𝜗𝜚 about me. masterlist. rules. the pitt taglists.
criminal minds taglists. general taglist. my spotify.
my pinterest.
𔓘 request: open. Asks: open. .ᐟ.ᐟ
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
i will not accept any racism, homophobia, transphobia, will not be tolerated and you’ll be blocked if you support any of this
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
this blog is a completely safe place for everyone. type of fics respecting the request guidelines and please always do it respectfully and don't forget to say hi and thank you. ᯓᡣ𐭩
all's fair in love and poetry BY TAYLOR SWIFT ⋆. 𐙚 ˚
summery: you didn’t meant to send nudes to the cute guy in your business class, obviously.
content: 18+ smau
⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
imessage
josh 🚨❌
Pls yn, let’s talk
I promise i’ll change
Shes nothing like you
“can you believe the nerve of this guy?” hannah asks, handing back your phone after reading through the messages.
allie just sips her juice. she’s back on that ‘weird and green’ liquid diet again. “sounds exactly like sean. it’s not even worth it, babe”
you sigh, adjusting your bag. “i’m not going back to him, aj. i just wanted to show you guys in case he totally bombards us on the way to class and you don't know what to say”
“he’d actually do that?” hannah asks, her eyes wide.
“oh, they’ll do that and more” allie chimes in, setting her green juice down.
“well, i have to get to my business class” you stand up from the couch and head toward the door, pausing just before you grab the handle.
“oh, wait! can one of you swing by my dorm later? see if those dresses by my bed fit either of you. i might need to retake your measurements, han, i think i lost the old ones”
“yeah, i can totally do that” hannah reassures you.
you shout a quick goodbye and slip out the door.
instagram
yourusername
yourusername lil catch up :)
comments
user so stunning
user lovee
summer.d my girllll
user fashion major girlyyy
hannahwells very needed talk
↳ yourusername veryy
tap to load more
imessages
my girls !!
aj
movie night tn?
you
yess
han
can’t, tutoring
ava (roomie) <3
who?? bruh, cancel rn
aj
garrett graham 🥵🥵
han
sigh
you
WHAT
ava (roomie) <3
WHAT
instagram
yourusername
yourusername digicam hardlaunching han’s..idk
comments
user waitttt teaaaa
alliehayes thanks 4 the coffee
↳ yourusername anything 4 u ;)
user wait i love them tg
graham44 send me that pic
tap to load more
imessages
han :)
garrett is friends w that cute guy in ur business class
you
🤨 ?
han :)
i could totally put in a good word for u
you
HAHAH i love u but no
han :)
whyy don’t get stuck on josh now
you
it’s not that LOL but like we are classmates, wouldn’t it be awk?
han :)
ur not classmates forever
you
the rest of the semester is long enough
plus if i rlly wanted him, i already have his #
han :)
well, text him !!
you
so adamant
why
han :)
🤷♀️ u need to get laid?
you
HA, bye han
han :)
think abt it
think about it? of course you have! you’ve done more than just think about it — just not out loud.
well, maybe a little out loud. you mentioned it, very briefly, to hannah and allie, but that was back when the semester had just started and hannah wasn’t all buddy-buddy with the whole hockey team.
plus, jocks weren’t really your type anyway.
instagram
yourusername
yourusername don’t remember last night but ;)
comments
user cuteee
joshuaap 😍 so hot
user what camera ??!!
alliehayes don’t drink ever again
↳ yourusername i’m scared
↳ alliehayes no, ur screwed
tap to load more
* @j.logan started to follow you *
you don’t really remember how it happened.
you were at the bar, building up the courage to finally talk to the cute guy from your business class — john logan, you’d remembered his name. hannah and allie were both there, hyping buying shots you up and pushing you to just go for it. but the exact second garrett, hannah’s new (and totally fake) boyfriend, showed up, your courage completely plummeted. you couldn’t believe you had actually been about to walk over there.
it wasn’t just the loud, unmistakably energy garrett brought with him everywhere he went, but the sudden realization that every other athlete on the team probably pulled that exact same level of attention. and you weren’t exactly wrong. by the time you downed your third— and what you had hoped to be your last — shot, logan was already chatting up a cute redhead. her hand was resting on his arm, and she was leaning in, giggling at whatever he was saying.
your disappointment didn’t last long, though. a few quick texts to josh, and you were out of the bar, hooking up in the back of his car.
which brings you to right now, a couple of days later.
you're standing here in a black, incredibly skimpy lingerie set. maybe it’s just your hormones, or maybe it’s the fact that ever since that night, the one you still can't fully piece together, logan has actually been making an effort to strike up small talk with you.
your head can handle it just fine. you can keep the conversation easy and casual. your heart, though, not so much. so, you pushed it away.
you snap another picture, your hair tossed messily to the side, framing your body perfectly. that makes three photos in total. josh will like them, of course he will. they’re simple and direct, and what guy wouldn't? you're horny, josh is a guy, and he’s easy. he’ll drop whatever plans he has to come over, satisfy you, and leave.
no strings, no effort. that’s what you wanted.
you open your contacts and type 'j' into the search bar. you don’t even hesitate, automatically assuming josh’s name will pop up first because he was the most recent. you hit send without a second thought, tossing your phone aside to change back into your cotton shorts and pj shirt.
imessage
you
*attachment: 3 images*
need you so bad
come over pls ;)
you understand he might be busy, but in josh time, twenty five minutes of silence after receiving nudes is crazy.
maybe he’s jerking off? whatever.
you open your phone again to look through the pictures you sent. there was the one on the bed, back arched and boobs pressed up. another one, taken through your computer's webcam, showing off all your curves. the last one is what you’d consider the most revealing, in the mirror, legs open, your fingers playing with your own arousal.
as you go to exit the chat, your eyes catch the icon at the top of the conversation, and you feel like you might actually go into cardiac arrest.
you freeze in bed, then slowly sit up. you might honestly have to erase yourself from planet earth, because there is absolutely no way this is happening to you. in the mindless, stupid, totally checked out state you were in, you didn't just send those pictures to the wrong person, you sent them to someone who makes you want to end either your own life or his.
fuck.
meanwhile, those exact images were popping up on john logan’s screen just as he was wrapping up practice.
he’d noticed your name flash on his phone earlier, which was weird since the cute girl from his business class had never texted him before. he figured maybe you just needed the lecture notes. but the second practice ended, his sweaty, bruised body won the debate, and he decided to hit the showers before checking his messages.
only ten minutes had passed since you sent them. half the team was already out of the locker room, and the few guys who remained were packing up to leave. it had been a genuinely shitty practice, with coach o’shea forcing the d-men to stay late for extra drills. but the moment logan actually opened your message, every ounce of that exhaustion completely vanished from his mind and body.
holy fucking smokes.
he blew a heavy breath out of his mouth and leaned back against his locker cubicle, his eyes locked onto the screen, unable to look away for even a second.
his dick seemed to work a hell of a lot faster than his brain did, because before he could even process what he was looking at, he was already sporting a semi.
he couldn’t tell if ten seconds or ten minutes had flown by, but he finally snapped out of the million racing thoughts in his head, one louder than all the rest.
this wasn’t meant for him. no way.
sure, he’d received plenty of unprovoked nudes from girls before, but you just didn’t seem like the type to do that.
fuck. he knew for a fact those pictures weren’t meant for him, but he couldn't simply just look away, and—
before his thoughts could spiral any further, another text from you flashed across the screen.
imessage
you
omg wrong person!!!
don’t look at those, or save them
not for u obvi
fuck, i’m sorry
john logan (business class)
sure, but only if u tell me who were they for?
because i’m pretty sure your pretty little pussy isn’t going to take care of itself.
you
???????????
just forget abt this pls
john logan (business class)
i can’t, baby
*attachment: 1 image*
you don’t understand anything anymore.
one second you are dying of total embarrassment, practically booking a one way flight to antarctica while begging john logan to forget about your... completely indecent, completely accidental pictures. the next, your airway almost entirely shuts down at the sight of his text, showing a clear image of logan gripping his dick right through his sweatpants.
oh my gosh. this cannot actually be happening to you right now.
you're usually the good one at texting. your friends always come to you when they need the perfect reply written for them, but you never, in a million years, thought you’d find yourself in a position like this.
you
thanks ?????
thanks? you truly are an idiot.
meanwhile, logan chuckles. yep, you definitely don’t do this very often, or ever, by the looks of it.
based on the last text he sent, he had been hoping for something a little more than your dry, unintentionally funny response.
he had already walked out of the arena by now and was sitting in his car. logan isn't blind, he obviously finds you extremely attractive. jumping from simple classmates to a quick, accidental hookup doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all to him. he knows you aren’t usually the type for that kind of thing, but maybe he can sweet talk you into it.
john logan (business class)
c’mon, don’t u need someone to take of u?
i’ll make it worth ur while, i promise
he almost gives up when five minutes pass and there’s nothing but a 'read' receipt under his message.
almost, though.
john logan (business class)
pls, baby
want u so bad
his dick twitches in his pants when he reads the message that comes through.
you
🙄 bristol house, door #67
he smiles at your text and immediately turns on his engine. before pulling out, he sends a quick reply.
john logan (business class)
good girl, i’m omw
i rlly like the set but im sure i’ll like u better without it so don’t bother having it on when i get there.
instagram
j.logan
j.logan thanks for letting borrow the cam, babe❤️
comments
deandilaurentis pussy whippeddddd 🤣
↳ beaumaxwell @alliehayes
↳ alliehayes pls 😭
user so cute
hannahwells i recognize that camera anywhere 🧐
↳ yourusername 🤭
j.tucker as long u don’t bring her around my kitchen anymore
girl i just need ANY john logan smut🥹🥹 something hot, love uuu
hell yeah, ugh i love him so much and i know this man is a freak ifykyk, so i write this i hope it's what you asked for, thank you anon love you!!!
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Come Get Me — John Logan
Summary: Logan has been ignoring your messages and calls, and you decide you've had enough, so your best idea is to annoy him with some random guy.
Warnings: SMUT +18 MINORS DNI, explicit content, fwb jealousy/teasing, possessive behavior, semi-public sex, rough sex, dom!johnlogan x fem!afab!reader, dirty talk, hair pulling, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don't do it), creampie, degradation kink, use of baby, little slut, good girl, and I think that's all.
I don't think I've forgotten anything, if I do, let me know.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The party was electric, the bass thumping through the crowded house like a second heartbeat. Sweat-slicked bodies pressed together on the dance floor, but your attention was locked on one man: John Logan. He’d ghosted you all fucking day—no replies to your texts, no calls answered. You knew the hockey team had a week off before start training again, but that didn’t excuse the radio silence from the guy whose cock you craved on a regular basis. It pissed you off… and turned you on. So you decided to punish him the way you knew would drive him insane.
You strutted straight to the center of the dance floor, owning every step. Your hips rolled in slow, filthy circles, back arching so your short dress rode high up your thighs, flashing the lacy edge of your panties with every sway. You ran your hands down your body, cupping your tits briefly before sliding them lower, biting your lip as you moved like a total slut—deliberately, teasingly, putting on a show you knew would get under his skin.
Logan was posted up against the wall, talking to Dean, but the second Dean spotted you, he let out a low whistle.
“Damn, man. You really lucked out with her. One of the hottest girls here and she lets you fuck her whenever you want? That’s a straight-up jackpot.”
Logan turned, and his eyes darkened the instant they landed on you. He knew exactly what you were doing. When a random guy slid up behind you, pressing his hard body against your ass and matching your rhythm, Logan’s jaw clenched tight. The guy’s hands boldly gripped your waist, pulling you back against his crotch.
Logan let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Yeah… guess so.”
Dean raised an eyebrow as the stranger got handsier, palms sliding down to grope your hips and thighs. “Looks like he’s about to steal your little fuck buddy right from under you,” Dean smirked.
Logan couldn’t tear his eyes away. His broad shoulders tensed, veins standing out on his forearms as he gripped his beer bottle so hard his knuckles went white. He wanted to storm over and rip that guy’s hands off what he considered his, but instead he just stood there, burning with jealousy and raw lust, watching you grind back against the stranger like a filthy tease.
You locked eyes with Logan across the room and didn’t look away. You arched harder, rolling your ass against his bulge, lips parted in a fake moan of pleasure—all for Logan. The sexual tension between you crackled like lightning. You could practically feel his possessive rage from across the room.
Finally, you leaned back against your dance partner and called out loud enough for the guy to hear over the music, “I’m going to the bathroom…” You flashed the stranger a slutty little smile, slipped from his grip, and sauntered down the dimly lit hallway, hips swaying with every step.
You heard Logan’s heavy footsteps behind you almost immediately. Your pussy throbbed with anticipation. Instead of the bathroom, you ducked into the empty bedroom at the end of the hall and left the door cracked open. The loud music faded to a muffled throb as you quickly hid just inside the connected bathroom, heart hammering.
The bedroom door creaked open.
You waited a few teasing seconds, then stepped out with wide, innocent eyes. “Hope you’re ready for me,” you purred, voice dripping with seduction.
Logan stood there, arms crossed over his powerful chest, wearing a dangerous, bitter smirk. His tall, muscular hockey-player frame filled the doorway. “Cute little act,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Real fucking cute. You think I don’t know exactly what a dirty slut like you is doing?”
Before you could reply, he closed the distance in two long strides. His big hand gripped the back of your neck possessively and slammed his mouth against yours in a bruising, angry kiss. His tongue invaded deep, claiming you, tasting of beer and barely restrained fury. He pinned you hard against the wall, grinding his massive erection against your stomach so you could feel how painfully hard you’d made him.
“You think you can tease me like that?” he snarled against your lips, biting your bottom one sharply. “Dancing like a little slut, letting that asshole grind all over what’s mine? Letting him touch you?”
His words sent a fresh gush of wetness between your thighs. You whimpered into his mouth, but he spun you around fast, pressing your tits against the cool wall. He yanked your head back by the hair, exposing your neck, and attacked it with hot, open-mouthed kisses and sucking bites that would definitely leave marks. His other hand shoved under your dress, fingers roughly yanking your soaked panties aside.
“Fuck… this slutty little pussy is dripping for me,” he groaned, voice thick with lust. “Not for him. Say it.”
“It’s yours, Logan,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand like a desperate whore.
“Damn right.” He ripped your panties down your legs and shoved two thick fingers deep inside your tight, wet heat. You moaned loudly as he started finger-fucking you hard and fast, curling them perfectly against your G-spot while his thumb rubbed rough circles on your swollen clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers plunging in and out filled the room.
He kept you right on the edge for what felt like forever—pumping faster, then slowing down cruelly whenever your thighs started shaking. His mouth stayed at your ear, whispering filthy things:
“You’re such a naughty little cocktease… getting me this worked up just so I’d come fuck you like the slut you are.”
He dropped to his knees, spun you around, shoved your dress up to your waist and buried his face between your spread thighs. His tongue licked long, hungry stripes up your dripping slit before latching onto your clit and sucking hard. Three thick fingers stretched you open again as he devoured you—licking, sucking, tongue-fucking you with filthy enthusiasm. Your legs trembled violently. You gripped his hair, grinding shamelessly against his face, moaning like a pornstar.
Every time you got close to exploding, he pulled back, licking slowly and teasingly until the orgasm faded, only to start the torture again. Your juices coated his chin and fingers.
“Logan, please…” you begged, voice breaking.
“Not yet,” he growled, standing up. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed, kissing you deep and messy the whole way, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
He dropped you on the mattress, stripped your dress off, and yanked his own clothes away. His thick, heavy cock sprang free—rock hard, veins pulsing, the head already leaking precum. He climbed over you, spread your legs obscenely wide, and rubbed his cockhead up and down your soaked folds, slapping it against your clit repeatedly.
“Look at me,” he demanded, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. “Tell me who this greedy little pussy belongs to.”
“It’s yours,” you moaned sluttily. “This pussy is all yours, baby. Please fuck me.”
He thrust in deep with one powerful stroke, stretching you wide around his thick cock. You cried out at the fullness. Logan groaned and started fucking you with long, hard strokes, the bed creaking wildly. He kept you on edge for ages—pounding deep, then slowing to shallow teasing thrusts, grinding against your clit while refusing to let you cum.
He flipped you onto all fours, yanked your hair back like reins, and slammed into you from behind, fucking you harder, deeper. His balls slapped against your clit with every thrust. One hand reached around to torment your swollen clit while he railed you mercilessly.
You were a whimpering, sobbing mess—pushing back desperately, begging incoherently.
“Logan—fuck—I’m so close, please let me cum… I’ll be your good girl, just please—”
He leaned over your back, biting your shoulder. “Beg louder, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.”
“Please, Johnny— I’m yours. This pussy is yours. Let me cum all over your cock!”
His thrusts grew brutal and fast. “That’s my filthy girl. Cum for me baby.”
The orgasm crashed through you like lightning—intense, shattering, your walls clamping down around him in powerful spasms as you screamed his name, body shaking uncontrollably. Logan groaned deeply and buried himself to the hilt, pumping you full of hot, thick cum.
He stayed inside you for a long time afterward, both of you panting and trembling. Finally he pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from your wrecked pussy with dark satisfaction. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest, one hand gently stroking your hair.
“Don’t ever pull that shit again,” he murmured against your forehead, still breathing hard. “Next time you want me, you come to me like a good girl. Got it?”
You smiled against his skin, still buzzing with pleasure. “Got it,” you whispered. Though you both knew you’d tease him again soon… just to feel him fuck you like a possessive and hungry man again.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ᥫ᭡
I'm taking requests for any of the off campus boys like Logan (please ask for him because i can't get him out of my head), Dean, Garrett and my baby Tucker (ugh he's just a baby I love him).
Please leave me a request, I want to write something about them... (smut, angst, fluff, headcanons, thoughts, anything).
You and John have been officially together for nearly two months now, after meeting when his hockey team played your school’s team and you happened to be working. He asked for your number, you went on some dates, and the rest became history. This is your first real relationship, and you could not be happier.
Of course, you do have some worries, especially in the sex department- you are very inexperienced. You know yourself and your own body, and you really do want to take the next step; you are just nervous. John knows this, and you’ve both agreed to take things slow. When you are both ready, you’ll know.
To others, he’s Logan. but to you, he’s John. Your John. Your John is the most respectful man you have ever met in your life. He always checks in with you about your boundaries, frequently asking if things are okay, especially when it’s something he knows you haven’t experienced before. You really, really like him, which makes you want to be even better for him when you do finally take things to the next level. You just needed some time to become comfortable.
At first, you were more than comfortable with this arrangement. You love spending time with him no matter what the occasion is. You love cuddling with him, you love kissing him, and you love the way he makes you feel. However, the more you kiss him, the more you touch him, and the more you are near him, the more you crave him. You’ve been thinking about how to tell him you are ready, and you think tonight could be the night.
