🜼 — 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬 #𝟏
thank you @knightlittle for the dividers
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 𝟑,𝟒 𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬
𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐲 — 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 !
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 🜼
The first time Logan called you a good girl, he did not mean to. Which was a problem in itself, if he had meant to, perhaps you could have prepared.
If there had been warning, if he had looked at you with that slow, dangerous little smile and said it deliberately, you might have had enough time to collect yourself. To decide what face to make. To arrange your dignity into something presentable before it abandoned you entirely.
It was still early enough that certain things between you and Logan felt like discoveries rather than habits. Not awkward anymore, luckily you were past the worst of that. Past the first trembling moments of figuring out where to put your hands, when to ask, how to say something without feeling like every word had been dragged from somewhere too exposed.
But it was new enough that he still watched you closely.
You were in his room at the hockey house, Logan had been sitting against the headboard and you had started by kissing him there, then somehow ended up between his legs on the mattress with your knees pressed into the sheets and your hair falling over one shoulder. His door was locked. The house was noisy enough downstairs that privacy felt possible, but not silent enough to be too intense. Somewhere beneath you, Dean was shouting about someone stealing his cereal, which meant the world was still irritatingly alive outside the room.
Inside, it was warm. Logan was warmer.
He had one hand in your hair, not gripping. Just resting there, fingers curved gently against the back of your head. His other hand was fisted loosely in the sheets beside his thigh, like he was trying very hard to keep it there.
You learnt quickly that you liked that. You liked seeing his restraint, even though you were not entirely sure what to do with it yet. You had done this before.
Not often enough to be casual. Not rarely enough to be nervous in the same way. There was a strange little space between those things, where you wanted badly to be good at it but did not want to look like you were trying too hard. Which was stupid, because trying was the point.. Trying was academically and socially defensible.
Unfortunately, none of that made you feel less exposed with your mouth on him and Logan breathing your name like a warning.
“Slow,” he murmured.
You paused just enough to look up.
His head was tipped back against the wall, eyes dark and fixed on you. His sweatshirt was shoved up his stomach, jeans open, hair a mess from your hands. He looked less composed than usual, which helped. A lot.
“Too much?” you asked.
His mouth parted.
“No,” his laugh came out rough, “God, no. Just—slow down a little.”
You blinked.
“I thought you liked—”
“I do.”
“That was not a complete sentence.”
He looked at you then, properly, and even in the heat of it his mouth twitched.
“You want notes?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrows lifted and you immediately regretted sounding so eager.
“Not like an evaluation,” you clarified.
“Cherry.”
“What?”
“You are between my legs asking for constructive feedback.”
Your face warmed, “Well, now you’re making it sound clinical.”
“It sounded clinical when you said notes.”
“I like being thorough.”
“I’m aware.”
You narrowed your eyes. He smiled, but the smile did not last long because your hand moved again and his breath caught hard enough to interrupt whatever smug thing he had been about to say.
There. You liked that too, that you could cut him off without using words.
You tried again, slower this time, paying attention to the way his stomach tightened and his fingers pressed into your hair before he remembered himself and loosened them. His breathing shifted. You watched his face, greedy for signs, for proof, for anything that told you you were doing it right.
Logan noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“You don’t have to think so hard,” he said, voice low.
You pulled back just enough to answer, one hand still wrapped around him.
“I am not thinking hard.”
“You’re concentrating.”
“I’m learning.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
His eyes darkened at that.
Something about the word changed him. Not much. Just enough for the hand in your hair to flex, thumb brushing near your temple.
“Okay,” he stroked your hair, “Then slower.”
You obeyed.
His jaw tightened as he sighed, “Use your hand too. Like— yeah. There.”
Your pulse jumped.
There.
Such a stupidly satisfying word.
You adjusted, following the rhythm he guided you into, letting him show you without pushing you, his hand careful in your hair and his voice rougher each time he gave you another tiny instruction. It should have made you embarrassed. It did. But there was something else underneath it, something warmer and more dangerous than embarrassment.
