper ring from his hand as though it were made of diamonds, holding out your hand for him to slide the ring onto your finger.

It fit terribly. You loved it.

And just like that, every spreadsheet, every budget, every sleepless night, every fear he'd carried for months disappeared.

Because standing in front of him was the woman he'd been trying so desperately to impress, the woman who loved sparkly things, who deserved the world.

The woman wearing a paper ring like it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she'd ever owned.

💌: from kai, with love <3

[v-i-v-i-b-l-o-g]

Blondes :)

[iceyngi]

Okay but picture this meet cute: John Logan falls hard (on the ice, on the street, your choice) and the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is reader very softly asking him if he's okay (for sure he thinks he went to heaven)

OMGOMGOMG THIS IS SO CUTE YES. YOU ATE W THIS.

Falling for You (Literally)

☄︎ Pairing: Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating: PG ☄︎ Words: 553

It’s nearly midnight when Logan bursts out of the library doors and into the freezing night. He shivers slightly as he scans the courtyard looking for you.

You had been sitting a few tables over from him all evening. He had spent three hours of distracted studying, trying to build up the courage to walk over to you and say hello. When he finally had the perfect opening line, you had gotten up, packed your bags, and was already walking out. He knew he couldn’t just let you disappear so he ran out after you, not thinking to put on his jacket.

He spots you, about 30 meters ahead, walking like you were in a hurry to get where you were going. It looks like a scene from a movie. The path ahead is lit by nothing but a row of glowing golden street lamps, the white of the snow reflecting the warm hue.

“Hey! Wait up!” He calls out, his boots crunching loudly as he jogs down the snow-covered library steps to catch up to you.

He moves faster once he’s down the stairs. Not looking where he’s going, he doesn’t see the sheet of black ice peeking out from the snow. His right foot lands directly on it, causing his legs to fly out from under him. A split second later, he hits the frozen floor with a thud that knocks the wind out of him.

He groans, eyes squeezing shut as his bruised tailbone throbs. He doesn’t hear you run over and kneel beside him in the slush. So, when he blinks his eyes open, he’s convinced that fall took him out.

The world around you is a blur. The only thing that’s clear is your face, full of worry as you lean over him. You’re positioned perfectly to block the glare of the lamp behind you. It creates a golden halo around your face as the white snow continues to fall around you.

Your voice is soft, almost like a melody drifting through the air. “Hey… are you okay?”

“Am I in heaven?” It isn’t the opening line he had planned to use on you, but under the glowing lights and snow, it seems fitting.

Realising he’s not seriously hurt, you let out a soft laugh. It’s breathless and light, and the sound wraps around Logan like a warm hug. “Not quite.”

The fog in his brain clears, but he doesn’t take your outstretched gloved hand. Instead, his dark eyes imprint your features to his memory, utterly captivated. Looking down at him, your eyes catch the giant Briar U Hawks logo across his chest.

“Not so good on the ice, are you?” You tease, a playful smile pulling at your lips. “And here I thought the Hawks were a decent ice hockey team.”

Logan slaps his hand over his chest. “Ouch,” he groans dramatically. “And here I thought angels were supposed to be nice.”

“Only to people who need it.” Your eyes sparkle with amusement.

He chuckles, finally reaching up to take your hand. He doesn’t pull himself up right away though, instead choosing to look up at you with as much of a charming smile that he can muster through the pain.

“Well,” Logan starts, his voice dropping into a low hum. “I did just fall.” (for you)

Masterlist

[stuckinapril]

[balkansoul-deactivated20220924]

love how tumblr staff has time to censor words like “paint mixing” and “my face” and yet they can’t get rid of ssexsophie8127 thats been liking my posts from 2017

[ssexsophie8127]

fuck you

[ssexsophie8127]

i won

[dollssuicide]