Considering your current state, you know tonight is the night. You are laying down on John's bed facing the ceiling. Your incredibly hot boyfriend is hovering over you with his hands pinned on the mattress outside of your body. He kisses you fiercely as your hands make their way into his hair, gently tugging, John softly moaning into the kiss as you do so. He readjusts himself slightly to keep himself balanced. His thigh is now centimeters away from your throbbing core. You love kissing your boyfriend, but you need more.
Feeling bolder than usual, you move your hips down to make contact with his thigh, not breaking the kiss. As soon as you feel his strong thigh rubbing on your clothed core, you whimper into the kiss. John pulls away from the kiss, looking into your hooded eyes as you continue to grind against his thigh, whimpering as he keeps eye contact. He watches you with want and hunger in his deep brown eyes, and you can tell he’s trying to decide what to do next.
Missing the feeling of his body on yours, you reach for his hands and pull him back down on top of you. You kiss his lips, then up his cheek, working your way up to his ear. He sighs as you continue to rub yourself on him. you officially decide it’s now or never. You put your lips up to his ear and say the words he was unsure when he was going to hear: “I need you, John. I’m ready”. He pulls back, sits up, and looks you in the eyes again, and just the look on his face alone has you ready to come undone. “Fuck baby” he groans in a whisper. “Are you sure?” he asks. You sit up so you are at eye level with him again. “Yes” is all you say as your hands find their way to his chest, as his lips meet yours once again.
John kisses you all over, starting with sucking softly on your neck, drinking in all of the sounds you make for him. He gets to your ear as you squirm under his touch. “What do you want, baby?” he asks as a million thoughts flood your head. You hadn’t thought that far. You know you want more than just kissing. You know you are ready for more than just kissing. But what should you tell him?
He notices your hesitance and eyes lost in thought and brings you into a hug. “We don’t have to have sex right now baby”. He always knows what to say. “I do have an idea though” he whispers into your ear as his mouth breaks into a smirk. You look at him, gesturing to him to continue. “If you were in this situation by yourself, all turned on and horny, think about what you would do. Think about how you would touch yourself. Think about what makes you feel good”. Your eyes are out of focus as you do what he says. You easily become flustered at the thought of your own fingers circling on your clit, coming undone at the very thought of the person sitting directly in front of you. He notices your state and chuckles softly. “Are you thinking baby?” You look at him shyly and nod your head. “Good girl”, he whispers into your ear, and it’s embarrassing how even more horny that comment makes you. You rub your thighs together, desperate for relief. He notices your reaction. “You like that baby? You like being good for me?”. Holy shit. This man is going to be the death of you. “Show me what you were thinking about”.
You freeze. He wants you to touch yourself? you look at him. He gives you an encouraging nod. “Show me what you like baby”. And with that, you quickly take off your pants and underwear, leaving your glistening core completely bare for him to see for the first time. You sit with your back against his headboard and spread your legs, bringing your two fingers into your mouth as you wet them with your spit. John watches silently in awe, his bulge prominent in his grey sweats as he lays down on the bed, filling the empty space between your legs. He props himself up on his elbows, dangerously close to your pussy as he watches you attentively. Nobody has ever been this close to you like this before, and you begin to slightly close your legs, feeling embarrassed at the proximity. Your boyfriend watches you and grabs your legs, holding them in place and preventing you from closing them. “Don’t get shy on me now baby”. John says, lust filling his eyes as he stares at you. “Let me see you baby”. You nod as he moves his hands, opening back up for him. You keep your eye contact with him as you bring your fingers down to your clit, throwing your head back as soon as your fingers begin to circle the sensitive area.
John watches as you touch yourself, getting harder (if even possible) with every small noise you make. “I must be in heaven” he thinks as he watches your eyes shut and your mouth part. He watches the pattern your finger makes as it rubs gently in circles around your clit. He needs you. He inches towards your pussy, still laying on his stomach. Your eyes are still squeezed shut in pleasure, not noticing John becoming closer and closer to your core. He grabs your hand, making you stop what you are doing. Your eyes flutter open and widen as you see your boyfriend centimeters away from your pussy, looking up at you with doe eyes. “Mind if I take over baby?”, John asks as his hands travel to the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart even more. You become shy at the thought, but damn he looks so needy in between your thighs. You definitely don’t mind.
As soon as you shake your head, his tongue meets your clit and fuck, why haven’t you done this sooner? Your back arches as you grab his hair, holding him in place as his tongue circles your clit, identical to, but so much better than what you were doing before as he rubs himself against the mattress for relief. You feel your orgasm coming, and it’s coming quick. Becoming bolder, John breaks the pattern and starts ferociously eating you out like it’s his last meal. The noises filling the room are obscene. “Fuck, John. I’m so close”. you breathe out. He groans into your pussy as he speeds up even more. The view of your boyfriend moaning into you, grinding against the mattress for some kind of friction as he absolutely devours your pussy is enough to make you snap. Your orgasm washes over you as you gasp, tugging at your boyfriends hair as you cry out in moans, watching him work you through it. You notice his hips stutter against the mattress and he groans loud into your pussy as he eats you through your orgasm, stopping as you begin to shake from overstimulation. He pulls away from your core with a glistening chin and smirk, looking just as fucked-out as you. Your eyes go wide as he sits up on his knees, noticing the wet patch on his gray sweatpants. “Did you-” he cuts you off “Yeah baby, I did” he breathily chuckles. “I couldn’t help myself baby, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Like fuck”. Ego boosted by the sudden compliment, you grab his shoulders and guide him towards you, capturing his lips in a greedy kiss. You kiss yourself off of him, tasting the remains of your orgasm. You pull back and look into his eyes. “Thank you” you say, squeezing his hands. “No baby, thank you for showing me”. He smiles softly, squeezing your hands back. You nod as you bring him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him. You move your head to his ear and say with a smirk “Maybe next time, you can show me”.
summary: Logan is jealous of seeing you with someone else
tw and word counter: (3,0k) smut, jealousy, sex without protection (use protection please)
The music was booming throughout Garrett and Dean's house. The party was at its peak, with the living room full of people laughing, dancing, and talking loudly.
You had just arrived, and the looks didn't go unnoticed. Your Wonder Woman costume was much sexier than usual: the red and gold corset hugged your figure perfectly, highlighting your waist and enhancing your chest. The blue shorts with white stars, the high boots, and the golden tiara completed the look. You felt powerful and attractive.
You knew he would be there and it didn't take long to find him.
Logan was standing next to the kitchen island, talking with Dean and some other guys from the hockey team, with a beer in his hand. As always, he looked ridiculously handsome.
His eyes met yours. Logan raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. He looked you up and down without hiding it, and for a second you felt your heart race. Then he smiled.
“Wow… Wonder Woman,” he said, walking over with a smile. “You look incredible.”
He gave you a warm, strong hug, the kind of hug friends or siblings give, but for you it meant so much more. When he pulled away, he kept his hands on your waist for a moment.
“Seriously, that costume looks really good on you. Since when have you been hiding that body?” he teased, laughing.
You knew it was just a joke. For Logan, you had always been just his friend. The girl he could talk to about everything, the one who listened when things weren’t going well or when the team lost an important game.
And even though it hurt, you had accepted your place. Being close to him, even if only as a friend, was better than nothing.
“Come on, I’ll get you something to drink,” he said, naturally taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen. “What do you want?”
You accepted with a smile and followed him. Logan made you a strong drink with vodka and cranberry juice, just the way you liked it. When he handed it to you, his hand returned almost immediately to your waist, resting there casually while you talked.
You stayed chatting for a while about the party, the team’s last game, and random things. Logan didn’t remove his hand from your waist. His fingers moved occasionally, as if he wasn’t aware of what he was doing, but that constant contact made your pulse race.
Suddenly, a familiar voice pulled you out of the conversation.
“There you are!” Mia, your friend, exclaimed, appearing with a huge smile. “Come on, let’s dance! You can’t stay here all night.”
Mia took your hand and started pulling you toward the living room where the music was louder. You looked at Logan with an apologetic smile.
“I’ll leave this with you,” you said, handing him your almost full glass.
Logan took it, but for a second his hand lingered on your waist, as if he didn’t want to let you go yet. He finally released you.
You walked away with Mia, and as soon as you reached the center of the room, you started dancing. The music was catchy and you moved with confidence, feeling how the costume accentuated your curves with every movement.
Not even five minutes had passed when a tall, blond guy approached you. He had an easy smile and good moves. Without saying much, he started dancing in front of you, getting closer little by little. You followed his rhythm, laughing and enjoying the moment.
From your position, you could clearly see the kitchen. And there was Logan, leaning against the island, holding your glass and staring at you.
He wasn’t taking his eyes off you.
He watched you dance with the blond guy, his jaw slightly tense and a serious expression you rarely saw on him. His eyes traveled down your body as you moved, stopping on your legs, your waist, and how the corset hugged your figure.
And you… liked it.
You liked it a lot that he was looking at you like that. So instead of moving away from the blond guy, you kept dancing with more energy, moving your hips to the rhythm while occasionally making eye contact with Logan.
You continued dancing with the blond guy, enjoying his attention and especially Logan’s intense gaze from the kitchen. For a few minutes you felt powerful and desired, but then everything changed.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that Logan was no longer alone. A brunette girl dressed in a short police costume had approached him. She was laughing at something he said and had her hand resting flirtatiously on his chest. Logan was smiling at her, that easy, charming smile that hurt you so much when it wasn’t directed at you. He even put an arm around her waist while talking close to her ear.
Your stomach twisted.
Suddenly, all the fun disappeared. The warmth you felt just seconds ago turned into a cold pang of disappointment. You looked down and stopped dancing.
“I’ll be right back,” you told the guy with a forced smile.
You quickly moved through the crowd, feeling a lump form in your throat. You grabbed the first glass you saw on a table, took a long sip, and kept walking toward a quieter area of the house, near the stairs.
You hadn’t gone far when you felt a hand on your arm.
“Hey, are you okay?” the guy asked, having followed you. His expression was concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, trying to sound convincing. “I just… needed some air for a moment.”
He stepped closer, looking at you with interest. You didn’t say anything else. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the disappointment, or maybe the desire to forget that Logan would never see you the way you wanted… but when he leaned in, you didn’t stop him.
His lips met yours. The kiss started soft but quickly became more intense. You placed a hand on his chest and he pulled you closer by the waist.
Suddenly, the guy was yanked backward.
“What the fuck?” he growled.
Logan was there. He had pushed the blond guy hard enough to pull him away from you. His expression was dark, jaw tight and eyes narrowed.
“Get lost,” Logan told him in a low, sharp voice. “Now.”
The blond guy looked confused and annoyed, but upon recognizing John Logan, one of the hockey team captains, he decided not to cause trouble. He raised his hands and walked away muttering under his breath.
You stood frozen, heart pounding, staring at Logan who was now standing in front of you.
Logan looked at you, still with that expression, and before he could say anything, you exploded:
“What the hell is wrong with you, Logan?” you snapped, furious. “Who do you think you are, coming over here pushing people and pulling them away from me?”
You didn’t wait for his answer. You turned around and started walking through the crowd, your heart beating hard from anger and humiliation. You went up the stairs without looking back. You tried the first door in the hallway: it was locked. The second one opened. You looked inside, saw the room was empty and dimly lit, and walked in, closing the door behind you.
Or at least you tried.
Logan was faster and stuck his foot in before you could close it completely. He entered behind you and closed the door.
“Why did you do that?” he asked, clearly upset.
You turned to face him, still angry.
“Why? Because you have no right to interfere with what I do! Who do you think you are to push a guy away from me just because you feel like it?”
Logan took a step toward you, jaw clenched.
“I don’t like seeing you kissing just anyone.”
You let out a bitter laugh.
“How ironic! Downstairs I saw you looking very comfortable with that police girl. You had her hand on your chest and you were hugging her like it was nothing. And now you come here telling me this?”
“That has nothing to do with it,” he replied sharply.
“It has everything to do with it!” you exclaimed, raising your voice.
Logan frowned.
“Why?”
You stayed silent, breathing heavily, and looked away.
“Why?” he repeated, taking another step closer.
You remained silent, your heart pounding in your throat.
Logan moved even closer until he was right in front of you. His voice dropped, more serious and deep:
“Tell me why.”
You closed your eyes for a second, feeling like you couldn’t keep it in any longer. The words came out almost in a whisper:
“Because I love you, Logan…” you confessed, your voice trembling. “Because I hate seeing you with other women, touching them, smiling at them… when I want you for myself. Because I’ve been in love with you for over a year and you only see me as your friend.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Logan stared at you, as if your words had hit him hard. His expression changed completely.
Suddenly, something shifted in his face. Without saying a word, he closed the last distance between you, took your face in his hands, and kissed you.
It was a quick, intense, and desperate kiss. As if he had been holding back for a long time and couldn’t anymore.
You were completely surprised, eyes open for a second, but you closed them almost immediately and kissed him back. You placed your hands on his chest and let yourself go, the kiss growing deeper. His lips were warm and firm, and he kissed with an urgency you never imagined.
When you finally pulled apart for air, Logan rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.
“I’ve been a complete idiot,” he murmured in a husky voice. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, but I was so stupid I didn’t even realize it. I thought you were just my friend… until I saw you kissing that guy downstairs. I almost died of jealousy. I couldn’t stand seeing you with someone else.”
His words hit you straight in the chest. A mix of relief, surprise, and happiness washed over you. You let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh as you looked into his eyes.
“Really?” you asked, laughing.
Logan nodded, with a crooked smile that melted you.
“Yeah… really.”
Without thinking twice, you were the one who kissed him this time. You stood on your tiptoes, wrapped your arms around his neck, and kissed him with everything you had held back for over a year.
Logan responded immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you tighter against his body.
The kiss became more and more urgent. Logan’s hands roamed your back anxiously, sliding down to your waist and pressing you against him. You matched his intensity, pulling at his black t-shirt to take it off. Logan helped you, lifting his arms, and the garment fell to the floor.
Your hands explored his chest and hockey-toned shoulders while he searched for the clasp of your corset. With fingers slightly clumsy from desire, he unhooked it and let it fall. Then he unzipped your blue shorts, sliding them down your legs along with your underwear.
When you were completely naked in front of him, Logan pulled back a little to look at you. His eyes traveled over your body with a mix of desire and awe. He swallowed hard and murmured in a husky voice:
“Fuck… I don’t understand how I was stupid enough not to do this before. You’re perfect.”
His words made you blush and smile at the same time. Logan didn’t give you time to respond. He lifted you easily, holding you by the thighs. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked toward the bed and gently laid you down on the mattress.
He positioned himself on top of you, resting his forearms on either side of your head. His body was warm and heavy in the best way. He kissed you again, this time slower but with much more hunger. His lips moved down your neck, leaving hot kisses while one of his hands roamed your waist, your hip, and up to your breast.
“I’ve wanted this for so long…” he whispered against your skin before kissing you on the mouth again.
Logan kissed you slowly, as if he wanted to savor every second. His lips moved down your neck while his hand caressed your body gently: tracing your waist, moving up your ribs until he took one of your breasts with care. His thumb brushed your nipple, making you sigh.
He positioned himself between your legs carefully, still wearing his jeans. You could feel his erection pressing against you through the fabric, but he kept going slow, kissing your collarbone and moving down to take your other nipple into his mouth.
“Logan…” you whispered, arching your back.
He looked up, his eyes dark with desire.
“I want to take my time,” he murmured against your skin. “I don’t want to rush with you.”
But you no longer wanted calm. You had wanted him for over a year, imagining this moment. You tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged gently so he would look at you.
“I don’t want you to go slow,” you said breathlessly. “I want more. I want you… all of you.”
Something changed in his expression. A crooked smile appeared on his lips and his eyes darkened even more.
He stood up for a moment to remove his jeans and underwear. When he returned on top of you, completely naked, you felt his hot skin against yours. His erection pressed against your entrance, hard and warm.
Logan kissed you deeply as he guided his cock with one hand, rubbing the head against your wetness. He entered slowly at first, inch by inch, stretching you carefully. You let out a moan against his mouth when he filled you completely.
“Fuck…” he growled, closing his eyes for a second. “This is… the best feeling in the world.”
He began to move with slow, deep thrusts, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in. Every time he pushed forward, a moan escaped your lips. Your hands roamed his back, feeling his muscles tense with every movement.
But you wanted more.
You dug your nails into his back and lifted your hips to meet his thrusts.
“Harder, Logan…” you begged.
He let out a low grunt and increased the pace. His thrusts became faster and deeper, hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars. The sound of skin slapping filled the room along with your moans.
Logan lowered his head and kissed your neck, biting gently while he kept fucking you hard. You could only moan his name. Every thrust made you tremble.
You felt your body tightening more and more around him.
At one point, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him gently. Logan understood immediately and fell onto his back, taking you with him. You straddled him, positioning yourself on top. Without wasting a second, you sank down onto him in one smooth motion, drawing a deep groan from him.
You started moving eagerly, riding him with a steady rhythm. Logan’s hands gripped your hips, helping you move faster, watching you with dark, hungry eyes while your breasts bounced with every thrust.
“Just like that… exactly like that,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You’re incredible.”
The room filled with your moans, the sound of skin colliding, and your heavy breathing. Logan moved one hand up to caress your breast while the other held your hip firmly, guiding your movements when you started to tire.
You were close. Very close. And by the way he clenched his jaw and looked at you, he was too.
Your movements became faster and more desperate. Logan held your hips tightly, thrusting up to meet you with every downward motion. The pleasure grew almost unbearable, tensing every muscle in your body.
“Logan…” you moaned, digging your nails into his chest.
“That’s it, baby. Let go,” he growled, his voice rough and broken. “I want to feel you.”
With a few more deep thrusts, the orgasm hit you hard. Your body clenched tightly around him as you moaned his name, trembling on top of him. The sensation was so intense that for a few seconds you lost track of everything.
Logan didn’t last much longer. With a guttural moan he gave you several hard thrusts from below, holding you firmly against him as he came inside you. His body shuddered beneath yours, jaw tight and eyes closed in pleasure.
You both stayed still for several long seconds, trying to catch your breath. Slowly, you collapsed onto his chest. Logan wrapped his arms around you immediately, holding you close while you were still connected.
The silence in the room was broken only by your heavy breathing. Logan gently stroked your back, running his hand up and down tenderly. He kissed your forehead, your temple, and then your lips with great care.
“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmured against your hair, his voice still husky but full of emotion. “I was an idiot for not realizing what I felt sooner… but now that I have you, I’m not letting you go. I love you too much to lose you again.”
You lifted your head to look at him. His blue eyes watched you with a sincerity you had never seen before.
“Really?” you asked softly.
Logan smiled gently and caressed your cheek with his thumb.
“Yes. I love you. I’ve wanted you for longer than I want to admit, I was just too stupid to see it. But not anymore. You’re mine now… and I’m yours.”
He kissed you again, this time slow and deep, sealing his words. Then he adjusted you more comfortably on his chest, holding you tightly while his fingers continued tracing your back with affection.