You liked being guided by him.
You liked that he could tell you what to do without making you feel small.
You liked the way his voice went uneven when you listened.
“Just like that,” he moaned softly.
Your eyes flicked up.
His head had fallen back again, throat exposed, lips parted. He looked wrecked enough that your pride bloomed in your chest, hot and pleased. You kept going, slower, better, more certain now.
Logan’s hand tightened in the sheets,“That’s it,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Good girl.”
Everything stopped.
Not outside.
Outside, Dean was still yelling about cereal justice. Someone laughed in the hallway. Music thudded faintly through the floor.
But in your body, everything stopped.
And Logan felt it.
His eyes opened, head lifting from the wall and gaze dropping to you with sharp, immediate attention. The hand in your hair stilled completely.
You were still between his legs, still touching him, still too close to pretend you had simply remembered an appointment.
His expression slowly shifted,“Oh?”
You pulled back, face already hot.
“No.”
His mouth curved.
“No?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you learn something.”
Logan breathed out a laugh, but it came out too rough to be casual,“Baby.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said enough with your eyebrows.”
“My eyebrows?”
“Yes.”
“They’re involved now?”
“They’re very communicative.”
His smile widened, and the heat in your face became unbearable because he was still looking at you like that. Like he had found a drawer you had not known was unlocked. He lifted his hand from your hair and touched your jaw instead, gentle enough that you could have moved away without effort.
“You like that?”
“No.”
His thumb brushed once along your cheek,“No?”
You stared at him.
He waited.
That was the thing about Logan. He did not always fill silence when he knew it would do the work for him. He just waited, face warm and amused and careful, hand steady at your jaw.
“Maybe.”
His eyes darkened, “Colour?”
The question landed softly, grounding everything at once.
“Green,” you said too quickly.
His smile changed, “Yeah?” His thumb moved under your chin, tilting your face up a fraction. “My good girl’s green?”
Your entire body reacted.
Logan noticed that too.
His breath shifted, and for one second he looked like he had forgotten what game he was playing.
Then he laughed, quiet and ruined, “Oh, Cherry.”
“You cannot say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re pleased with yourself.”
“I am pleased with myself.”
“That is not attractive.”
“It’s a little attractive.”
“It is not.”
“You’re still holding me.”
You looked down.
You were, hand still on him- not moving the entire time you had made the discovery. In fact, your grip had tightened
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” he replied, voice rougher now. “I know.”
You should have stopped. You considered stopping.
Not because you wanted to, but because it would have restored some kind of balance. You could have sat back, crossed your arms, accused him of misconduct in the field of vocabulary, and turned the whole thing into a joke before it became something he could use.
Instead, you looked at him; properly- studying his face, the flush on his cheekbones and the little stunned glint in his eye,like your reaction had done something to him too. Like he had said the words without thinking, watched you respond, and realised in real time that he had found a way to make you softer than either of you had been expecting.
That made you want to hear it again. Badly.
Which was inconvenient for your propriety, and humiliating for your ego- but unconventionally motivating for the rest of you.
You leaned back down.
Logan’s hand twitched, “Cherry.”
You ignored the warning in his voice, you knew exactly what you were doing now.
Mostly.
You took him into your mouth again. Slower at first, because he had said slower and you were suddenly, catastrophically invested in doing this correctly. His hand returned to your hair, fingers threading through carefully, then tightening when you used your hand the way he had shown you.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
That was very nice.
You did it again. His hips shifted, barely. He caught himself immediately, hand flattening against the mattress.
You looked up. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on you, and all the smugness had taken a significant hit. You hollowed your cheeks a little, using what you had learned, what he had told you, what his body was telling you now.
His head hit the wall, “Baby.”
You hummed in response, his whole body jerked in response.
“Jesus.”
