blurb: pt. 2 to jealou$y. lingering feelings of jealousy bubble up into desire inside logan. it certainly doesn’t help that you look so good in your costume.
warnings: fem!reader, smut, established relationship, alcohol (not under the influence), CONSENT KING JOHN LOGAN, oral (f!receiving), john logan tits guy CONFIRMED, fingering, riding, lots of praise because it’s john logan i don’t make the rules
You stopped having drinks after that incident. If you were getting lucky tonight, you needed to be sober and ready to pounce on Logan in the right state of mind.
Logan seemed to have the same idea, for you noticed he switched out his bottles of beer for cans of Sprite for the remainder of the night. Neither of you addressed it.
“Bro, don’t be so fucking boring!” Dean clapped him on the back and tried to hand him a suspicious-looking green concoction.
“Not boring, just responsible,” Logan replied, but his eyes were on you when he said it.
He also kept a heavy hand on the small of your back any moment his hand was free. You put on a good act, pretending it didn’t get to you every time his fingers drew small shapes over your top, or whenever his digits slipped beneath the fabric when the boys were too busy laughing, leaving you with a hitched breath and a warm feeling between your legs.
When the other half to your dynamic duo, Kendall, stepped between the two of you and grabbed your hand, spluttering something about dancing to her favorite song, Logan’s grip tightened on you for a moment before he loosened up and plastered a pursed smile on his face.
“As long as you bring her back to me,” he said.
Kendall laughed at his joke as she dragged you away. But one look between you and Logan and you knew he wasn’t trying to be funny.
“He’s so down bad for you, it’s hilarious,” Kendall giggled to you with a roll of her eyes. “He needs to lighten up.”
The pair of you danced to an ABBA song, laughing and belting out the lyrics. You closed your eyes and let loose, submitting to the tingle of whatever alcohol remained in your system.
John watched like a hawk. The irony wasn’t lost on him considering his bird costume. You looked so good. He wanted to hold you from behind and make you feel how heavy his—
“Any more staring and she’ll burst into flames.”
Logan snapped out of it and turned to Garrett, who wore a knowing smirk and offered him another can of Sprite.
“Thanks, man,” Logan said gratefully, taking the refill.
Garrett looked at your dancing figure. “Freshmen on the team were asking about her.”
“Yeah? What’d they say?” Logan replied almost absentmindedly, sipping his drink and staring at you.
Garrett sighed. “Rather not say. I’m supposed to be Hannah’s ‘boyfriend’ and all.”
Logan peered at him from the corner of his eyes, feeling his protective instincts start to wake. Garrett noticed and gently bumped their shoulders together.
“Not like that. Wasn’t bad. Just…” Garrett hummed into his red solo cup. “Horny.” He settled on that word.
That was enough.
Logan chugged down whatever was left in the can of soda before making his way over to you. He crossed the room in quick strides, ignoring Kendall’s amused voice when she cooed, “Uh oh, return to sender already?”
Logan took your hand and pulled you away; away from the dance floor, away from the party, and most importantly—away from the lingering gazes so many guys sent your way.
“Logan?” You queried as he brought you up the stairs.
He didn’t respond, just kept tugging you along.
“Logan.”
Nothing.
“Baby—”
He finally stopped and turned to look at you. His stature towered over you and you suddenly felt small with the way he was staring down at your face.
He exhaled a heavy breath. “Fuck, baby, I’m trying really hard to be respectful.”
You cupped his cheek. His skin was hot to the touch. He subconsciously burrowed closer into the palm of your hand.
“You don’t have to be,” you murmured.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “How many drinks have you had?”
“A can and a half of beer,” you answered.
He opened his eyes to make sure you were being honest. You stood unwavering.
“You’re sober?” He asked.
“Mhm.”
“You’re sure?”
“100%. Are you?”
He sighed, turning away. “Yeah. Yeah, I made sure not to…” his words trailed off.
You smiled. “You made sure not to drink too much so we could fuck?”
He looked at you again. “Don’t say it like that.”
You giggled, pushing away a strand of fallen hair from his forehead. “I’m saying it as it is.”
“I made sure not to drink too much to be responsible,” he corrected.
You nodded along, “Oh, yeah. Responsible. My responsible and respectful boyfriend.” You teased. He did not appreciate that.
“Okay,” he let out an amused sound as if he were faced with a challenge. He leaned in and whispered, “Let’s see who’s laughing when I stop respecting you and start doing all the things I plan to do to you.”
You gulped.
He led you to the nearest vacant bedroom in the Maxwell family home before pushing you inside and locking the door behind him. You thought he’d pin you against the door and makeout with you.
Instead, he said, “Sit on the bed,” in that husky voice you rarely hear so you knew you had to listen.
You sat down. The covers were soft and cool. You watched and waited for his next words, but Logan was too busy pacing in front of the door and running his hands through his hair. He looked so yummy.
“Take your clothes off. Let me see you.”
You blinked. You weren’t used to Logan being like this. He usually did all the work. But this new side of him was hot, so very hot.
You slowly unzipped your boots and kicked them off along with your socks. Next, your headpiece with the sprinkles. Then, your tube top, revealing your bare breasts, and lastly, your skirt, leaving you in nothing but underwear.