For the first time in a long time, everything felt right. You were exactly where you wanted to be.
from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.
word count : 6.1k (sorry) — enemies to lovers, kind of — logan is moody — SMUT, minors DNI — Enjoy and please tell me what you think !
One — "Oh, fuck!"
The music wasn’t just loud; it was vibrating through the old floorboards and thumping directly against your ribs. You’d only been there for twenty minutes, entirely dragged along by Hannah, who was currently tucked under Garrett’s arm near the doorway. Watching them was sweet—almost nauseatingly so—but it left you feeling like a ghost drifting through a sea of oversized jerseys, loud hockey players, and the thick scent of cheap beer. For the most part, the rest of the boys were incredibly welcoming; even though you'd just met them tonight, they were already loud, inherently kind and easy to be around.
Except for John Logan.
You hadn’t actually been introduced to him yet, but you’d felt his suffocating vibe the moment he walked through the door. He looked like absolute thunder. Briar had dropped a frustrating, tight game that evening, and while Garrett was channeling his nervous energy into playing the charismatic host, Logan was wearing his irritation like armor. Leaning against the kitchen counter with a dark scowl that practically screamed at people to stay away, his knuckles were white around his glass, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for a reason to snap.
Navigating that crowded, chaotic kitchen with a brim-filled, sticky mixed drink was your first mistake. Your second was catching the rubber toe of your sneaker on the lifting edge of a rogue anti-fatigue mat near the sink.
You stumbled forward, your arms flailing wildly in a desperate, ungraceful bid for balance. You didn’t fall, but your cup did a violent, mid-air flip, slipping from your fingers. A torrential wave of sticky, dark rum and cola splashed directly across the pristine gray fabric of Logan’s Henley shirt, soaking through the chest, darkening the material instantly and dripping down the front of his dark jeans.
Logan froze. His head snapped down slowly, looking at the huge, dark stain spreading across his clothes, and then his gaze lifted to yours. His eyes were blazing, a dangerous brown, entirely unamused and dripping with venom. "Oh, fuck!" he snapped, his voice cutting right through the ambient noise like a knife. He pulled the wet, heavy fabric away from his skin with two fingers, a look of pure annoyance twisting his features. "Are you serious right now? Watch where the hell you're going."
The sheer aggression in his tone caught you completely off guard, instantly sparking your own deeply ingrained, stubborn nature. You had been about to apologize profusely, the words of remorse already forming on your tongue, but the bite in his words choked them right out of your throat. You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down under his glare. "It was an accident," you retorted, pulling a few crumpled, napkins from the counter and shoving them toward his chest. "You don't have to be a complete dick about it. It’s just a shirt, I'm pretty sure you'll survive."
"It's a wet, sticky shirt at the end of a terrible, exhausting fucking day," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he batted your hand away with a harsh flick of his wrist. He didn't take the napkins; they fluttered uselessly to the floor. Instead, he leaned down slightly, giving you a long, icy glare that made you feel about two inches tall, his jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle tick. "Next time, look up from your feet." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and storming down the hallway toward the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.
You stood there rooted to the spot, your cheeks burning with a toxic mixture of intense embarrassment and sudden, deep-seated dislike. Garrett materialized at your side a split second later, a sympathetic, slightly apologetic grimace on his face as he patted your shoulder gently. "Hey, don't sweat it," Garrett reassured you quietly, glancing warily toward the stairs where Logan had disappeared. "Logan’s just in a brutal mood because of the game, and he hates losing more than anyone. He's usually a great guy, I swear. He’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow morning."
You forced a tight, fake smile and nodded, but as you looked down at your empty, sticky hands, a bitter taste lingered in your mouth. Spoiler alert: he wouldn't forget. and neither would you.
Two — "Fuck you"
A few weeks later, the initial friction hadn’t dissolved; it had hardened into a permanent, icy chill. You tried your best to play nice for the sake of Hannah and Allie, but Logan made it incredibly difficult. You saw how he was with the rest of their circle—fiercely loyal, easygoing, and warm. He was the kind of guy who quietly made sure Allie and Hannah got home safe from their late shifts and spent his free afternoons helping Jules with media stuff. He was patient with the entire world. But the exact millisecond you walked into a room, his posture stiffened and his jaw set. You hated being the sole exception to his good nature, so you simply stayed out of his way.
The breaking point came on a gray, rainy Tuesday afternoon. You and Hannah had walked over to the hockey house to help Tucker untangle a massive, soul-crushing history assignment he was drowning in. The three of you were spread across the dining table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of highlighters, laptop cords, and heavy library textbooks.
The back door clicked open, and Logan walked in. He was wearing his Briar athletic gear, a damp towel slung over his shoulders from a post-practice shower, his hair messy and wet. He looked exhausted, his shoulders tense, carrying the unmistakable hangover of a brutal morning practice. Instead of walking past to the kitchen, he paused by the table, leaning over Tucker’s shoulder to scan the open pages. He let out a heavy, deliberate sigh. "You’re using the wrong primary sources for that era, Tuck," Logan said, his voice dropping into that effortless, uninvited authority. "You need the economic logs from the eastern front, not these political manifestos. You’re going to tank your thesis statement with those."
Tucker blinked up, looking miserable. "Wait, really? I thought—"
"We checked those, Logan," you interrupted, keeping your voice level and calm as you kept your eyes on your notebook. "We've got it handled," you smiled, trying to remain polite.
Logan didn't move. His eyes slid slowly down to the side of your face, unamused. "Right. Because you're an expert on 20th-century economic trade?"
"No," you said, your pen pausing on the page. "But I can read a syllabus. If you're so worried about Tucker's academic results, you could have sat down and helped him yourself already."
Logan’s jaw tightened, a sharp spike of tension instantly replacing his usual easygoing demeanor. He took his hands out of his pockets and leaned forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table, firmly invading your space. Tucker shot Hannah a wide-eyed, panicked look across the textbooks, both of them suddenly bracing for impact.
"I gave him my old notes weeks ago," Logan shot back, his voice dropping into something smaller, tighter. "But sure, ignore the guy who actually passed the class because you're too stubborn to take a note from me."
"I'm not being stubborn, you're just being a patronizing prick," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. "You’ve been hovering over this table for five minutes just looking for a problem because you had a bad day and want to take it out on someone."
Logan let out a harsh, dry laugh, though there was a flicker of genuine frustration in his eyes—the look of a good guy who couldn't understand why he kept letting you bait him. "Take it out on someone? Trust me, if I wanted to take anything out on someone, I wouldn't waste my time on you. I'm trying to keep my friend from bombing a midterm because he made the mistake of letting you organize his thoughts."
"My thoughts are perfectly fine, Logan," Tucker muttered quietly under his breath, his eyes glued to his laptop screen, desperately trying to dissolve into the background.
"They're fine when you're left alone, Tuck," Logan said, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring his teammate's plea. "Not when you're letting someone drag their own contrarian agenda into your coursework."
"A contrarian agenda?" You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. Hannah flinched at the sharp noise, withdrawing her hands from the table and motioning for Tucker to leave the potential future crime scene. They both complied quickly, knowing you both well enough to understand that trying to reason with you in that moment would be pointless. "Are you actually insane? I'm sorry that anyone else having a brain in this house threatens your need to micromanage every single thing that happens under this roof."
"It doesn't threaten me at all," Logan said, standing up straight and towering over you, using his height to crowd your space until his shadow completely blocked out the light from the window. The sheer, uncharacteristic anger rolling off him was suffocating; Tucker actually slid his chair back a few inches, completely done with trying to intervene at this point. "It annoys me. You annoy me, actually. I'm not going to walk on eggshells in my own dining room because you can't handle a basic correction."
"I can handle a correction if it's respectful," you shot back, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you refused to take a step away from him. "You don't want to help Tucker. You just want to feel like the smartest guy in the room and that is annoying."
"I dont—," Logan started, a nervous scoff escaping his lips. "You don't know anything about me. Please let's keep it this way, since you clearly can't stand me anyway."
"You're the one who treats me like an absolute inconvenience the second I breathe in your direction!" you yelled, the weeks of being ignored, brushed off, and glared at finally boiling over into raw, unadulterated anger. "If you hate me being here so much, just say it. But stop acting like I'm the one bringing the venom into this house when you're the one dripping it."
The air between you turned completely volatile, thick enough to choke on. A strange, angry electricity snapped between you, the argument completely detached from history or homework now, exposed and raw. Logan stared down at you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he tried to swallow down the sheer frustration rolling off him in waves. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle violently ticked in his cheek.
"Fuck you," he whispered.
The words hit with a cold, deliberate weight that vibrated in the dead-silent room. Before you could fire back, Tucker's voice boomed from the kitchen archway, stern and completely done with both of you. "Enough! Both of you, cut it the hell out."
But the damage was done. The look in Logan's eyes made something tight and painful twist in your chest. You refused to sit there and breathe the same air as him for another second. Blindly turning around, you grabbed your laptop and notebook, shoving them into your backpack with rigid, uncooperative hands.
"I'm leaving," you muttered, keeping your eyes glued firmly to the floor as you pushed past Hannah’s reaching hand on the way out. You grabbed your jacket from the hook and left through the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame, stepping out into the pouring, cold rain with the echo of his voice looping in your head like a curse.
Three — "Fuck off"
For the next month, you became an absolute expert at avoiding John Logan. You turned it into an art form. If he was at a crowded house party, you stayed firmly in the kitchen or on the opposite porch. If the entire group gathered at Malone's, you ensured you sat on the exact opposite end of the long table, hidden behind Dean's loud gestures.
Because of this, you never saw the way his eyes silently followed you when you entered a room, or the almost guilty look that crossed his face whenever your name came up in conversation. He knew he'd crossed a line by cursing at you like that—but your unbreakable silence gave him absolutely no room to apologize, and his own stubborn pride kept him from forcing the issue.
There were small signs of his guilt, though. One random Thursday afternoon, he showed up at the place you shared with Hannah and Allie, claiming he was just dropping off a spare hockey hoodie Garrett had left in his truck. You had stayed in your room with the door cracked just an inch, watching through the tiny gap as he lingered by the entrance, his eyes constantly drifting toward your door, silently checking to see if you'd come out. You hadn't moved an inch, holding your breath until he finally left.
Eventually, Hannah and Allie staged a full-blown intervention. A brand-new club had opened downtown, and they absolutely refused to let you stay home and rot in your room, even though they openly admitted the boys were all coming along. You finally relented, numbing your spiking anxiety by pouring yourself two heavy pre-game vodka crans before leaving the house.
The club was a massive sensory overload—flashing neon lights, artificial fog, and heavy, chest-thumping bass that made communication impossible. By midnight, everyone was comfortably, heavily drunk. You were leaning your back against the sticky mahogany bar, sipping a gin and tonic, when you finally caught sight of him through the pulsing crowd.
Logan was laughing at something Beau said, a dark red bandana tied tightly around his messy hair, looking effortlessly, devastatingly handsome in a black fitted t-shirt. As if sensing the weight of your gaze, his head turned. His dark eyes locked directly onto yours across the smoky crowded room. He didn’t look away. He held your stare for a second, then two, then three — a strange, intense, unreadable heat settling over his features before a group of dancers blocked your view.
A few minutes later, a guy from one of the campus fraternities slithered up next to you on the edge of the dance floor. He was loud, sweaty, and smelled entirely too much like cheap cologne and whiskey — but a little bit of dancing could help taking your mind off of a certain hockey player, you thought. You enjoyed it at first, moving along, focusing on the music, the stranger getting closer and closer as the playlist progressed. But then, just as you started to feel good - just the right amount of alcohol in your veins to feel lighter and relaxed - he tried to grind his hips against yours. You tried to step back, laughing it off politely at first, pushing his hands away, but he didn't take the hint. His hands came down on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him with a grip that was far too tight and aggressive.
Before you could even raise your hands to shove his chest, a massive shadow loomed over both of you.
A now familiar hand gripped the frat guy’s shoulder, spinning him around with enough force to make his sneakers squeak on the floor.
"Fuck off," Logan snarled, his voice a low, lethal vibration that cut right through the heavy bass of the music. He leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the guy. "Get your fucking hands off her and fuck off right now."
The guy looked at Logan and wisely raised his hands in surrender, backing away rapidly into the foggy crowd without throwing a single punch.
Logan’s breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides as his eyes scanned the immediate area like a wild animal looking for another threat. He looked ready to tear the entire club apart with his bare hands. Anxious that he might actually chase the guy down for a fight, you stepped directly into his line of sight, capturing his attention.
"Logan," you breathed, your voice soft and entirely stripped of its usual sarcasm. Without thinking about the consequences, you reached out, your bare fingers wrapping around his forearm.
The exact millisecond your skin met the warm, rock-hard muscle of his arm, Logan froze entirely. It was the first time the two of you had ever willingly, gently touched, and the effect was instantaneous. The blinding anger seemed to drain out of him in a single breath, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of air. He looked down at your small hand resting on his arm, his skin tingling where you touched him, and then he slowly, deliberately lifted his gaze to your eyes.
The noisy club, the flashing strobe lights, the roaring bass, the alcohol—it all faded into irrelevant background noise. You stood face-to-face on the crowded dance floor, completely motionless, just looking into each other's eyes. Your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, not from fear of the frat guy, but from a sudden, dizzying, terrifying realization. Looking into his wide, intensely focused eyes, you realized you didn't hate him. Not even close. And from the soft, almost vulnerable parting of his lips, he didn't hate you either. You weren't close to being friends yet, but the ice had officially shattered into a million pieces.
Four — "What the fuck"
The shift between you was subtle, but it was absolutely undeniable. The sharp hostility was gone, completely replaced by a quiet, lingering, heavy awareness that neither of you knew quite what to do with.
A week later, you were sitting in a sunlit corner booth at Malone’s. You were completely, entirely absorbed in a brutal, multi-chapter study session for your finals, a pair of heavy over-ear headphones clamped securely over your ears. The sweet, nostalgic melody of American Pie was playing through the speakers, and without even realizing it, you were softly humming along to the chorus, tapping the cap of your yellow highlighter rhythmically against the open pages of your textbook.
You were so deeply focused on your notes that you didn't hear the diner's front door chime, nor did you see Logan walk in. He was there to finalize the last-minute details for the upcoming Hockey Fundraiser with Hannah and Della. But the exact moment his eyes scanned the room and spotted you sitting alone in the corner booth, he stopped dead in his tracks.
He didn’t approach right away. He just stood near the counter, watching you. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to your faint, slightly off-key humming.
Prickled by the sudden, distinct sensation of eyes on you, you blinked and lifted your head from your textbook. Logan instantly wiped the smile from his face, clearing his throat roughly and pretending to read a missing cat flyer on the bulletin board.
You pulled your headphones down, a small smirk playing on your lips. "You know, if you stare any harder, you're going to burn a hole right through my skull, Logan."
Instead of snapping back with a sarcastic, biting retort like he used to, Logan let out a soft chuckle. He walked over to your booth and, to your surprise, slid into the bench by your side, his knee almost touching yours.
"Just making sure you weren't torturing the rest of the innocent customers with your singing," he teased gently, his shoulder brushing against yours in the tight space.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no spite left in your expression. "I happen to have the voice of a literal angel, thank you very much. You're just jealous."
The playful banter slowly subsided into a comfortable silence. Logan looked at you, his expression turning a little more serious, his eyes softening as his voice dropped to a much quieter register. "Hey… are you doing okay?" Since what happened the other night, obviously implied by the way he looked at you right now, concern written all over his face.
You felt a warm flush creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks. "I'm okay, thank you" you smiled and he nodded, both silently agreeing not to discuss this unpleasant event anymore. You paused, looking down at his large hands resting on the table before forcing yourself to look back up. "How are you doing ? With the fundraiser and everything, I mean. You look like you haven't slept in a week."
He seemed genuinely surprised that you were asking about him. Really, truly asking. He leaned back against the vinyl booth, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he completely opened up to you. He talked about the immense stress of managing the team's high expectations, his constant worries about Jules’ upcoming exams, and the suffocating pressure of the NHL scouts attending the next three games. You listened intently, never interrupting, offering gentle encouragement and a few dry, sarcastic jokes that had him laughing quietly into his palms. For a full hour, the two most stubborn, argumentative people at Briar University just… talked.
"Well," you finally said, checking the diner clock and reluctantly packing your laptop into your bag. "I have to get to my shift at the library. Don't let Della bully you into paying extra for the tableware."
"I won't," Logan said, his eyes tracking your every movement, lingering on your face. "See you around?"
"See you around." You gave him a small, genuine smile—the first real one he'd ever received from you—and walked out into the crisp afternoon air, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.
Inside the booth, Logan sat completely still for a long, agonizing moment. He watched your retreating figure through the glass window until you turned the corner and disappeared from view. Slowly, he let out a shaky exhale, burying his face entirely in his hands. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"What the fuck," he whispered into the empty diner booth, his voice laced with a mixture of absolute awe and sheer, unadulterated panic. He was screwed. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed, and he knew there was no turning back.
Five — "Well, fuck"
The night of the Briar Hockey Fundraiser at Malone’s was a chaotic, high-energy, glittering success. The entire diner had been completely transformed for the evening—the regular tables had been pushed to the far perimeter to create a makeshift dance floor, strings of warm fairy lights hung across the ceiling, and a massive turnout of wealthy alumni, boosters, and students kept the bar utterly slammed.
You had dressed up significantly for the occasion, wearing a form-fitting, emerald green silk dress that Allie let you borrow from her closet - of course. You spent the first half of the night talking to Hannah near the punch bowl, but your eyes kept unconsciously tracking a certain someone across the room.
Logan was entirely in his element—charming the older donors, laughing easily with his teammates, and looking entirely too edible for your own good.
Around midnight, the formal event finally dissolved into a proper, rowdy college party. The DJ cranked up a heavy, slow, rhythmic pop song, the bass echoing through the floor, and the dance floor filled up with couples. You were navigating the edge of the sweaty crowd, trying to find Allie when a sudden, firm, yet gentle pull on your wrist guided you backward.
You spun around on your heels, your chest bumping right into Logan’s broad torso. "You've been actively dodging me all night," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your skin as his large hand settled naturally around yours. The casual, unhesitating intimacy of the gesture sent a fierce, blinding jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
"I wasn't dodging you, I was letting you do your official host duties," you shot back, a wicked, playful smile spreading across your lips. The alcohol gave you a surge of confidence, and you looped your arms slowly around his neck, stepping closer into his personal space until there was absolutely no air left between you. "Besides, I didn't think you could actually handle me dancing with you."
Logan’s dark eyes lit up instantly, a dangerous, competitive challenge flaring in his pupils. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer. "Oh, really? Try me, sweetheart."
You didn't hesitate. As the heavy beat of the music dropped, you shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, and sinfully against his. You leaned in close, your lips brushing the warm shell of his ear as you whispered, "You're all talk, John Logan. Let's see if you can actually keep up with me."