You pulled back just enough to breathe, hand still moving, “Notes?”
He laughed, but there was no humour left in it. Only disbelief.
“You want notes right now?”
“Yes.”
His eyes dropped to your mouth.
Then back to your eyes.
“Slow again.”
You listened. His breathing turned ragged.
“Hand— yeah. Just like that.”
Warmth spread through your chest. In anticipation. You were waiting for the two words to reward your actions, and you hated it.
Logan’s mouth parted, then curved with sudden understanding.
“Oh,” he said softly.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
His voice dropped, “You’re trying to get me to say it again.”
Your face burned.
“No.”
“No?”
You did not answer.
He shifted his hand in your hair, not pushing, not forcing, just holding enough to make your stomach tighten.
“Look at me.”
You did. It was a mistake for your resolve, everything was a mistake.
His eyes were dark and bright at once, amusement tangled with want, want tangled with something softer because he understood exactly how new this was. Exactly how much you hated that he understood.
“If you want it,” he said, low, “you can have it.”
Your throat moved.
“But you’re gonna have to stop pretending you don’t.”
That was unfair.
You stared at him for one stubborn second. Then lowered your mouth again.
This time, you did not rush.
You did exactly what he had told you. Slower. Hand moving with your mouth. Eyes up. Breathing carefully. Not trying to impress him with force, not trying to hide behind performance.
His grip tightened.
“That’s it,” he breathed.
You held his gaze.
His jaw flexed.
Then, rougher, “Good girl.”
There it was.
The words went through you like heat.
It was embarrassing how immediately they worked. Your focus sharpened. Your body seemed to understand them before your mind did, every nerve lighting up with pleased, greedy purpose. It was not even that you became softer, exactly.
You became determined. Dangerously determined.
Logan realised a second too late.
Because you went for it- properly.
You didn’t rush and your moves hadn’t become clumsy, but you were suddenly much more committed to proving the praise deserved repeating. Your free hand slid to his thigh, fingers pressing into denim. Your mouth moved with more confidence now, following every broken sound he made, every shift in his breathing, every tightening of his hand in your hair.
His smugness vanished completely.
“Oh, fuck.”
You would have smiled if your mouth had been free.
It was not. So you did the next best thing.
You kept going.
Logan’s hand slammed against the mattress, fingers twisting in the sheet,“Cherry.”
It came out beautifully wrecked.
You looked up, and the sight of him nearly undid you. His head tipped back, throat working, chest rising hard, hair messy from your earlier hands, green sweatshirt shoved up over his stomach. He looked like someone had given you secret instructions and you had followed them too well.
That was, technically, what had happened.
“Baby,” he said, voice strained, “slow down.”
You immediately did.
His eyes opened. Logan’s expression softened for half a second before the heat swallowed it.
“Good,” he murmured, and then, because apparently he had no survival instinct left, “good girl.”
Your eyes fluttered.
His breath caught, “You really like that.”
You pulled back, mouth warm, face hotter.
“I am providing positive reinforcement.”
For one second, he stared at you and then he laughed, a rough, helpless sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised you.
“Positive reinforcement?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to call it that?”
“It’s accurate.”
“You’re the one being reinforced.”
You frowned, “That is not how I’m choosing to frame this.”
He sat up a little, hand still in your hair, eyes so dark you lost your next thought.
“No?”
“No.”
His thumb brushed your cheek.
“You sure?”
You swallowed.
Then, quieter, “Maybe it works both ways.”
That did something to him.
You saw it happen.
His amusement faded into something more intent, more affected. His hand slid from your hair to your jaw, thumb resting lightly near the corner of your mouth.
“Yeah?” he said.
You nodded once.
He looked at you for a long second and then kissed you.
It should have been too strange, considering where your mouth had been, but Logan did not seem to care. The kiss was deep and warm and messy enough to make your knees shift against the bedspread. His hand held your face like he was trying not to grip too hard, like he was reminding himself that this was still new, that you were still learning, that the softness he had found was not something to grab at carelessly.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“Still green?”