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the crisp fabric of his shirt, tugging him rhythmically, tightly against your body. The friction was immediate, heavy, and intoxicating. Logan’s breath hitched audibly in his throat. A dark, intense flush crept up his neck, coloring his sharp cheekbones as his hands settled on your waist, his fingers digging firmly into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping helplessly to your parted lips, entirely overwhelmed and undone by the sudden confidence of your movements. He could feel exactly how much you were affecting him, his body reacting instantly to the touch of your hips.
A breathless, desperate laugh escaped him. He jerked his head back for a split second, fighting a losing battle for self-control. "Well, fuck," he muttered, his voice raw, completely devoid of its usual composure.
"Did I break the big, tough hockey player already?" you cooed, tilting your chin up tauntingly, your noses almost touching as you continued to sway against him.
"You wish," he groaned, his thumbs stroking the bare skin of your lower back where your dress dipped low. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you even tighter against his lower body, matching your sinful rhythm perfectly, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity that made it very clear the playful teasing was rapidly turning into something much more dangerous and inevitable. When the night finally forced you apart, it didn't feel like a goodbye — it was a promise.
Six — "Fuck"
Some things are bound to reach a breaking point, and the agonizing tension building between you for months was no exception. Three nights later, Briar won a massive game and the ensuing after-party at the boys' house was pure chaotic madness. The house was packed to maximum capacity, a sweaty, pulsing mass of drunken celebration, loud music, and screaming students.
But you and Logan weren't paying any attention to the party. For the past two hours, you had been moving around the house like two high-powered magnets — constantly drawing closer, stealing long, heated glances across the crowded rooms, the unspoken, heavy weight of the fundraiser hanging between you.
Seeking a brief moment of quiet to cool down your flushed skin, you headed down the dark back hallway toward the upstairs bathroom. Just as you reached out for the brass doorknob, the door swung open from the inside.
Logan stepped out.
You nearly crashed straight into his chest, cutting your breath short as you ground to a halt mere inches from him. The hallway was swallowed by shadows, save for the frantic strobe lights bleeding in from the living room. Logan stared down at you, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling in sync with the thick, suffocating heat pulsing through the house.
Neither of you said a single word. The months of toxic banter, the vicious, screaming arguments, the desperate avoidance, and the agonizing teasing all converged into a single, breathless, breaking second.
Logan reached out with lightning speed, his large hand wrapping around your waist, and shoved you backward into the bathroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind you and twisting the lock with a sharp, echoing click.
Before the sound of the lock could even fade, his mouth crashed onto yours.
It was an absolute explosion. The kiss was passionate, borderline feral, a violent release of pure, pent-up, crazy frustration. You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, your hands flying up to rip into his dark hair, pulling him down toward you out of sheer desperation. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of pure hunger, pinning your body flat against the heavy wooden door, his thick thighs crowding tightly between yours. His hands were absolutely everywhere—clutching your face, tracing the line of your throat, gripping your hips with a bruising, desperate force that felt incredibly, entirely right.
"Logan," you whimpered against his mouth as he tore his lips away to kiss your jawline, your neck - his hands sliding down to frantically bunch up the silk fabric of your dress.
With a sudden burst of strengh, he hooked his large hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly into the air. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist as he deposited you onto the cold marble edge of the bathroom sink counter. He didn't waste a single second. His hands slid all the way up the bare, warm skin of your thighs, finding the edge of your underwear. His fingers quickly found your slick, burning, over-sensitized core, rubbing against you through the damp fabric with a rhythm that made your head tilt back and earned a large grin from him.
You arched your back off the counter, a loud sob escaping your lips, your fingers digging deep into his shoulders.
"You like that?" Logan growled against your neck, his voice dripping with lust. His fingers moved faster, driving you up a steep, agonizing cliff. "Tell me you want it."
"Logan," you breathed out, "please," you cried out, your head tossing back against the large bathroom mirror. Your hands flew down to his waist, frantically, blindly fumbling with the button of his jeans. You shoved the denim down his hips until his length snapped free—thick, heavy, and pulsing with heat. The moment your fingers wrapped tightly around him, moving in a fast, desperate stroke, Logan’s eyes rolled back.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his neck. He couldn't endure the exquisite torture for long, his quiet moans matching your own, before his large hand clamped over yours, freezing your movement. "Stop, stop," he panted, his chest wild, his forehead pressing against yours. "I'm going to come right now if you keep doing that. I need to feel you, right now."
With trembling, frantic hands, he reached into the small drawer next to the sink—Dean’s emergency stash—and ripped open a foil condom wrapper, spitting the plastic away and rolling it onto himself in one fluid, desperate motion.
Then he stepped back between your open thighs. His hands gripped your hips with an iron hold, dragging you to the very edge of the marble counter. He aligned himself against you, waiting just long enough for your frantic nod of approval. With one heavy, unyielding, possessive thrust, he buried himself completely inside you.
The sheer, overwhelming pleasure of that sudden fullness hit you both at once, fracturing the quiet of the bathroom with a sharp, mutual gasp. Instead of slowing down, the friction only stoked the fire, drawing a long, ragged, shattered exhale from deep in Logan's chest. His pupils were completely dilated, dark and wild with pure lust as his forehead dropped heavily against your shoulder.
"Fuck," he groaned into the crook of your neck, his voice a raw, visceral prayer vibrating against your collarbone.
His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like an anchor as he immediately established a rhythm. The restraint dissolved into pure instinct. He pulled you flush against him, his thrusts becoming powerful, deep, and utterly relentless from the very start. Every heavy drive forced a breathless cry from your lips, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. You rocked together on the cold edge of the marble sink, your bodies generating a feverish heat that defied the chilly stone beneath you.
The bass from the after-party still thudded through the floorboards, a distant, muffled reminder of the chaotic world outside, but within the locked walls of the bathroom, that world was entirely forgotten. There was only the slick, friction-heavy slide of skin against skin, the frantic tangle of your fingers in his hair, and the hot, primal rhythm consuming you both.
The friction was dizzying, driving you both toward a precipice that neither of you could fight anymore. Logan’s pace turned frantic, his breath coming in harsh, ragged stabs against your ear as his hips slammed against yours with an undoing, desperate urgency. Every stroke sent a white-hot wave of pleasure straight to your core, tightening the coil inside you until it was agonizing.
You choked out a breathless, broken sound, your hands clamping onto his biceps as your head thrashed back against the mirror once more.
He didn't need words to know you were right there. He buried his face in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he delivered three more devastatingly deep, relentless thrusts.
That was the final breaking point. Your walls clamped down around him tight and pulsing, fracturing your breath into a loud, ruined cry as your entire body shattered into a blinding, head-to-toe release.
Hearing you break completely ruined him. Logan let out a guttural, unhinged groan that vibrated deep in his chest. His jaw locked, his body rigid and trembling as he gave one last, deeply possessive shove, throwing his weight into you as he came violently inside the condom. He held himself deep within you, his hips shuddering against yours as he rode out the waves of his own release, the two of you panting heavily in the quiet aftermath, entirely spent.
Seven — "Fuck it"
Roughly thirty minutes later, the two of you finally emerged from the bathroom. You had tried your absolute best to fix your chaotic appearance in the mirror—re-applying a bit of smudge-proof lip gloss, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of your dress, and trying to tame your wildly tangled hair with your fingers—but the physical evidence of what had just occurred was written all over your faces. Your skin was flushed a deep unmistakable pink, your lips were incredibly swollen and red, and Logan was walking with a loose, stupidly contented, proud stride, his hair completely disheveled and sticking up in directions where your fingers had repeatedly torn through it.
The exact moment you stepped back onto the floor of the crowded living room, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the air.
Dean was leaning against the back of the sofa, a beer dangling from his fingers and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. His eyes darted from you to Logan, zeroing in instantly on the faint trace of your lip gloss smeared along Logan’s jawline.
"Well, well, well," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. "Must have been a pretty intense plumbing emergency in there. Either that, or you two just went ten rounds with a blender. You might want to wipe your face, Logan."
Your cheeks instantly burned. You took a step back. "Dean, shut up, we were just—"
But Logan didn't let you finish the lie. He looked down at you, catching the slight panic in your eyes, and then looked over at Dean, who was practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.
Instead of getting defensive, Logan just let out a short, quiet laugh. The stubbornness, the secrecy, the remnants of your old feud—it all suddenly felt completely irrelevant. He was tired of hiding it.
"You know what? Fuck it," Logan muttered.
Before you could process the words, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw as he pulled you flush against his chest. Right there by the sofa, he leaned down and kissed you.
Dean threw his arms up in a dramatic, sweeping gesture. "About damn fucking time! Graham, you owe me twenty bucks!"
When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were bright, a relaxed, genuinely happy smile playing on his lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. You looked up at him, the noise of the party fading into the background, finally realizing that the long, argumentative journey of seven dirty words had brought you exactly where you were supposed to be.
warnings: pure smut. threesome / sharing reader. unprotected. piv. oral. dirty talk. slight degrading. teasing. begging. etc.
read as a standalone, or read part one first. up to u!
you didn’t know how you could ever look logan in the eye. you couldn’t just ignore it, like you didn’t just have the best orgasm of your life at just the suggestion of both of them. garrett deep inside you, encouragingly whispering in your ear that logan was just a room over listening.
garrett didn’t mention it again for a few days. it was quiet, almost too quiet.
then it started with a text.
garrett: logan could use some help studying
this almost made you choke.
you: right because we do a lot of studying
garrett: mhm we do
garrett: what would you think about helping us both
garrett: at the same time
you: interesting
garrett: it is
garrett: but that’s too vague of an answer for me
you couldn’t believe he was going to make you admit this, but you knew he wouldn’t even consider it without being certain.
you: yes
garrett: yes what?
you: yes i want to
you: help you both
you: at the same time
garrett: good girl
garrett: i’ll think about it
now, it was officially impossible to stop thinking about it. the fact you didn’t know when made it so much harder. you already noticed the way logan looked at you and now, every little interaction was setting your body on fire. watching him chew on the back of his pen in class, crack his knuckles, lick his lips, everything made you ache.
and garrett… something about how open he was to this made you more desperate for him than ever.
the weekend finally came, so did your usual hang out at their house…
“garrett! this is a brand new top!” you complain at his drink that made its way spilled down your shirt.
“oh, please. it’ll come out. why don’t you head upstairs and dry yourself off? let me just help everyone else out and i’ll meet you in a minute.” garrett says with a wink.
the wink is the only thing that stops you from huffing. after all, you need him after this week so you’re more than happy to skip upstairs. except in his room, you find logan sitting on the bed.
“oh. h-hey. sorry– my shirt got a little wet.” you say caught off guard at finding him in here.
“i can see that.” logan says with a laugh, eyes darting away from your chest quickly even though you know he saw and have heard enough.
he pulls off the hockey tee he’s currently wearing, handing it to you without a word leaving him only in grey sweatpants. it takes so much strength not to eye him up and down for long.
“oh, thanks.” you say shyly, before turning around to take off the wet shirt. you hear him move, possibly to get out of your way and you can’t stop yourself. “actually, do you think you can help me get this off? the hooks are kinda tricky.”
“course.” he responds. he moves behind you before pulling all of your hair to one side, to expose the back hooks of your top. his warm fingers quickly brush your neck before finding the top button. at first you wonder if you’re overthinking every touch, until he starts to speak.
“y’know, you sounded really pretty the other night…” he mutters breathily in your ear. his bluntness catches you off guard.
he always seemed shy around you, but i guess that was technically before garrett gave permission. the first hook of the top opens with even just another inch of your back feeling exposed to him floods your stomach with butterflies.
“oh, right. sorry about that. i forget how thin the walls are.” you come up with nervously, holding your breath at how close he is. another hook comes undone.
“hm, really?” he asks playfully. “kinda sounded like you wanted to me to hear. i mean you’re always loud… trust me. fuck… especially when you beg– but something was different. wasn’t it?”
before you have to come up with a response, you’re interrupted by garrett who you almost didn’t hear sneak in. the sound of him locking the door behind you makes it click that this was a plan all along. if your face wasn’t already bright blushing red, it is now.
“there’s our favorite girl… god, you poor thing, got you so soaked. huh?” garrett mocks, chuckling at how your eyes look like a deer in headlights. he plays dumb at the play on words. “i mean the top, doll.”
as logan holds the last hook along your back closed, just two fingers holding it from showing your whole bare skin. he nods his head to the shirt in your hand now being gripped tight, “you still want to cover up?”
“or… we can show logan here what you’ve been thinking about… what all that noise is about.” garrett says, face to face with you now. he runs his hands through your hair looking into your eyes, his darkening with dominance.
“please.” you manage to get out.
“please what? gonna have to get specific if you really want it that bad.” logan teases, nipping down at your neck making you squeal.
“please, fuck me. both of you.” you admit. logan snaps the last hook of your top letting it drop to the floor with a cocky grin.
“atta girl. see, logan… look. when you want to keep her quiet, you just gotta keep her mouth full.” garrett says, gently pushing down on the top of your head to get you on your knees. you obey quickly turning around to face logan who’s already unbuckling his jeans.
“fuck. good idea. should’ve thought of that…” logan groans as you eagerly take his cock into your mouth. garrett’s hands grip your hair making you let out a choked moan around him.
you make eye contact with logan as you take him, heart fluttering as he lets out satisfied breath of relief. after all, you’ve been driving him crazy for weeks. “g-god. fuck yes” logan sighs in pleasure.
“she gets excited… not too much, sweetheart. didn’t show him the best part yet.” garrett taunts. you’re pulled away from his cock, making your own drool hang down your chin. you feel filthier than ever, and you love everything about it.
four strong hands on you all at once drives you crazy, to where you can’t even tell which is which as they pull you to the bed. one tugs your skirt down to the floor, another yanks down your panties.
you get on all fours on the bed, as both of their mouths explore your skin. garrett bites along your neck, certain to leave possessive hickeys. logan is much more gentle with his tongue tracing along your thigh until he reaches your pussy. his tongue pokes at your clit softly making you sigh in pleasure, until he quickly takes it away. “please,” you beg.
“nah. you teased me for weeks behind that damn wall. think i’m gonna give you everything you want that easy? garrett spoils you too much.” logan says, giving your folds one last teasing lick before backing off even though he probably punished himself more doing so. garrett’s laugh feels evil creating goosebumps along your skin.
laying your head down on the bed with your ass up in the air, you turn your head to catch eye contact with logan behind you. he’s right, garrett spoils you. if you want it, you’re going to have to show him how you always get your way. after all, he apparently already knows what your begging sounds like.
“please, logan… i’m sorry… sometimes it just feels so good. then i get loud on purpose because i want you to fuck me too. please… i won’t wake you up anymore, i promise. i’ll be so good.” you plead, letting your eyes flutter with desperation. you know you’re as exposed as you’ll ever get right now, spread out for two guys and begging like a whore. but you need it, and you’re not ashamed anymore.
“fuck— what do you think garrett? sincere?” logan asks, refusing to look away from your eyes. he doesn’t want to think about how hard it’s going to be to probably have to forget them after this, refusing to waste a second. garrett reaches his hand to feel how wet you are, before responding “very.”
logan wastes no time at that answer pushing in to your entrance, groaning and throwing his head back immediately at the feeling. “fuck. if i didn’t hear it every night, i wouldn’t believe you were fucking her. so tight.”
garrett cups your face with one hand roughly making you look up at him, now with his other hand on his cock just inches away from your face. “she’s such a good girl, isn’t she?”
you cry out at the feeling of logan’s cock filling you up, dripping wet now as he slams in and out of you. garrett holds eye contact with you as he watches you take it, letting you enjoy it for a moment before he puts you to work.
you can’t help but smile as you look up at him, mumbling a “thank you” as he lets his best friend rail you. he smirks back as he rubs his thumb kindly along your cheek.
garrett’s cock fills your mouth, as you let out muffled moans around it. he grips your hair hard to keep hold while logan’s thrusts rock the bed too. the sound of both of their grunts is enough to send you over the edge.
your ears ring and your vision blurs, as you’re sent into pure bliss. you could hear a faint “fuck, yeah she’s cumming.” from one of them but are too fucked out to focus on which one. logan’s lips encouragingly kiss along your back.
your orgasm sends both of theirs quickly behind. logan pulls out of you, shooting his warmth along your back. your mouth floods with the familiar taste of garrett’s cum, swallowing every drop in obedience. your body falls apart on the bed, feeling sensitive in every part of you.
from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.
word count : 6.1k (sorry) — enemies to lovers, kind of — logan is moody — SMUT, minors DNI — Enjoy and please tell me what you think !
One — "Oh, fuck!"
The music wasn’t just loud; it was vibrating through the old floorboards and thumping directly against your ribs. You’d only been there for twenty minutes, entirely dragged along by Hannah, who was currently tucked under Garrett’s arm near the doorway. Watching them was sweet—almost nauseatingly so—but it left you feeling like a ghost drifting through a sea of oversized jerseys, loud hockey players, and the thick scent of cheap beer. For the most part, the rest of the boys were incredibly welcoming; even though you'd just met them tonight, they were already loud, inherently kind and easy to be around.
Except for John Logan.
You hadn’t actually been introduced to him yet, but you’d felt his suffocating vibe the moment he walked through the door. He looked like absolute thunder. Briar had dropped a frustrating, tight game that evening, and while Garrett was channeling his nervous energy into playing the charismatic host, Logan was wearing his irritation like armor. Leaning against the kitchen counter with a dark scowl that practically screamed at people to stay away, his knuckles were white around his glass, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for a reason to snap.
Navigating that crowded, chaotic kitchen with a brim-filled, sticky mixed drink was your first mistake. Your second was catching the rubber toe of your sneaker on the lifting edge of a rogue anti-fatigue mat near the sink.
You stumbled forward, your arms flailing wildly in a desperate, ungraceful bid for balance. You didn’t fall, but your cup did a violent, mid-air flip, slipping from your fingers. A torrential wave of sticky, dark rum and cola splashed directly across the pristine gray fabric of Logan’s Henley shirt, soaking through the chest, darkening the material instantly and dripping down the front of his dark jeans.
Logan froze. His head snapped down slowly, looking at the huge, dark stain spreading across his clothes, and then his gaze lifted to yours. His eyes were blazing, a dangerous brown, entirely unamused and dripping with venom. "Oh, fuck!" he snapped, his voice cutting right through the ambient noise like a knife. He pulled the wet, heavy fabric away from his skin with two fingers, a look of pure annoyance twisting his features. "Are you serious right now? Watch where the hell you're going."
The sheer aggression in his tone caught you completely off guard, instantly sparking your own deeply ingrained, stubborn nature. You had been about to apologize profusely, the words of remorse already forming on your tongue, but the bite in his words choked them right out of your throat. You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down under his glare. "It was an accident," you retorted, pulling a few crumpled, napkins from the counter and shoving them toward his chest. "You don't have to be a complete dick about it. It’s just a shirt, I'm pretty sure you'll survive."
"It's a wet, sticky shirt at the end of a terrible, exhausting fucking day," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he batted your hand away with a harsh flick of his wrist. He didn't take the napkins; they fluttered uselessly to the floor. Instead, he leaned down slightly, giving you a long, icy glare that made you feel about two inches tall, his jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle tick. "Next time, look up from your feet." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and storming down the hallway toward the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.
You stood there rooted to the spot, your cheeks burning with a toxic mixture of intense embarrassment and sudden, deep-seated dislike. Garrett materialized at your side a split second later, a sympathetic, slightly apologetic grimace on his face as he patted your shoulder gently. "Hey, don't sweat it," Garrett reassured you quietly, glancing warily toward the stairs where Logan had disappeared. "Logan’s just in a brutal mood because of the game, and he hates losing more than anyone. He's usually a great guy, I swear. He’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow morning."
You forced a tight, fake smile and nodded, but as you looked down at your empty, sticky hands, a bitter taste lingered in your mouth. Spoiler alert: he wouldn't forget. and neither would you.
Two — "Fuck you"
A few weeks later, the initial friction hadn’t dissolved; it had hardened into a permanent, icy chill. You tried your best to play nice for the sake of Hannah and Allie, but Logan made it incredibly difficult. You saw how he was with the rest of their circle—fiercely loyal, easygoing, and warm. He was the kind of guy who quietly made sure Allie and Hannah got home safe from their late shifts and spent his free afternoons helping Jules with media stuff. He was patient with the entire world. But the exact millisecond you walked into a room, his posture stiffened and his jaw set. You hated being the sole exception to his good nature, so you simply stayed out of his way.
The breaking point came on a gray, rainy Tuesday afternoon. You and Hannah had walked over to the hockey house to help Tucker untangle a massive, soul-crushing history assignment he was drowning in. The three of you were spread across the dining table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of highlighters, laptop cords, and heavy library textbooks.
The back door clicked open, and Logan walked in. He was wearing his Briar athletic gear, a damp towel slung over his shoulders from a post-practice shower, his hair messy and wet. He looked exhausted, his shoulders tense, carrying the unmistakable hangover of a brutal morning practice. Instead of walking past to the kitchen, he paused by the table, leaning over Tucker’s shoulder to scan the open pages. He let out a heavy, deliberate sigh. "You’re using the wrong primary sources for that era, Tuck," Logan said, his voice dropping into that effortless, uninvited authority. "You need the economic logs from the eastern front, not these political manifestos. You’re going to tank your thesis statement with those."
Tucker blinked up, looking miserable. "Wait, really? I thought—"
"We checked those, Logan," you interrupted, keeping your voice level and calm as you kept your eyes on your notebook. "We've got it handled," you smiled, trying to remain polite.
Logan didn't move. His eyes slid slowly down to the side of your face, unamused. "Right. Because you're an expert on 20th-century economic trade?"
"No," you said, your pen pausing on the page. "But I can read a syllabus. If you're so worried about Tucker's academic results, you could have sat down and helped him yourself already."
Logan’s jaw tightened, a sharp spike of tension instantly replacing his usual easygoing demeanor. He took his hands out of his pockets and leaned forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table, firmly invading your space. Tucker shot Hannah a wide-eyed, panicked look across the textbooks, both of them suddenly bracing for impact.
"I gave him my old notes weeks ago," Logan shot back, his voice dropping into something smaller, tighter. "But sure, ignore the guy who actually passed the class because you're too stubborn to take a note from me."
"I'm not being stubborn, you're just being a patronizing prick," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. "You’ve been hovering over this table for five minutes just looking for a problem because you had a bad day and want to take it out on someone."
Logan let out a harsh, dry laugh, though there was a flicker of genuine frustration in his eyes—the look of a good guy who couldn't understand why he kept letting you bait him. "Take it out on someone? Trust me, if I wanted to take anything out on someone, I wouldn't waste my time on you. I'm trying to keep my friend from bombing a midterm because he made the mistake of letting you organize his thoughts."
"My thoughts are perfectly fine, Logan," Tucker muttered quietly under his breath, his eyes glued to his laptop screen, desperately trying to dissolve into the background.
"They're fine when you're left alone, Tuck," Logan said, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring his teammate's plea. "Not when you're letting someone drag their own contrarian agenda into your coursework."
"A contrarian agenda?" You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. Hannah flinched at the sharp noise, withdrawing her hands from the table and motioning for Tucker to leave the potential future crime scene. They both complied quickly, knowing you both well enough to understand that trying to reason with you in that moment would be pointless. "Are you actually insane? I'm sorry that anyone else having a brain in this house threatens your need to micromanage every single thing that happens under this roof."
"It doesn't threaten me at all," Logan said, standing up straight and towering over you, using his height to crowd your space until his shadow completely blocked out the light from the window. The sheer, uncharacteristic anger rolling off him was suffocating; Tucker actually slid his chair back a few inches, completely done with trying to intervene at this point. "It annoys me. You annoy me, actually. I'm not going to walk on eggshells in my own dining room because you can't handle a basic correction."
"I can handle a correction if it's respectful," you shot back, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you refused to take a step away from him. "You don't want to help Tucker. You just want to feel like the smartest guy in the room and that is annoying."
"I dont—," Logan started, a nervous scoff escaping his lips. "You don't know anything about me. Please let's keep it this way, since you clearly can't stand me anyway."
"You're the one who treats me like an absolute inconvenience the second I breathe in your direction!" you yelled, the weeks of being ignored, brushed off, and glared at finally boiling over into raw, unadulterated anger. "If you hate me being here so much, just say it. But stop acting like I'm the one bringing the venom into this house when you're the one dripping it."
The air between you turned completely volatile, thick enough to choke on. A strange, angry electricity snapped between you, the argument completely detached from history or homework now, exposed and raw. Logan stared down at you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he tried to swallow down the sheer frustration rolling off him in waves. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle violently ticked in his cheek.
"Fuck you," he whispered.
The words hit with a cold, deliberate weight that vibrated in the dead-silent room. Before you could fire back, Tucker's voice boomed from the kitchen archway, stern and completely done with both of you. "Enough! Both of you, cut it the hell out."
But the damage was done. The look in Logan's eyes made something tight and painful twist in your chest. You refused to sit there and breathe the same air as him for another second. Blindly turning around, you grabbed your laptop and notebook, shoving them into your backpack with rigid, uncooperative hands.
"I'm leaving," you muttered, keeping your eyes glued firmly to the floor as you pushed past Hannah’s reaching hand on the way out. You grabbed your jacket from the hook and left through the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame, stepping out into the pouring, cold rain with the echo of his voice looping in your head like a curse.
Three — "Fuck off"
For the next month, you became an absolute expert at avoiding John Logan. You turned it into an art form. If he was at a crowded house party, you stayed firmly in the kitchen or on the opposite porch. If the entire group gathered at Malone's, you ensured you sat on the exact opposite end of the long table, hidden behind Dean's loud gestures.
Because of this, you never saw the way his eyes silently followed you when you entered a room, or the almost guilty look that crossed his face whenever your name came up in conversation. He knew he'd crossed a line by cursing at you like that—but your unbreakable silence gave him absolutely no room to apologize, and his own stubborn pride kept him from forcing the issue.
There were small signs of his guilt, though. One random Thursday afternoon, he showed up at the place you shared with Hannah and Allie, claiming he was just dropping off a spare hockey hoodie Garrett had left in his truck. You had stayed in your room with the door cracked just an inch, watching through the tiny gap as he lingered by the entrance, his eyes constantly drifting toward your door, silently checking to see if you'd come out. You hadn't moved an inch, holding your breath until he finally left.
Eventually, Hannah and Allie staged a full-blown intervention. A brand-new club had opened downtown, and they absolutely refused to let you stay home and rot in your room, even though they openly admitted the boys were all coming along. You finally relented, numbing your spiking anxiety by pouring yourself two heavy pre-game vodka crans before leaving the house.
The club was a massive sensory overload—flashing neon lights, artificial fog, and heavy, chest-thumping bass that made communication impossible. By midnight, everyone was comfortably, heavily drunk. You were leaning your back against the sticky mahogany bar, sipping a gin and tonic, when you finally caught sight of him through the pulsing crowd.
Logan was laughing at something Beau said, a dark red bandana tied tightly around his messy hair, looking effortlessly, devastatingly handsome in a black fitted t-shirt. As if sensing the weight of your gaze, his head turned. His dark eyes locked directly onto yours across the smoky crowded room. He didn’t look away. He held your stare for a second, then two, then three — a strange, intense, unreadable heat settling over his features before a group of dancers blocked your view.
A few minutes later, a guy from one of the campus fraternities slithered up next to you on the edge of the dance floor. He was loud, sweaty, and smelled entirely too much like cheap cologne and whiskey — but a little bit of dancing could help taking your mind off of a certain hockey player, you thought. You enjoyed it at first, moving along, focusing on the music, the stranger getting closer and closer as the playlist progressed. But then, just as you started to feel good - just the right amount of alcohol in your veins to feel lighter and relaxed - he tried to grind his hips against yours. You tried to step back, laughing it off politely at first, pushing his hands away, but he didn't take the hint. His hands came down on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him with a grip that was far too tight and aggressive.
Before you could even raise your hands to shove his chest, a massive shadow loomed over both of you.
A now familiar hand gripped the frat guy’s shoulder, spinning him around with enough force to make his sneakers squeak on the floor.
"Fuck off," Logan snarled, his voice a low, lethal vibration that cut right through the heavy bass of the music. He leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the guy. "Get your fucking hands off her and fuck off right now."
The guy looked at Logan and wisely raised his hands in surrender, backing away rapidly into the foggy crowd without throwing a single punch.
Logan’s breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides as his eyes scanned the immediate area like a wild animal looking for another threat. He looked ready to tear the entire club apart with his bare hands. Anxious that he might actually chase the guy down for a fight, you stepped directly into his line of sight, capturing his attention.
"Logan," you breathed, your voice soft and entirely stripped of its usual sarcasm. Without thinking about the consequences, you reached out, your bare fingers wrapping around his forearm.
The exact millisecond your skin met the warm, rock-hard muscle of his arm, Logan froze entirely. It was the first time the two of you had ever willingly, gently touched, and the effect was instantaneous. The blinding anger seemed to drain out of him in a single breath, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of air. He looked down at your small hand resting on his arm, his skin tingling where you touched him, and then he slowly, deliberately lifted his gaze to your eyes.
The noisy club, the flashing strobe lights, the roaring bass, the alcohol—it all faded into irrelevant background noise. You stood face-to-face on the crowded dance floor, completely motionless, just looking into each other's eyes. Your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, not from fear of the frat guy, but from a sudden, dizzying, terrifying realization. Looking into his wide, intensely focused eyes, you realized you didn't hate him. Not even close. And from the soft, almost vulnerable parting of his lips, he didn't hate you either. You weren't close to being friends yet, but the ice had officially shattered into a million pieces.
Four — "What the fuck"
The shift between you was subtle, but it was absolutely undeniable. The sharp hostility was gone, completely replaced by a quiet, lingering, heavy awareness that neither of you knew quite what to do with.
A week later, you were sitting in a sunlit corner booth at Malone’s. You were completely, entirely absorbed in a brutal, multi-chapter study session for your finals, a pair of heavy over-ear headphones clamped securely over your ears. The sweet, nostalgic melody of American Pie was playing through the speakers, and without even realizing it, you were softly humming along to the chorus, tapping the cap of your yellow highlighter rhythmically against the open pages of your textbook.
You were so deeply focused on your notes that you didn't hear the diner's front door chime, nor did you see Logan walk in. He was there to finalize the last-minute details for the upcoming Hockey Fundraiser with Hannah and Della. But the exact moment his eyes scanned the room and spotted you sitting alone in the corner booth, he stopped dead in his tracks.
He didn’t approach right away. He just stood near the counter, watching you. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to your faint, slightly off-key humming.
Prickled by the sudden, distinct sensation of eyes on you, you blinked and lifted your head from your textbook. Logan instantly wiped the smile from his face, clearing his throat roughly and pretending to read a missing cat flyer on the bulletin board.
You pulled your headphones down, a small smirk playing on your lips. "You know, if you stare any harder, you're going to burn a hole right through my skull, Logan."
Instead of snapping back with a sarcastic, biting retort like he used to, Logan let out a soft chuckle. He walked over to your booth and, to your surprise, slid into the bench by your side, his knee almost touching yours.
"Just making sure you weren't torturing the rest of the innocent customers with your singing," he teased gently, his shoulder brushing against yours in the tight space.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no spite left in your expression. "I happen to have the voice of a literal angel, thank you very much. You're just jealous."
The playful banter slowly subsided into a comfortable silence. Logan looked at you, his expression turning a little more serious, his eyes softening as his voice dropped to a much quieter register. "Hey… are you doing okay?" Since what happened the other night, obviously implied by the way he looked at you right now, concern written all over his face.
You felt a warm flush creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks. "I'm okay, thank you" you smiled and he nodded, both silently agreeing not to discuss this unpleasant event anymore. You paused, looking down at his large hands resting on the table before forcing yourself to look back up. "How are you doing ? With the fundraiser and everything, I mean. You look like you haven't slept in a week."
He seemed genuinely surprised that you were asking about him. Really, truly asking. He leaned back against the vinyl booth, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he completely opened up to you. He talked about the immense stress of managing the team's high expectations, his constant worries about Jules’ upcoming exams, and the suffocating pressure of the NHL scouts attending the next three games. You listened intently, never interrupting, offering gentle encouragement and a few dry, sarcastic jokes that had him laughing quietly into his palms. For a full hour, the two most stubborn, argumentative people at Briar University just… talked.
"Well," you finally said, checking the diner clock and reluctantly packing your laptop into your bag. "I have to get to my shift at the library. Don't let Della bully you into paying extra for the tableware."
"I won't," Logan said, his eyes tracking your every movement, lingering on your face. "See you around?"
"See you around." You gave him a small, genuine smile—the first real one he'd ever received from you—and walked out into the crisp afternoon air, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.
Inside the booth, Logan sat completely still for a long, agonizing moment. He watched your retreating figure through the glass window until you turned the corner and disappeared from view. Slowly, he let out a shaky exhale, burying his face entirely in his hands. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"What the fuck," he whispered into the empty diner booth, his voice laced with a mixture of absolute awe and sheer, unadulterated panic. He was screwed. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed, and he knew there was no turning back.
Five — "Well, fuck"
The night of the Briar Hockey Fundraiser at Malone’s was a chaotic, high-energy, glittering success. The entire diner had been completely transformed for the evening—the regular tables had been pushed to the far perimeter to create a makeshift dance floor, strings of warm fairy lights hung across the ceiling, and a massive turnout of wealthy alumni, boosters, and students kept the bar utterly slammed.
You had dressed up significantly for the occasion, wearing a form-fitting, emerald green silk dress that Allie let you borrow from her closet - of course. You spent the first half of the night talking to Hannah near the punch bowl, but your eyes kept unconsciously tracking a certain someone across the room.
Logan was entirely in his element—charming the older donors, laughing easily with his teammates, and looking entirely too edible for your own good.
Around midnight, the formal event finally dissolved into a proper, rowdy college party. The DJ cranked up a heavy, slow, rhythmic pop song, the bass echoing through the floor, and the dance floor filled up with couples. You were navigating the edge of the sweaty crowd, trying to find Allie when a sudden, firm, yet gentle pull on your wrist guided you backward.
You spun around on your heels, your chest bumping right into Logan’s broad torso. "You've been actively dodging me all night," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your skin as his large hand settled naturally around yours. The casual, unhesitating intimacy of the gesture sent a fierce, blinding jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
"I wasn't dodging you, I was letting you do your official host duties," you shot back, a wicked, playful smile spreading across your lips. The alcohol gave you a surge of confidence, and you looped your arms slowly around his neck, stepping closer into his personal space until there was absolutely no air left between you. "Besides, I didn't think you could actually handle me dancing with you."
Logan’s dark eyes lit up instantly, a dangerous, competitive challenge flaring in his pupils. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer. "Oh, really? Try me, sweetheart."
You didn't hesitate. As the heavy beat of the music dropped, you shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, and sinfully against his. You leaned in close, your lips brushing the warm shell of his ear as you whispered, "You're all talk, John Logan. Let's see if you can actually keep up with me."
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the crisp fabric of his shirt, tugging him rhythmically, tightly against your body. The friction was immediate, heavy, and intoxicating. Logan’s breath hitched audibly in his throat. A dark, intense flush crept up his neck, coloring his sharp cheekbones as his hands settled on your waist, his fingers digging firmly into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping helplessly to your parted lips, entirely overwhelmed and undone by the sudden confidence of your movements. He could feel exactly how much you were affecting him, his body reacting instantly to the touch of your hips.
A breathless, desperate laugh escaped him. He jerked his head back for a split second, fighting a losing battle for self-control. "Well, fuck," he muttered, his voice raw, completely devoid of its usual composure.
"Did I break the big, tough hockey player already?" you cooed, tilting your chin up tauntingly, your noses almost touching as you continued to sway against him.
"You wish," he groaned, his thumbs stroking the bare skin of your lower back where your dress dipped low. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you even tighter against his lower body, matching your sinful rhythm perfectly, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity that made it very clear the playful teasing was rapidly turning into something much more dangerous and inevitable. When the night finally forced you apart, it didn't feel like a goodbye — it was a promise.
Six — "Fuck"
Some things are bound to reach a breaking point, and the agonizing tension building between you for months was no exception. Three nights later, Briar won a massive game and the ensuing after-party at the boys' house was pure chaotic madness. The house was packed to maximum capacity, a sweaty, pulsing mass of drunken celebration, loud music, and screaming students.
But you and Logan weren't paying any attention to the party. For the past two hours, you had been moving around the house like two high-powered magnets — constantly drawing closer, stealing long, heated glances across the crowded rooms, the unspoken, heavy weight of the fundraiser hanging between you.
Seeking a brief moment of quiet to cool down your flushed skin, you headed down the dark back hallway toward the upstairs bathroom. Just as you reached out for the brass doorknob, the door swung open from the inside.
Logan stepped out.
You nearly crashed straight into his chest, cutting your breath short as you ground to a halt mere inches from him. The hallway was swallowed by shadows, save for the frantic strobe lights bleeding in from the living room. Logan stared down at you, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling in sync with the thick, suffocating heat pulsing through the house.
Neither of you said a single word. The months of toxic banter, the vicious, screaming arguments, the desperate avoidance, and the agonizing teasing all converged into a single, breathless, breaking second.
Logan reached out with lightning speed, his large hand wrapping around your waist, and shoved you backward into the bathroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind you and twisting the lock with a sharp, echoing click.
Before the sound of the lock could even fade, his mouth crashed onto yours.
It was an absolute explosion. The kiss was passionate, borderline feral, a violent release of pure, pent-up, crazy frustration. You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, your hands flying up to rip into his dark hair, pulling him down toward you out of sheer desperation. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of pure hunger, pinning your body flat against the heavy wooden door, his thick thighs crowding tightly between yours. His hands were absolutely everywhere—clutching your face, tracing the line of your throat, gripping your hips with a bruising, desperate force that felt incredibly, entirely right.