Your chest warmed, “Yes.”
“Good.”
You closed your eyes.
He laughed softly, “Not even the whole phrase.”
“Shut up.”
“You reacted to good.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I am leaving.”
“You’re kneeling.”
“I am spiritually leaving.”
He kissed the side of your mouth,“Stay.”
You did.
Obviously.
You stayed because he asked softly, because his hand was warm at your face, because you liked how he sounded when you got it right. Because he had said good girl and the world had not ended, even though your dignity had suffered a temporary structural collapse.
You went back down again.
This time, Logan was less composed from the start. He still guided you, but his voice had rough edges now, the instructions broken up by breath and curses and your name. He told you when to slow down, when to use your hand, when to look at him, and every time you listened, he praised you for it.
Not every time with the words.
Sometimes it was good. Sometimes there. Sometimes just a low, wrecked yeah that made your thighs press together where you knelt. But when he did say it, when good girl slipped into the room again, you felt it everywhere.
And Logan knew and he was absolutely going to become unbearable about it. Later.
For now, he was too close to be smug.
His hand tightened gently in your hair, “Cherry.”
You looked up. He was breathing hard, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like he was holding himself back with his teeth.
“I’m close.”
Your stomach flipped, “Do you want me to stop?”
His laugh sounded almost pained, “No.”
“Tell me,” you pleaded.
The words came out before you could make them prettier.
His expression changed.
His hand softened in your hair.
“Keep going,” he said, voice low, “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”
Your heart stuttered.
He came with your name in his mouth and one hand careful in your hair, his whole body tensing under you before he went loose against the headboard. You stayed close until he gently tugged you up, pulling you into his lap with the kind of urgency that was more emotional than physical.
He kissed you first.
Then your cheek.
Then your forehead.
Then, absurdly, the tip of your nose.
You blinked at him.
“What was that?”
“Gratitude.”
“You kissed my nose out of gratitude?”
“Yeah.”
“That is not standard protocol.”
“I’m improvising.”
“You should workshop it.”
His laugh was quiet against your skin.
You sat in his lap, slightly dazed and trying to recover your dignity while he looked at you like recovering your dignity was not a thing he had any interest in helping you do.
After a minute, his thumb brushed your lower lip.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Too much?”
You shook your head.
“No.” Then, because honesty had already ruined enough of your evening, you added, “I liked it.”
His eyes softened.
“What part?”
You gave him a look.
“Do not fish.”
“I’m not.”
“You are absolutely fishing.”
“I’m asking.”
“You know.”
His mouth curved.
“Do I?”
You looked away.
“Logan.”
“Cherry.”
“You cannot call me that casually.”
His eyebrows lifted,“Cherry?”
You glared.
He grinned,“Oh.” His hand slid to your waist, “That.”
“Yes. That.”
“Good girl?”
Your whole body betrayed you. Immediately.
He saw and the grin faded into something slower,“There it is.”
“You are evil.”
“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Just informed.”
“I hate informed men.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
“You want me to forget?”
You turned back to him.
He was teasing, but the question under it was real. Warm. Careful. Offering you the out before you had to ask for one.
Your expression softened despite yourself, “No.”
His hand moved gently over your back.
“No?”
“No.” You swallowed. “Just don’t be smug.”
“That might be hard.”
“Try.”
“For you?”
You nodded once.
His mouth brushed yours, “Okay.”
You did not believe him. Which was wise, because ten seconds later, when he handed you the water bottle from his nightstand and you took it automatically, he murmured, “Attagirl,” under his breath.
You stopped.
Slowly turned your head.
He was looking away.
Badly.
“Logan.”
“Hm?”
“I heard that.”
“Heard what?”
“You’re testing adjacent vocabulary.”
“I’m hydrating you.”
“You are conducting research.”