"Logan," you whimpered against his mouth as he tore his lips away to kiss your jawline, your neck - his hands sliding down to frantically bunch up the silk fabric of your dress.
With a sudden burst of strengh, he hooked his large hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly into the air. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist as he deposited you onto the cold marble edge of the bathroom sink counter. He didn't waste a single second. His hands slid all the way up the bare, warm skin of your thighs, finding the edge of your underwear. His fingers quickly found your slick, burning, over-sensitized core, rubbing against you through the damp fabric with a rhythm that made your head tilt back and earned a large grin from him.
You arched your back off the counter, a loud sob escaping your lips, your fingers digging deep into his shoulders.
"You like that?" Logan growled against your neck, his voice dripping with lust. His fingers moved faster, driving you up a steep, agonizing cliff. "Tell me you want it."
"Logan," you breathed out, "please," you cried out, your head tossing back against the large bathroom mirror. Your hands flew down to his waist, frantically, blindly fumbling with the button of his jeans. You shoved the denim down his hips until his length snapped free—thick, heavy, and pulsing with heat. The moment your fingers wrapped tightly around him, moving in a fast, desperate stroke, Logan’s eyes rolled back.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his neck. He couldn't endure the exquisite torture for long, his quiet moans matching your own, before his large hand clamped over yours, freezing your movement. "Stop, stop," he panted, his chest wild, his forehead pressing against yours. "I'm going to come right now if you keep doing that. I need to feel you, right now."
With trembling, frantic hands, he reached into the small drawer next to the sink—Dean’s emergency stash—and ripped open a foil condom wrapper, spitting the plastic away and rolling it onto himself in one fluid, desperate motion.
Then he stepped back between your open thighs. His hands gripped your hips with an iron hold, dragging you to the very edge of the marble counter. He aligned himself against you, waiting just long enough for your frantic nod of approval. With one heavy, unyielding, possessive thrust, he buried himself completely inside you.
The sheer, overwhelming pleasure of that sudden fullness hit you both at once, fracturing the quiet of the bathroom with a sharp, mutual gasp. Instead of slowing down, the friction only stoked the fire, drawing a long, ragged, shattered exhale from deep in Logan's chest. His pupils were completely dilated, dark and wild with pure lust as his forehead dropped heavily against your shoulder.
"Fuck," he groaned into the crook of your neck, his voice a raw, visceral prayer vibrating against your collarbone.
His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like an anchor as he immediately established a rhythm. The restraint dissolved into pure instinct. He pulled you flush against him, his thrusts becoming powerful, deep, and utterly relentless from the very start. Every heavy drive forced a breathless cry from your lips, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. You rocked together on the cold edge of the marble sink, your bodies generating a feverish heat that defied the chilly stone beneath you.
The bass from the after-party still thudded through the floorboards, a distant, muffled reminder of the chaotic world outside, but within the locked walls of the bathroom, that world was entirely forgotten. There was only the slick, friction-heavy slide of skin against skin, the frantic tangle of your fingers in his hair, and the hot, primal rhythm consuming you both.
The friction was dizzying, driving you both toward a precipice that neither of you could fight anymore. Logan’s pace turned frantic, his breath coming in harsh, ragged stabs against your ear as his hips slammed against yours with an undoing, desperate urgency. Every stroke sent a white-hot wave of pleasure straight to your core, tightening the coil inside you until it was agonizing.
You choked out a breathless, broken sound, your hands clamping onto his biceps as your head thrashed back against the mirror once more.
He didn't need words to know you were right there. He buried his face in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he delivered three more devastatingly deep, relentless thrusts.
That was the final breaking point. Your walls clamped down around him tight and pulsing, fracturing your breath into a loud, ruined cry as your entire body shattered into a blinding, head-to-toe release.
Hearing you break completely ruined him. Logan let out a guttural, unhinged groan that vibrated deep in his chest. His jaw locked, his body rigid and trembling as he gave one last, deeply possessive shove, throwing his weight into you as he came violently inside the condom. He held himself deep within you, his hips shuddering against yours as he rode out the waves of his own release, the two of you panting heavily in the quiet aftermath, entirely spent.
Seven — "Fuck it"
Roughly thirty minutes later, the two of you finally emerged from the bathroom. You had tried your absolute best to fix your chaotic appearance in the mirror—re-applying a bit of smudge-proof lip gloss, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of your dress, and trying to tame your wildly tangled hair with your fingers—but the physical evidence of what had just occurred was written all over your faces. Your skin was flushed a deep unmistakable pink, your lips were incredibly swollen and red, and Logan was walking with a loose, stupidly contented, proud stride, his hair completely disheveled and sticking up in directions where your fingers had repeatedly torn through it.
The exact moment you stepped back onto the floor of the crowded living room, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the air.
Dean was leaning against the back of the sofa, a beer dangling from his fingers and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. His eyes darted from you to Logan, zeroing in instantly on the faint trace of your lip gloss smeared along Logan’s jawline.
"Well, well, well," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. "Must have been a pretty intense plumbing emergency in there. Either that, or you two just went ten rounds with a blender. You might want to wipe your face, Logan."
Your cheeks instantly burned. You took a step back. "Dean, shut up, we were just—"
But Logan didn't let you finish the lie. He looked down at you, catching the slight panic in your eyes, and then looked over at Dean, who was practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.
Instead of getting defensive, Logan just let out a short, quiet laugh. The stubbornness, the secrecy, the remnants of your old feud—it all suddenly felt completely irrelevant. He was tired of hiding it.
"You know what? Fuck it," Logan muttered.
Before you could process the words, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw as he pulled you flush against his chest. Right there by the sofa, he leaned down and kissed you.
Dean threw his arms up in a dramatic, sweeping gesture. "About damn fucking time! Graham, you owe me twenty bucks!"
When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were bright, a relaxed, genuinely happy smile playing on his lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. You looked up at him, the noise of the party fading into the background, finally realizing that the long, argumentative journey of seven dirty words had brought you exactly where you were supposed to be.
summary: the first time you stay with him until the morning. short fic, smut-implied but mostly fluff. inspired by one of @rebelfell's headcanons, thank you! <3
Logan shifts in his sleep once he feels you trying to slip out the bed.
“Don’t.” He says, voice hoarse from waking up in the middle of the night and arm stretching out to find you. “Don’t move.”
You have been on this same bed before, multiple times. First after one of his team’s winning games, two beers in, both giggling on the stools at Malone’s. Then again the next night, then the next week, always a fun fling before kissing goodbye and each going their own way. You and Logan have never had a talk about how things were moving, but oh, they were moving.
You turn around to face him, his pretty eyes still closed, chest going up and down in a steady rhythm. He looks so… peaceful.
“I think I should go,” you whisper. Logan’s eyes open slightly, eyebrows furrowing before he starts shaking his head, and you giggle, “Before it gets too late.”
“Just stay the night,” he says, like it’s the obvious thing to do, “I’ll take you home in the morning.”
Thing is, John Logan might not reach the same level of whorish fame of his teammates, but you know the guy. Before this all started, you’ve heard through the grapevine of different girls (puckbunnies, if you will) who were once in your position: between his sheets after a good night — but never the morning.
Guys like John Logan don’t do mornings.
Your hands move to his head, fingers fixing his hair off his face. His eyes flutter closed from the tender touch, “Logan…”
“I know. I know, just–” he stops for a yawn, half his face squished on his pillow again while his hand pulls you gently, “Just stay, please?”
You stare at his sleepy face for a second, taking a deep breath before you answer, “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Logan’s mouth splits in a tired smile, “Cool. C’mere then.”
—
He wakes up before you, nose pressed on the corner between your neck and shoulder, the soft reminiscence of perfume you were wearing last night the very first thing he acknowledges. Then, the morning light, and that’s where it hits him.
You stayed the night.
Logan doesn’t want to wake you, but he can’t help himself. He presses his lips to your shoulder, voice muttering so low, “You’re here.”
“I am.” you mutter back, almost refusing to move and disturb the quietness. Actually, all you do is pull the bedsheets — his bedsheets — closer, bundling yourself under the comfiness of his blankets. Logan lets out a small chuckle, despite feeling the cold reaching his legs. He moves an inch closer, following you under the covers.
Logan moves his lips slowly from your shoulder up to your jaw, placing soft kisses. His arms move around your torso, bringing you closer to his chest. “You’re warm,” he says in a low voice, the low stubble on his face slightly tickling you, “And you’re so soft.”
His lips keep moving over to your behind your ear, then back to your neck, kissing and nibbling. Logan shifts, swiftly pining you to bed and astriding you. His arms are on each side of your body and your hands are moving, fingers brushing his forearms like you’re trying to memorize the shivers on his skin, nails scratching the back of his neck as he kisses you deeply.
It’s all so agonizingly slow — the way he moves, the sun peeking through the white curtains casting a glow over the room, his naked back looking golden under the haze. You close your eyes, and all you hear is a soft chuckle leaving Logan’s lips, trailing down your body again. He presses a kiss on your sternum, “So, so pretty.”
There’s no rush to it, and still, you can’t pinpoint when one movement changes to another, your limbs tangled with his, hips moving together and your quiet moans muffled by his lips. It’s different from all the frantic nights you’ve shared together until now.
Slower, quieter, lovelier.
Logan’s voice whispers soft words in your ear as your chest finds a rhythm again, “You’re good, honey. You’re perfect.”
You open your eyes and find he’s intently watching you, and you press a quick kiss on his lips, then a couple more over his nose and face. He relaxes his body, arms faltering beside you, whole weight now resting on top of you.
“I’m assuming you’re not taking me home now, are you?”
Logan lets out an amused chuckle, “No, you stay as long as you want.”
You don’t see yourself leaving his bed anytime soon.
notes: thank you for reading! first time writing for off campus <3 requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated!
summary: after john left you high and dry, he makes it up to you by giving you just what you wanted.
request: yes/no
warnings: sexual themes, p in v, fingering, swearing, drinking
word count: 3.02k
authors note: okay so I finally finished the show after days of putting it off and I fear it will be rewatched at least 15,000 times. but on the bright side, it's giving me ideas for all of the guys! not a clue what to tell you guys about this one though, wrote it last night on the train and kind of enjoyed it more than i thought i would.
Logan swore that you were trying to kill him.
It was Beau and Deans big birthday weekend. A weekend that had been marked in everyone’s calendars since the moment invitations came out.
Your boyfriend was confused when you said that you and one of your friends opted to be a duo because he thought he would have been your logical pairing. But when you refused to tell him anything about your costume he should have known that something was up.
And something certainly was because when you walked in, arms locked with your friend Logan finally realised why you had kept this from him. You were dressed as Poison Ivy and you may as well have gone out of a wet dream.
The green corset that you paired with a little skirt and your black boots made him freeze “oh my god dude you’re so down bad!” Tucker laughed as his eyes landed on you.
Your friend was dressed as Harley Quinn and Tucker then shut up when he realised that she was hot “if you will excuse me boys.” Tucker sent them a salute before he picked up another cup of beer to give to you.
It made you laugh how quickly your boyfriend found you “told you he loves ya.” Your friend teased you seeing how your eyes brightened.
You elbowed the younger girl “go.” You gritted through your teeth as you motioned to the football player that she had been hooking up with the week before.
Logan held your cup out to you “my lady.” He smiled as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks.
When he literally saw you at the end of the game just hours before “why thank you kind sir.” You giggled as you softly nodded taking the cup from the boy.
His hand was quick to slide around your waist “miss me?” You teased as he rolled his eyes “you know it.” He mumbled as he kissed you.
Garrett was stood talking to Dean when he watched the interaction go down “still don’t know how you’re okay with that.” The blonde shook his head knowing that if Summer was in your place he’d kill Logan with every chance that he could get.
Your brother sighed as he shook his head “he makes her happy.” Garrett shrugged as he knew he couldn’t ruin the kind of love that the two of you had.
Well that and when he tried to forebode Logan from seeing you, the puppy dog eyes from the two of you drove him mad after day two “they’re gross.” Dean shook his head as he gagged.
Logan pecked your lips as you rambled on about some part of your costume you were worried you wouldn’t pull off “that’s because you are incapable of a long term relationship.” Garrett laughed when the blonde shoved him.
You giggled running your fingers along Logan’s shirt “so you’re a bird?” You cocked your head as you were trying to understand his costume “an eagle baby.” He corrected you as he puffed his chest out.
Your tongue darted out of your lips as you tried to figure out what to say “that’s literally a bird sparky.” You shot back crossing your arms over your chest.
Logan’s eyes dropped to your corset, immediately seeing how it pushed your boobs up “my eyes are up here.” You teased the boy who immediately turned red “can’t a guy just enjoy how good his girl looks?”
That practically did it for you.
He always had some stupid rule that 48 hours before a game he wouldn’t touch you because it was one of his superstitions after the two of you had sex the one time and hours later he played and got ejected.
So you were ready to jump his bones now as you felt like you were the hottest person alive “y’know after last night you kind of left me high and dry?” You rubbed your chin between two fingers.
Since Logan said he wouldn’t touch you, you thought that phone sex was a good middle contender. But instead the boy hung up on you as quickly as he answered when he heard you moan his name.
He frowned “you know I’ll make it up to you.” He rubbed his thumb in a circular motion on your hip.
His lips nipped at your earlobe, “c’mon baby.” Logan mumbled “let me show ya what the bird from the bird and the bees knows.”
Your eyes lit up when he said it “so you are a bird!” He pulled away with a sigh “I’m telling you I want to fuck you right now and this is all you are taking away from it?” Logan grumbled as his lips hovered over yours.
You grinned “how am I meant to know that you’ll do a good job.” You teased him but as his eyes grew darker, you knew he took it seriously.
He twirled a strand of red hair from your wig between his fingers “last time I checked you never complained.” He grumbled against your mouth as you giggled into his kiss “well what’s one more customer satisfaction test?” You asked as you shrugged.
And just like that, with one more peck to your lips. His hand locked into yours as you two slipped upstairs to get to the room he claimed for the night.
“You know he’s going up there to bang your sister?”
Garrett’s hand tensed around his cup so hard he almost cracked it “can we not use the term bang when we’re talking about my sister.” He groaned as it made the blonde snicker.
Dean had a shit eating grin plastered on his face “would you rather have me say he’s gonna fuck her senselessly?” If they weren’t in public and Hannah was mere feet from them, Dean’s head would have been shoved against a wall.
So instead he glared at him “I will drown you if you don’t shut up.”
Upstairs neither one of you were any wiser as to what the boys downstairs were talking about “remind me to never buy something that cheap again.” You whined as you yanked the itchy wig off of your head.
Logan leaned against the now shut door “gotta say that this is the real look.” He pointed to your hair net.
You pulled it off of your head and threw it at the boy who laughed “c’mon baby you look cute.” He shook his head.
If only he knew how quickly he’d regret those words because he was the one who had to get you out of all of it.
You couldn’t understand how it was that he was able to lace his skates with such precision yet struggled with the laces of your corset “how about we cut you out of it?” He grumbled as he was in nothing but his boxers and you had this and your panties to get rid of “you dare.”
You glared at him through the mirror as he laughed looking back at you “let’s all just be fucking glad that I got it undone.” He swore he could have cheered when he finally got you out of it.
Watching as he let the fabric drop from your sides before he was quick to spin you around “fuck me you look good.” Logan huffed out a breath as he took in the sight of you.
You grinned as you let your hands rest on his shoulders “thought you were meant to know what the birds and the bees were already Mr Bird.” You teased making him roll his eyes.
His head dropped so that his lips were close to yours “an eagle remember.” He didn’t give you time to respond as he kissed you.
His tongue swiped across your lower lip and the moment you let out this soft moan he didn’t think twice when he picked you up. Your legs wrapped around him on instinct as you enjoyed how the new angle let you kiss him.
The boy carried you over to the bed as if you were nothing more than some clothes out of the dryer, tossing you onto the bed as you squealed, “god you’re perfect.” He muttered not wasting any time as he climbed over you, letting your leg rest between his. His teeth grazed at the skin on your neck as it made you squirm.
“Tell me what you wanted me to do to you last night.”
His words made you look at him “huh?” You cocked your head as you were confused, “when you called last night.” Logan sucked on your earlobe.
It made your eyes practically roll into your eyes “what were you thinking of as you fingered yourself?” His hand pressed against your clothed cunt, causing your hand to wrap around his wrist.
Sure you guys had good sex, great sex even. Sex in his car, sex in your room, sex in the bath (that was a personal favourite of yours), but you had never had done something like this before.
Your mouth felt dry as your cheeks were warm “hey-” Logan took your silence as something that was negative “it’s just me okay?”
His sweetness made you nod, letting your lips softly form a smile “I thought about it being your fingers.” Your words made his cheeks grow warm.
He let out a deep breath as he smirked, “and what was I doing?” His voice felt dangerously low as he placed a string of open-mouthed kisses against your throat.
You began to drive your hips against his hand, wanting to feel some kind of relief, “ah ah baby use your words.” He cooed as he kissed your lips.
It felt almost sweeter than before as he looked at you again “you were getting me off.” Your cheeks felt flushed with embarrassment as you swore his eyes flickered with an idea.
His fingers danced over the hem of your panties “please baby,” you cried out as you arched your back into the bed beneath you.
Logan almost thought that your sheer level of desperation was cute. He would have fully believed it was cute if he didn’t feel like he was right there with you in it “I gotta cum.” Your words almost made him laugh.
He knew you couldn’t without him anymore, no matter how hard you tried. It seemed that he ruined your cunt not only for any future man but also for you “let’s get you out of these then?” You didn’t need to be asked again as you forced your hips into the air, allowing him to pull your panties down your legs. Logan smiled when he saw your desperation.
You rested on your elbows as you leaned forward to kiss him “please baby.” You begged, wishing that he’d stop taking the time to take you all in.
He brought two of his fingers up to your mouth as he tapped at your lower lip “gotta make sure you’re ready for me.” He murmured as your lips instantly wrapped around his fingers. Bobbing your head as if it were his cock in your mouth instead.
It made him grunt, pulling his fingers from your mouth as he watched a glob of saliva follow, the trail breaking over your tits. He ran his fingers up and down your slit, making sure to graze over your clit in a way that made your whole body respond “you’re being mean.” You whined making the boy look at you “you don’t think calling me last night was mean?”
He didn’t wait for you to answer as he let his fingers into your cunt. Slowly stretching them out as he moved them back and forth in and out.
Logan watched as your eyes rolled back, enjoying the new feeling of fullness, “so good.” You mumbled as you brought your hips up to meet his thrusts, thinking about what you were imagining when you called him.
The boy ran his tongue across your jaw, making your skin shiver as nerves coarsed through your veins.
He watched as your thighs tensed around his wrist “you look so pretty doll.” Logan cooed as he sucked at your earlobe, “don’t stop,” You shook your head as you arched your back.