“Positive reinforcement,” he said solemnly.
You stared at him.
Then hit him in the chest with a pillow.
He laughed properly then, catching it before you could swing again, pulling you down with him until you were both lying half-sideways on the bed, your hair in his face, his sweatshirt still shoved up, the room warm and messy and ridiculous around you.
Downstairs, Dean yelled, “FOR THE LAST TIME, WHO TOOK MY CEREAL?”
You and Logan both went still.
Then Logan looked at you.
You looked back.
He whispered, “Wasn’t me.”
You whispered, “I think Allie took it for our dorm .”
He laughed again, quieter this time, and pulled you closer.
You tucked your face into his neck, still embarrassed, still warm, still buzzing faintly with the knowledge that something new had been found and carefully kept.
Logan’s hand moved slowly over your back.
A little while later, when you thought he might have fallen asleep, his voice came softly near your ear.
“You really were good, you know.”
Your heart squeezed and you lifted your head
He was watching you with tired, warm eyes.
“You can just say thank you,” you said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
A pause.
Then, because you were you, “I still think your terminology caused unnecessary complications.”
His mouth curved.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Noted.”
“You’re going to do it again.”
“Probably.”
“At least be academically responsible.”
“What does that mean?”
“Controlled conditions. Clear variables. No surprise terminology.”
He brushed hair from your face, smiling like he could not help it.
“And if I say it accidentally?”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Then I suppose we’ll have to document the effects.”
Very slowly, his expression changed, “Positive reinforcement?”
You sighed into his chest.
“I have created a monster.”
Logan kissed the top of your head, “Good girl.”
You groaned.
He laughed so hard the bed shook.
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @harls-sturn, @https-dandelion, @watergirl85, @brianna28483, @irishone11, @anyasthoughts, @kmc1989, @norrisidous, @glorveina, @zophiathefirst, @outpostsworld, @yomamaslays4lyfe, @babblegumgirl101, @itmekelpy, @strengthandstay, @run-for-the-hills, @eviemae5864, @tabisswag, @reveries01, @gojodaddy1029 @lukeyoumeanit, @ashloveshockey, @fandom-princess-forevermore @thewrxith05 @jemimah-b99, @themarvelousbee, @roisebear, @bootyliciousbutterfly, @clarittys, @mossmydarling, @gobiiiyob, @cutiekirby, @choppedpartymuffinwinner, @beathreat @manixie, @melaninbradshaw, @sunmooner, @lilylilyyyyyy, @wintermoonly, @emilyswortwellen, @legendarychrattgirl, @linnygirl09, @saturnssrings, @solstice-333, @loonylosworld, @alwaysforgr63, @getawaycarficrecs, @mattssweetheart, @wiishies, @emsluvv, @its-phi, @p0w3rp01nt, @m00nlightdaze, @violetisheresworld, @ronjantz, @princessglittersparklecupcake, @lllucere, @hadesnumber1daughter, @beelivable, @glitterbutt, @unknownsangel2, @hteusefam, @runicgriffintundra, @parker-barnes-af, @hxneydewsblog, @andisalias, @lucyysthings, @mariamadison6-blog, @yehsahihai, @ilovesharry, @cherryrulestheworld, @offcampusimaginesyass, @luvelyss16, @chrissbows, @lazystarlightsecret, @thegirlunivers-blog, @44-ilton, @unknownsangel2, @runicgriffintundra, @stilinskisensation, @lucyysthings, @violetisheresworld, @leysol, @ridinnjeanssdichhhh, @virgoalert123,@carolinexkpop, @annxblack, @latenighttalkinqwp, @laushine, @rocklandhoax, @mattmurdockswifeyy, @decaffeinatedpuppygiver, @otterly-fey, @undercoverbatwoman, @qualityvoidsweets, @megumitoenail, @0fics, @littl3d3v, @daughterfrcmhell, @sincere1ysam, @singlepringle4you.