The boy let his free hand land next to your head “ain’t going anywhere.” He nodded as he smirked.
Incoherent whimpers escaped from your lips as you felt him curl his fingers, making his palm hit your clit “let them hear you doll.” Logan grumbled as he forced your mouth open “gnahhhh.” You moaned as you felt your toes curl.
Logan engulfed you in a kiss as he forced your legs open with his knees “I won’t last.” You warned, feeling a tightness form in your core.
Your cunt was slick against his fingers as he hit your sweet spot “did I let you cum in your pretty little mind?” Logan asked as he leaned down to your tits.
He let his lips nip at your skin. Leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down your chest.
The boy reminded you of what started this “yes please.” You begged, letting your head dig into the mattress as you moaned.
Your fingers gripped at his hair “make a mess around my fingers.” His voice was soft as he kissed you again.
His cock throbbed against the comforter and he really didn’t think he could last much longer “fuck Johnny.” You moaned as your eyes screwed shut.
Your hands cupped your boobs, rings grazing over your nipples as your legs shook. His lips swallowed your moans as you came, your ears rang as the boy fucked you through your high.
Logan pulled his fingers from your cunt while you were still regaining control of your breathing. He didn’t hesitate to slot his fingers into his mouth as he lapped at your release.
When you saw what he was doing, you swore that you were going to cum again “you gotta fuck me while I lay here.” You announced making him throw his head back as he laughed.
He leaned down to his jeans to grab a condom from his wallet.
Logan swore that the sight of you laying on a bed waiting for him to fuck you was never going to get old “how did I get so lucky?” He asked as he rolled his condom over his cock.
He crawled back into the bed as he pushed your legs towards your chest “wait,” you stopped him as he leaned down to kiss you. Your legs shifted to rest on his shoulders “ah you want to try this huh?” He asked as he ran his fingers along your thigh.
You grinned as you shrugged, “don’t blame me blame my brain.” You caught your lip between your teeth as you looked at him.
Logan looked at you like you were the only person on this planet that mattered.
And when you saw how his torso tensed, practically itching to slide into you “god do you know you’re hot.” You groaned as he slid his cock into your cunt.
The boy laughed “you do know that you’ve already got me right?” As he eased himself in, slowly bottoming you out as he let his head fall backwards “no need to flirt with me anymore.” He teased you as he scoffed.
You enjoyed the way your legs burned at the new way that Logan stretched out your walls “you’re lucky I’m under ya.” Your words got caught in your throat as your eyes fluttered.
He smirked as he shook his head “you’re lucky I’m fucking ya.” He forced out a harsh breath as he watched how your cunt swallowed his cock.
You moaned as you nodded “asshole.” You forced out the words as he picked up his pace.
Logan woud have usually given you some kind of cocky response. The way he loved to push your buttons when he fucked you. But tonight, he just wanted to enjoy it.
The way your cunt would pull him back in each time he pulled back should have been borderline pornographic. The way it squelched right before the sound of skin slapping bounced off the walls. The party downstairs is now nothing more than just an afterthought.
You were obsessed with the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls. How the head hit the sweet spot in your cunt over and over again. Logan continued to kiss your skin as if he wanted to check you were still there. His head rested in the crook of your neck “god you’re perfect.” He babbled as he pumped his cock in and out of you.
He swore he was going to cum as he groaned, “all mine.” Your cunt clenched around him, making his head buzz.
The room felt warm as you were slick with sweat “all yours.” You nodded, making Logan squirm.
To hear you say that made him feel as if he was dreaming when you moaned, “go on baby.” He murmured when he licked the shell of your ear.
You cried out a whimper as you shook your head “wanna feel you make a mess on my cock.” It sent you over the edge as your eyes rolled back.
Stars painted your vision as you came. Logan wanted to fuck you through it but he could barely take it himself as he feels your cunt clamp around his cock. He barely processed that he was cumming as your body shook against him, as he felt his cock practically get sucked dry.
Logan’s body practically went limp against you as he groaned. As you started to come back to earth you raked your fingers through his hair, softly tugging on the ends so that he was forced to look at you.
You kissed his lips as you ignored the way your thigh cramped “I love you.” You mumured into his lips as he grunted in agreement, his cock throbbing as your body jumped under him.
As Logan rolled off of the top of you he stared at the ceiling, “okay so new rule.” His fingers locked into yours “phone sex before games is allowed.”
Summary: After a long hospital shift, you’re relaxing at home when your coworker and friend Dennis shows up late at night.
Warnings: Smut +18 minor DNI, friend!dennis whitaker x friend!afab!reader, explicit content, somnophilia, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, creampie, softdom!Dennis, unprotected sex (don't do it), dennis having a wet dream, vaginal sex, praise, consensual sex, garsantos mention, let me know if I'm missing something.
Words Count: 2.1k
Authors Note: I NEED HIM SO BAD, if you have any ideas, whether smut, angst, or fluff, you can send them to me. I'll be writing everything you send me about them or other characters. You can check the rules section (it's pinned to my profile). Sorry for any written mistakes english its not my first language.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
It was eleven o'clock on a Saturday night. The bass from your speakers thumped through the living room as "Be My Lover" pulsed loudly, the kind of throwback track that always made you forget the exhaustion of a long hospital shift. You arrived home about an hour ago, you changed your clothes so quick some very short shorts and a loose t-shirt that reached your waist, messy hair, stomach growling. Takeout menus glowed on your phone screen while you danced between the coffee table and the kitchen, half-deciding between sushi or burgers, swaying your hips like no one was watching.
You were reaching for the payment method when your screen changed quickly “Denny’s calling”.
Weird. He never called this late.
"Hey, what's up?" you answered, pressing the phone to your ear and lowering the music with your free hand.
"Can you open the door?" His voice sounded tired, edged with something like defeat.
You blinked. "What? You're... here?"
"I'm standing outside your apartment right now. Please open up."
The line went dead.
"What the fuck?" you muttered, heart picking up speed. You paused the music completely, padded barefoot to the door, and peered through the peephole.
There he was, Dennis Whitaker, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a plastic bag dangling from his other hand. The smell of warm food hit you the second you opened the door.
"Denny? What the hell, dude?"
He gave you that crooked half-smile, the one that always looked a little sheepish. "Trinity invited Yolanda over. Again. And I know I won't be able to sleep tonight with them on the other side of the wall. I brought some food, because imagine that you hadn't eaten yet." He lifted the bag—fresh burgers, fries, from your favorite spot and a couple of Coca-Cola’s. "Can I crash here?"
You stepped aside immediately, letting him in. "Of course. Jesus, you look wiped.”
You let Dennis inside, the warm aroma of burgers and fries filling your apartment instantly. He kicked off his shoes by the door, looking relieved as hell, and set the bag down on the coffee table while you turned the music back on low.
“Trinity and Yolanda are fucking again?” you asked, already grabbing plates.
He groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. “Every fucking weekend lately. I’m happy for her, I guess, but Jesus Christ, the walls are thin and we had a twelve hour shift. I just need one night of actual sleep. I don't understand how they can have sex after twelve hours of shift work."
You laughed softly and bumped his shoulder. “Well, you’re safe here. Let's eat before it gets cold.”
You both dug in on the couch, burgers juicy and fries perfectly salty, washing it down with ice-cold Coke while the bass from the earlier song still hummed faintly in the background. Conversation stayed light—hospital gossip, stupid patient stories, how Yolanda apparently had a loud laugh and an even louder everything else. By the time the food was gone, you were both full and relaxed.
“Movie?” you offered.
“God yes.”
You picked something mindless and fun, some action flick with explosions and zero emotional stakes. Dennis stretched out beside you on the couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest. Halfway through, his eyes were already drooping. By the time the credits rolled, he looked dead on his feet.
He stood up with a sigh, grabbing his backpack. “I’ll crash on the couch. Thanks again for letting me stay here.”
You shook your head immediately. “No way. That couch is a torture device. You’ll wake up with a fucked-up back and be useless tomorrow. Just sleep in the bed with me. It’s big enough.”
He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sure? I don’t want to impose—”
"Oh, come on, you're not bothering me, and seriously, this sofa isn't good for sleeping, I'm telling you from experience," you said, being completely honest.
He chuckled tiredly and gave in. You both brushed your teeth side by side like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You slid under the covers first, and he followed, keeping a respectful distance at first. Within minutes, his breathing evened out into deep sleep. You followed soon after, the familiar scent of him.
You woke up slowly in the dark, disoriented by the heat pressed against your back.
Dennis had shifted in his sleep. His chest was flush to your spine, one strong arm curled loosely around your waist, and his hips… God. He was rocking against you, slow and unconscious, his cock already fully hard and straining against the front of his night pants. The thick ridge rubbed right between your ass cheeks with every sleepy roll of his hips, separated only by thin fabric. A low, rough sound rumbled in his throat—almost a groan.
The first instinct would be to move, wake him up, and put him on the couch, but after months of dreaming about Dennis, it was impossible to move. Besides, he looked too beautiful and peaceful, having a wet dream while rubbing against you.
Your pulse spiked. Heat pooled low in your belly as you stayed perfectly still at first, feeling every deliberate, needy grind. His breath was hot against the back of your neck, ragged now. His hand on your stomach flexed, fingers spreading like he wanted to pull you even closer.
You let out a tiny, involuntary whimper.
That small sound must have pierced the dream, because Dennis stirred. His hips stuttered, then pressed forward harder, more deliberately. His voice came out low and gravelly, still half-asleep but unmistakably hungry.
“Fuck— you like that, right?” he murmured against your skin, lips brushing your shoulder. His breath was hot, uneven. The thick, heavy length of his cock throbbed against your ass, grinding slower now, more intentional, as if testing whether you’d pull away.
You didn’t. Instead, you arched back just enough to press your ass firmer against him. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat.
“Been dreaming about this… about you. For months.” he rasped, voice thick with sleep and sudden lust. His hand on your stomach slid lower, fingers slipping under the hem of your loose t-shirt, palm hot against your bare skin. He cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your already stiff nipple, rolling it slowly.
You gasped as he pinched lightly, sending sparks straight to your core. Your shorts were already damp between your thighs. Dennis rocked against you again, the fat head of his cock catching against the fabric covering your pussy from behind, teasing the seam.
“Dennis…” you whispered, voice shaky with need.
He kissed the back of your neck, open-mouthed, teeth grazing. “Tell me to stop and I will. But fuck, I don’t want to.”
“Don’t stop,” you breathed.
That was all he needed.
Dennis’s hand left your breast and slid down your belly, straight into your tiny shorts. His thick fingers found your soaked folds immediately. He groaned loudly against your neck as he spread your wetness, circling your swollen clit with two fingertips.
“So fucking wet for me already,” he growled. He pushed one long finger inside you, then another, curling them deep while his palm ground against your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your pussy filled the dark bedroom. You moaned, pushing back onto his hand and against his throbbing cock.
He finger-fucked you steadily, scissoring and curling until your legs trembled. His hips never stopped that slow, filthy grind against your ass, his cock leaking precum through his pants.
“Need you naked,” he muttered. He pulled his hand free, making you whine at the loss, and quickly yanked your shorts and panties down your legs in one rough tug. You kicked them off while he shoved his own pants down, freeing his cock. It slapped heavy and hot against your bare ass thick, veined, the head slick and flushed dark.
Dennis hooked your top leg back over his thigh, spreading you open from behind. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your dripping slit, coating himself in your juices, teasing your entrance and clit with every pass.
“Been dying to feel this tight little pussy,” he whispered right against your ear, then pushed forward.
The thick head stretched you open slowly. You both moaned as he sank in inch by inch, your walls fluttering and gripping around his girth. He was big, thick enough that you felt every ridge and vein as he filled you completely, bottoming out with a deep groan when his hips pressed flush against your ass.
“Fuck… so tight. So perfect,” he breathed.
He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust, kissing and biting along your shoulder and neck. Then he started moving slow, deep rolls of his hips, dragging his cock almost all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt. The angle had him hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.
Your hand reached back, gripping his hip, urging him deeper. He picked up the pace, fucking you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. His hand returned to your clit, rubbing tight circles while he pounded into you from behind.
“God, you feel even better than I imagined,” he groaned. “So fucking hot and wet… squeezing my cock like you don’t want me to leave.”
You were moaning steadily now, pushing back to meet every thrust. Dennis suddenly pulled out, making you cry out in protest, but he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion and settled between your spread thighs.
He looked down at you, eyes dark with lust, hair messy. “Want to see your face when you come on my cock.”
He pushed back inside you in one long stroke, deeper than before. You cried out, back arching. Dennis leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss—tongues sliding, teeth nipping—as he started fucking you hard. The bed creaked with every powerful thrust. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, opening you wider, driving his cock into you at a relentless pace.
You could feel every inch of him—stretching, filling, rubbing perfectly against your g-spot. His balls slapped against your ass. Sweat slicked your skin where your bodies met.
He broke the kiss to bury his face in your neck, sucking a mark there. “Come for me, baby.”
His words and the relentless drag of his thick shaft sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you—walls clamping down hard around him, thighs shaking, a loud moan tearing from your throat as pleasure ripped through every nerve.
Dennis groaned deeply, hips stuttering, but he didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, drawing it out, then slowed just enough to pull out again.
He moved down your body, spreading your thighs wide. Without warning, his mouth was on you—tongue licking broad stripes up your soaked pussy, sucking your clit between his lips. He moaned against your folds, tasting you greedily, two fingers sliding back inside you and curling.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growled between licks and sucks. He ate you like a man starved, tongue fucking into you, then focusing on your clit until you came again, grinding against his face, fingers tangled in his hair.
Only then did he climb back up, cock slick and shining with your juices. He flipped you onto all fours, hands gripping your hips hard as he lined up and slammed back inside you in one brutal thrust.
This angle was even deeper. He fucked you hard and fast, one hand sliding around to rub your clit again while the other held your hip, pulling you back onto his cock. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping, your moans, and his low, filthy groans.
“Gonna come soon,” he warned, voice strained. “Where do you want it?”
“Inside,” you gasped. “Fill me up.”
“Fuck—yes.”
He pounded into you even harder, chasing his release. His rhythm faltered as he got close. With a deep, broken groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard—thick ropes of hot cum pulsing deep inside you, filling you up as his cock throbbed and twitched.
He kept shallowly thrusting through his orgasm, milking every drop, until you both collapsed sideways onto the bed, He withdrew from you, watching his semen come out of you.
Heavy breathing filled the quiet room. Dennis wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing the back of your neck tenderly now, completely different from the raw hunger moments before.
“Been wanting that for so fucking long,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse. “Not just tonight… every time I saw you at the hospital.”
You smiled, still catching your breath, “Maybe… we do that again in the morning?”
He chuckled lowly, nipping your shoulder. “Yes.”
And so both fell fast asleep until the following morning.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly, if you want to be tagged in all my oneshots from the pitt go check my the pitt taglist and comment ᥫ᭡
So uhm... Imagine Langdon just fucking you while you're on call with Dennis knowing damm well Dennis has a crush on you hahahahahaha
Hi beautiful anon, thank you for blessing us with this sluttiest request. I hope it's what you asked for, or something close, because I just got carried away, tbh.<33
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Summary: You were having sex with Frank when an unexpected phone call changes everything.
Warnings: smut +18 minors DNI, no use of Y/N, teasing, sexual explicit content, use of fingers, unprotected sex (don't do it), oral (f receiving), dom!Frank x afab!reader, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, creampie, dom!Frank, praise and degradation, dennis being a fucking dirty mouth, let me know if I'm missing something.
words count: 1.3k
Authors note: Hi, I'm back. This is my first smut post in a while. I feel like I'm a little rusty, to be honest. I promise to improve again. Anyway, I'm so fucking obsessed with Langdon and Dennis, like I need them at the same time. I have an idea for a part two, but I don't know yet, so let me know if you want one. If you have any ideas, whether smut, angst, or fluff, you can send them to me. I'll be writing everything you send me about them or other characters. You can check the rules section (it's pinned to my profile). Sorry for any written mistakes english its not my first language.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
It was nine o'clock at night and Frank couldn't resist dragging you to his room and fucking you. You two were nothing, just colleagues who sometimes fucked. Ever since he had divorced Abby, his sex drive had been out of control, and you were the first to notice and help him. and he couldn't resist at all.
Now you were lying in bed while Frank devoured you like a desperate man, and you couldn't keep your mouth shut.
"Fuck—that feels so good" you murmured between moans. "Don't stop please."
Frank's eyes darkened with raw hunger as he lifted his head just enough to watch your face twist in pleasure, his fingers still buried deep inside you, curling lazily against that spot that made your hips jerk.
"Look at you," he growled, voice low and rough, lips shiny with your wetness. "So fucking needy for me. Can't even stay quiet, can you?"
You whimpered in response, fingers tangling tighter in his hair as you tried to push him back down. Frank chuckled darkly, but he obeyed, diving back in with renewed desperation. His tongue flattened against your clit before flicking rapidly, sucking the swollen bud into his mouth while his fingers picked up pace, thrusting deeper, faster, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.
Your back arched off the bed, thighs trembling around his head. "Frank— fuck, yes— right there—"
He groaned against your pussy, the vibration shooting straight through you. One of his hands slid up your body, roughly palming your breast, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out. He was devouring you like a starving man, like he hadn't touched anyone in years even though it had only been a few days since the last time.
You were getting close already, that tight coil in your belly winding unbearably fast. Your moans grew louder, shameless, until Frank suddenly pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue, fucking you with it while his thumb pressed firm circles on your clit.
"Come on," he rasped between licks, voice wrecked. "Let me hear you. Cum for me, baby. I want to feel you soaking my face."
Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You cried out his name, hips bucking wildly as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Frank didn't stop, licking and sucking you through every pulse, greedy for every drop until you were shaking and oversensitive, pushing weakly at his head.
He finally pulled back, breathing hard, his chin glistening. His cock was straining painfully against his pants as he crawled up your body, eyes locked on yours with that feral intensity.
"We're not done," he murmured, voice thick with lust as he freed himself, thick and heavy, already leaking. He rubbed the head against your slick folds, teasing your entrance. "Not even close."
He grabbed you by the hips and quickly turned you around, ending up in doggy style.
You were still catching your breath, face down against the sheets, ass up as Frank positioned himself behind you. He didn’t waste a second. With one rough thrust he buried his thick cock deep inside your soaked pussy, stretching you open in one go. The sudden fullness punched a loud moan out of you.
“Fuck, yes—” you gasped, gripping the sheets.
Frank groaned, hips snapping forward again, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. “That’s it. Take every inch, baby.”
Frank gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he drove into you with deep, relentless strokes. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixed with your muffled moans into the sheets and his low, guttural grunts.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, voice strained with raw need. He pulled back almost all the way, only to slam back in harder, burying himself to the hilt.
You pushed back against him, desperate for more, your body still buzzing from the first orgasm. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you, making your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
“Harder— Frank, please—” you begged, voice breaking.
You were pushing back against him, lost in pleasure, when your phone started ringing on the nightstand.
Frank slowed his thrusts but didn’t stop, reaching over to grab the phone. A filthy smirk spread across his face when he saw the screen.
“Denny’s calling,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Answer it. Now.”
“Frank—wait—” you gasped, but he thrust deep and held himself there, grinding against your cervix.
“Answer it and act normal,” he ordered, giving your ass a sharp smack. “I want to hear you struggle.”
With a trembling hand you took the call.
“H-hey, Denny…” you breathed, trying to sound casual even as Frank started fucking you again, slow and deep.
“Hey,” Dennis replied warmly. “Sorry for calling so late. I’ve been thinking about you all day. You free this weekend? Maybe we could grab a drink or—”
Frank suddenly changed the angle and started railing you harder, his cock dragging perfectly against your g-spot with every brutal thrust. A choked moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.
You tried to mute the call, but Frank grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the bed, forcing you to keep the line open.
“Fuck—!” you moaned loudly.
Dennis went quiet for a second, then his voice dropped, thick with sudden arousal.
“…Holy shit. You’re getting fucked right now, aren’t you?” He let out a low, dirty chuckle. “Goddamn, listen to that wet pussy taking cock. He’s really giving it to you, huh? You are taking it like a good girl, moaning into the phone while he ruins you.”
Frank groaned in approval and started pounding you faster, hips snapping forward aggressively. The obscene sound of your soaked cunt being fucked echoed with every thrust.
You couldn’t hold back anymore. “Denny… ahh—fuck—”
“Yeah, that’s it. Moan for me, baby,” Dennis continued, his voice growing rougher. “Tell me how deep he is. Is his cock stretching that tight little hole wide open? I can hear how fucking wet you are. Bet your tits are swinging and your pussy is creaming all over him. Fuck, I’m so hard just listening to you get railed like a whore.”
Frank reached around and rubbed your clit roughly while slamming into you, making your moans louder and more desperate.
“Tell him how good it feels,” Frank growled loud enough for Dennis to hear.
Frank smirked darkly behind you and slammed in especially hard, making you cry out.
You whimpered helplessly. “Denny—fuck—”
“Shit, you sound so fucking hot,” Dennis growled. “I’m getting hard just listening to you get railed. Tell him to fuck you harder. I want to hear you scream while you cum on his cock.”
Frank’s eyes flashed with pure hunger. He grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly and pounding into you with savage strokes, balls slapping against your pussy.
You were gone—moaning openly into the phone, voice wrecked, body shaking as Frank fucked you senseless and Dennis’s dirty words pushed you right to the edge.
“Gonna cum—fuck, I’m gonna cum—” you gasped.
“That’s it,” both men seemed to urge at once.
Your orgasm crashed over you violently, pussy spasming hard around Frank’s thick cock as you moaned loud enough for Dennis to hear every filthy second of it. Frank kept thrusting through it, chasing his own release, while Dennis’s low, filthy praise kept pouring through the speaker.
For a moment there was only heavy breathing on both ends of the line.
Frank pulled out slowly, watching his cum leak from your ruined hole with satisfaction. He took the phone from your limp fingers.
"Next time you call her," he said casually, "She might be riding my cock again."
Dennis's voice was wrecked but eager. "...Yeah. But next time invite me so I can fuck her too, Langdon."
Frank let out a snort, almost a laugh, "Yeah, we'll see," and he hung up.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly☆
summary: dennis spends his free time with you and cigarettes.
content warnings/description: 18+ MDNI, AFAB reader, smoking, past self-harm/past self-inflicted cigarette burns (briefly mentioned and not described in detail), safe (relatively), sane, and consensual fire play (with cigarette ashes), masochist!dennis, familial trauma, more whump than fluff, but there is fluff, sexual tension, but no smut, whitsantos siblingism
author’s note: please heed the tags, and don’t read if anything might be too uncomfortable or triggering! i love to make dennis suffer, apparently.
It’s an awful habit Dennis has. And he should kick it. But he just can’t. It’s not even the dopamine release and the addiction to it that keeps him from putting down the cigarette, though that obviously plays a heavy role in it. No, he knows it’s bad for him. That’s why he can’t stop smoking.
Stress and worry clutch him by the throat and strangle him. He has never caught his breath and has therefore stopped chasing it. He can’t remember the last time he had an effortless intake of air. He chokes and chokes and chokes, and he wonders how he makes it through to the next day. His lungs burn as what little oxygen he can swallow combusts into flames, and it feels like this… all the time. Maybe less when he isn’t at work, but, for the most part, he is in a constant state of breathlessness.
In the mornings he wakes with invisible bruises around his neck, along with his seemingly permanent eyebags, and goes into work, where almost ninety-nine percent of everyone else there has the same bruises. Some are visible, unlike his, and more prominent than others because patients assault hospital staff—he has been extremely lucky to avoid such a fate thus far—and the expectation is that they just take it. With every drag of his cigarette, at least he’s the one in charge of stealing the air from his lungs and setting his throat on fire.
And he’s not the only one to find solace in such a nasty habit. Dana used to smoke. She has years of hospital experience under her belt as a charge nurse, and she only just retired her last pack. She knows what it’s like.
(There’s gotta be somethin’ else.
At first, he doesn’t think she’s speaking to him. But no one else is out here with them, and so she must be speaking to him. Still, he looks to his side and behind him, heavy snow coming down in thick chunks past the overhang of the emergency bay, just to be sure.
Whaddya mean?
Dana drops her cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. He knows better than to tell her not to litter.
Look at us, kid. You think we’d be out here freezin’ our asses off for a smoke if it weren’t for what’s back in there?
What’s back in there? he asks, stupidly.
Hell, Whitaker. Hell.
He hums around a drag of his cigarette, the ensuing exhale heavy in the air with both his frosty breath and the smoke. It makes sense. Hell is hot. We’re just cooling down.
She chuckles. The sound makes him smile. He hasn’t heard that from her in a while. Not since Driscoll a few months ago. He’s not good at a lot of things, but he’s good at pretending to be okay. But maybe Dana used to be good at it too.
While turning to head back inside, she says, you got me there. But you know what I mean.)
He slogs through the front door and lands face down on the living room couch, backpack still on his back, sneakers untied and still on his feet. He needs to shower. And make dinner for the both of you because you’re coming over later. And he needs to confirm with Trin if she’s staying the night at her friend’s because he doesn’t want her walking into what the two of you will get into after a day like today (and a day like yesterday and what will be a day like tomorrow).
He doesn’t do any of that, though. Not just yet. His nose fills with the familiar scent of old cigarette smoke trapped in the fibers of the couch, and he lets it steep for a bit.
When the scent molecules are no longer recognizable to his brain, he knows he’s had enough and ejects himself from the couch, pulling his phone out from his pocket to text his roommate.
>> will you be back home tonight?
<< why? is your girlfriend coming over?
>> yes. like i told you yesterday.
<< i won’t be home.
<< try not to set the place on fire while i’m out, hucks.
The shower water is scalding on his skin, just as he likes it. Back on the farm, he didn’t have the luxury of hot water at his fingertips. Sometimes it’d be ice cold, other times lukewarm at best. His family never did end up replacing that janky water heater. Maybe when he goes back to visit, he can buy them one as a gift. He can afford it now.
If he goes back. Though he has intentions of working in rural medicine, he likes Pittsburgh. He likes being away from home. He should return his mom’s calls, though. It’s the least he can do.
If Dennis stands under the water long enough, with the temperature set to its highest, his skin pinks up in scattered patches along his arms and down his legs, sensitive to touch. The effect doesn’t last long, about an hour or so after stepping out from under the water, but it’s almost as if he baked out in the sun for too long.
After a shift like today (and the shift like yesterday and what will be like the shift tomorrow), a shower like this is just what he needs.
Dinner is simple. Spaghetti and frozen meatballs and tomato sauce with that parmesan cheese that looks like dandruff. You knock on the door not too long after he turns off the burner, and he opens it to your weary but sweet, heaven-sent face.
You greet him with a simple, “hey.”
“Hey,” he says back.
You open your arms to hug, and he falls into you, your scent, warm vanilla and sweet honey, enveloping him in its own hug. The comfort you bring him feels better than a smoke ever could.
You two eat dinner in relative quiet, occasionally commenting on your cases from earlier today or something another one of your coworkers said. You tell him about your friends’ birthday party next weekend and how you’d like him to join you so you can finally introduce them to your boyfriend. He says, “sure, I’d love to go,” and means it.
What you two have is easy, like breathing air, and for him, with you, he can do it even around the familiar hand that has his windpipe in its grip.
You wipe your lips with a napkin, and it comes back red with the tomato sauce. He licks his thumb, reaches over, and swipes the corner of your mouth at the small bit that was left behind, popping it into his mouth and licking it clean.
“Thanks. Are you almost done? Do you want to…”
“Uh, yeah, I’m finished. Leave the dishes. I’ll run the dishwasher later.” He rubs the nape of his neck, stalling a bit, before reaching over and clasping your hand in his and leading you to the couch. You take a seat, and he tells you, “I’ll be right back.”
He comes back from his room to you with his pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a lighter, trepidation beading along his brows. No matter how many times you two do this or you reassure him you won’t, he always has the fear that you’ll find him disgusting or weird. Or even worse, a horrible boyfriend and person.
He takes a seat beside you, the cushion of the thrifted couch sinking low under his weight. He helped Trin, or more like did most of the heavy lifting, in getting it up to their floor and through the door into their apartment not long after he moved in. In return, she gifted him this lighter.
It’s in the shape of a hammer, and the claws act as the pusher. She thought it was in good taste, considering he had also helped her fix up a lot of the broken appliances that their landlord wouldn’t bother sending someone over for. It ran out of fluid ages ago, but he didn’t have the heart to throw it out and replace it. He refills the fluid instead, as tedious as it is.
He holds out the box of cigarettes and lighter to you, which you gently take, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand reassuringly.
You pull out a cigarette, setting the box in your lap, and flick the lighter, lighting it. You bring it to your lips and take a few puffs of it, making sure the flame is properly lit and burning evenly, before asking Dennis, “where do you want it?”
He holds out and pats his inner forearm. “Just here.”
You nod, a small smile cracking from your lips, and flick the ashes of the cigarette onto his forearm. You hold it high above both of your heads, so by the time the ash hits his skin, it’s cool enough to cause no more than a superficial burn, affecting just the surface of skin. The powdery mixture of chemicals land hot on his forearm, burning him for just a second before going cold and falling away.
When you two first slept together, you gasped in horror upon seeing the few cigarette burns on his upper left arm, over the skin of his deltoid muscle. They were long healed but clearly there, roundly scarred and a tone lighter than his natural skin color. It was a few too many for you.
Dennis, what happened here? Did someone—
—It’s not what you think. It was me. But it won’t happen again.
Didn’t it hurt?
Well, yeah. That’s kind of… why I did it.
As two doctors, you both knew the risks that came with cigarette burns. He was already smoking them. He didn’t need to chance a skin infection or sepsis on top of lung cancer. He couldn’t care less about the scars; he had many of them as the youngest of four brothers, but he knew that he had been toeing a dangerous line and had reeled himself back before he fell. Seeing how sad you were as you looked at the scars in turn made him sad.
They had been a mistake.
Later, you came to him with a safer alternative for fire play: no judgment, no lectures, just unbridled support and understanding for something he felt like no one, except Trin, maybe his mom, could ever understand.
Dennis didn’t know where the impulse came from, though he knew how they had made him feel afterward. Good, if but for a fleeting moment. But upon further reflection, it was likely born from when he was younger and watched his mom put her lit cigarettes out on herself, as if it were normal.
Don’t worry, baby. It looks scarier than it is.
Trin doesn’t like the smell of smoke in the apartment, and Dennis gets it. He’s used to it by now, but she isn’t, and he’s not going to subject her to what he knows is the foul stench of cigarette smoke. So he made sure to open the window in the kitchen before you got here—it also helped air out the smell of the spaghetti he made—and the one connected to the little porch as well as in his bedroom and filled a bowl with white vinegar to leave on the coffee table. The air filter in the corner of the living room was already turned on. She hasn’t made any complaints as of late.
The danger of something lighting aflame is always there, and really, this should be taken outside, but this is the ritual. What you two have done from the start, sitting on this couch, though admittedly stupidly. He cannot change the ritual. It’s hard to tell the ash burns from the dark colors of the couch, and he’ll vacuum the remnant ash later. No big deal. The couch came with a smell—Trin had gotten a good deal on it—and quite frankly, it is better off with a little bit of the cigarette smoke scent rubbed off on it.
You’re not a smoker, not a heavy one, at least, so once the ash from your initial few puffs has already landed on his arm, with a twist of your wrist, you hold out the cigarette to him, by the pointer and middle finger, to take a few drags. He leans his head forward just a bit, closing his lips around the end of it and inhaling. His nose and throat burn as he sucks the smoke out of the lit end of the roll of nicotine through the porous filter into his mouth, taking a breath in so it infiltrates his lungs and exhaling out, away from your face.
The nicotine hits his system immediately, giving him a light buzz, his senses heightened. It won’t last long, probably just a minute or two past once the cigarette is done, but that’s not the point of this.
You take the cigarette away, flicking more of the ash onto his forearm. The pain is like getting stabbed by the needle of a tattoo gun, only in a smaller, more fleeting dose. He’s gotten used to it; he has felt worse literally stubbing the lit end into his skin back when, but along with the head rush of the nicotine, it feels nice. Or doesn’t feel nice. Both, he supposes.
What he is sure feels nice is that you’re here with him. You don’t have to do this with him; it’s something he can do on his own, but, truth be told, he wouldn’t be able to find it in himself to. This is a him and you and a you and him thing.
He reaches the arm not currently being rained upon by ashes out to you to rest his hand on your knee, rubbing it to soothe you but also himself.
“Thank you for this,” he says. “For being here with me.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know.”
The cigarette is over halfway through, and at this point you typically hand it over to him to finish off on the porch while you wait for him in his bedroom before falling asleep together. His forearm is bright pink and irritated, but just as with the shower burns, these marks too will fade away, like nothing happened.
You surprise him tonight when you ask, “could I try?”
“Try?” he repeats, brows raising to his forehead. “This?” he holds his arm out to you in emphasis, glancing between it and you. “No. No way.”
You roll your eyes with a little huff he can’t help but find cute. “Oh, so you’re the only one who can have a pain kink? C’mon. It’ll be fine.”
He knows you know it’s not just a kink for him, but still, he can’t help the blush that spreads all over him. When you’re intimate together and you scratch your nails down his back deep enough to draw blood or bite his neck and leave ugly bruises or do as you’re doing now and use him as an ashtray… He’s turned on by it all. But that’s love, isn’t it? You bring that out of him tenfold.
“Let’s stay on topic, shall we?”
You shrug. “I’m just saying.”
Dennis sighs, squeezing your knee in an effort to refocus you to the conversation. “Where are you going with this. Why do you want to do this?”
“I just want to feel what you feel, Dennis.”
You wait for his response with pleading eyes, tugging on his heartstrings. He would never want to hurt you. Or make you believe that he would want to. But when you look at him like that, he can’t help but begrudgingly say, “fine.”
You make a little gleeful noise, adjusting yourself on the cushion and handing him the rest of the cigarette. He gently places your arm over his lap, glancing at you for your consent, which he is met with with a nod, and reignites the flame with a few puffs before tapping the ashes high over your arm.
The ashes flutter down, and when they land on your skin, you jump at the contact, hissing a bit. He already regrets this. He reaches over and sets the rest of the cigarette on the actual ashtray beside the bowl of vinegar.
“Shit, are you okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you—”
You shake your head. “—I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting it to hurt that much, I guess. I just wanted to try it once. Please don’t feel bad.”
He breathes a sigh of relief, saying, “I won’t,” but he will for a short while. He supposes this is sort of how you felt when you first saw the scars on his upper arm. Guilt-ridden and scared. “Let me finish this off, and I’ll meet you in bed.”
“Can we try one more thing?” you return your arm to your lap and sit up on the couch, bringing up your legs to sit sideways on your feet.
“What is it this time?” he asks, fear in his voice.
“Can you put it out on my tongue?”
His heart stutters for a moment before beating normally again. “Baby…” he trails off. “I really don’t think—”
“—Please?” you whine, grabbing the crook of his arm and shaking it a bit. “For me?”
He relents. Again. How could he not? Still, he sighs and says, “just this once,” in as stern a voice as he can muster.
You nod. “Just this once.”
He looks at you for a few seconds, just in case you change your mind (you do not), and then scoots closer to you, his outer thigh knocking into your knees. “Can you gather some spit for me? Pool it on the tip of your tongue.”
You do as he says, watching as he retrieves the cigarette, taps the excess ash into the ashtray, and draws the lit end closer to your mouth.
“Open,” he says, and you open your mouth and loll out your tongue.
With his free hand, he draws you even closer to him by the nape of your neck, close enough that the tips of your noses touch, smoke and warm breath mixing between you two. He places the cigarette on the saliva-wet tip of your tongue, blushing as he meets your eyes. Hot ash meets a wet tongue, a sizzling noise, and then silence with the snuffing out of the flame. He twists the roll between his fingers, thoroughly stubbing it out, and then lifts it from the wet muscle.
Though your tongue is blackened with ash, you avoided getting burned. A breath he didn’t know he was holding falls from his lips, his shoulders sagging in relief.
Never. Again.
Your tongue returns to its rightful place in your mouth when you say, “thank you for indulging me, Dennis,” with a small smirk and a gleam in your eye.
Maybe once in a while. If only to make you happy.
In a sudden movement, he places the dead cigarette on the ashtray and kisses you, hands cradling the sides of your neck and jaw, tasting the ash on your tongue. You moan into the kiss, wrapping your arms around him and scratching his nape lightly with your fingernails. The flavor of you and the ash and the bit of mint lip balm still clinging to your lips even after dinner goes straight to his cock. He would have you ride him out here if Trin hadn’t made it a rule to keep bodily fluids in their respective bedrooms. She lets him smoke out here, though, so he can’t complain too much.
He bites your lower lip and parts from you, a string of saliva connecting you both before breaking in half. He whispers against your lips, rubbing his nose against yours, “go. I’ll run the dishes and clean up a bit here.”
You nod, pecking him on the cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Dennis feels a lot better now than he did when he got home. As he did last night and as he will tomorrow night because you’re here and will be there with him, taking and giving in tandem the bittersweet tang of pleasure and pain.
He rejoins you in the bed a little time later. You have changed into some of the spare clothes you leave in his closet and have fallen asleep. He wraps his arms around your middle, lightly caressing the exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up, warm and soft and all his, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck.
Every night ends like this, with you two in each other’s arms.
Ritual.
He takes a shaky breath in. Out. Fanning the collar of your shirt. He’s still not caught it; his breath still evades him, but with you by his side, the fingers loosen their hold, the pressure on his windpipe lets up, and a lungful of air is an arm’s reach away.