You felt exposed, just sitting there on the bed as Logan stared at you without a word. His eyes were nearly black from how blown out his pupils were, his bottom lip chewed and slightly pink from how much he dragged it beneath his teeth.
“Pretty,” he finally commented. “That’s new.”
You glanced down to where he gestured, looking at the lace thong you wore. He was right; it was new. You and Kendall bought matching ones for the costumes, but you didn’t need to tell him that bit right now.
“Yeah,” you confirmed.
“Was it expensive?” He asked.
“Not…really…”
“Good,” he nodded to himself. He pushed off the wings he wore for his costume and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
He knelt down in front of you and spread your legs apart. “So I can ruin it, right?”
That shot up your spine. Your thighs wanted to rub against one another at his remark, but he held your knees firmly. “Answer.”
You nodded without thinking. “Yes.”
He smiled at your obedience and nodded. “Yeah, we’ll get to that. But for now…” his words died down as his lips attached to yours.
It was all tongue and messy. Logan pinned your wrists to the mattress as he kissed you. He grunted against your lips every time you bit his lip teasingly. Eventually, his kisses trailed downwards. To your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. He made sure to give all your sensitive spots an abundance of attention.
Then? His favorite bit. Your tits. John Logan was a tits guy, through and through. Doesn’t matter what size or shape, he was enamored with them.
“Missed my girls,” he murmured before he took one of your breasts into his mouth, swirling his tongue over your pebbled nipple and sucking softly, then switching to the other boob and giving it the same treatment.
Your head tilted back and let out soft sighs. The comfort of him mouthing at your breasts left you aching and squirming on the bed. “Oh, baby…”
He pulled away at your voice and left a sloppy kiss between your tits. He peppered a few more kisses on your abdomen—nipping an especially ticklish spot below your rib—before diving in and licking you over the fabric of your lace thong. You gasped, your hand flying to his hair like second instinct.
He groaned against you, the sound muffled but the vibrations sending sparks to your core. “Already so wet for me. I hardly did anything.”
“Logan, please…”
He kept licking up your slit through your panties. He could feel your juices seep through the delicate material. The friction was doing wonders for your pleasure, but you grew impatient. “Logan…”
He finally pulled your thong to the side and resumed his ministrations with extra fervor. The direct contact had you jumping in your seat, but Logan’s strong arms held your hips down.
He groaned again, pulling away just to mutter, “Fuck, gorgeous, maybe he was right to call you cupcake. You taste so fucking sweet.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before his words fully registered in your head. “James?” You asked, breathlessly.
He pulled away and looked at you with a deadpan expression. He crawled up your body until he was face-to-face with you and said, “Please don’t ever say another man’s name when my tongue is inside you.”
That had your hole clenching around nothing.
“Got that?” He asked.
You nodded right away, “Mhm.”
“Words,” he demanded.
“Yes. Got it.” You responded quietly.
“Good,” he murmured before smoothing your hair down and admiring you for a moment. Then, his head was back between your thighs.
“Ah, Logan!” You breathed out, digging your nails into his scalp.
He raised up two fingers to your lips without stopping. You blinked back bleary eyed at that. “Open,” he said.
Immediately, you parted your lips. He shoved his ring and middle fingers inside your mouth and you sucked on them diligently, running your tongue over his calluses earned from hockey and various handyman jobs. Once they were appropriately wet, he pulled his fingers out and into your pussy.
You keeled over with a loud cry, “John!”
He raised his head up, letting his fingers do all the work now. “You like that? Yeah?”
You bobbed your head up and down, unable to find any words left in you from how nicely Logan scissored his fingers inside you, all whilst keeping his thumb on your clit in steady motions.
“Look at you. So pretty and whiny for me,” he murmured, voice smooth as honey. “Letting me wreck you like this and I haven’t even used my cock yet.”
You whimpered, hand gripping onto his bicep. You were sure you’d see nail marks on his skin even tomorrow morning.
“Oh, you like that?” He asked, tilting his head. “You want me to fuck you stupid with my cock?” The pace of his fingers increased.
Your eyes screwed shut. “Yes! Please, I want that.” You tugged him closer so you could bury your face in his neck, feeling so overwhelmed by pleasure.
He let out an airy chuckle. “Such a good girl. Just for that? I’ll reward you.”
He made you cum on his fingers. The heel of his hand applied pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves until you seized and melted against him with a moan.
“Shhh, that’s it. Come down from it, you’re okay,” he kissed the top of your head.
You mumbled incoherent sentences into his neck and he merely smiled and rubbed your back.
After a minute of breathing, he pulled back slightly to look at your face. “You okay?” He asked, pushing a lock of hair away from your face.
You nodded, still buzzing from what had happened. “Yeah,” you exhaled.
He nodded, watching you carefully in the vulnerable afterglow. Your hands trailed down to his jeans, tugging at his belt, silently asking for it to come off.
Logan chuckled softly before helping you remove his belt and jeans. He reached into the pocket then chucked them on the floor and you instantly started palming his eager boner through his boxers.
He hissed, tossing his head back. “Fuck, baby.”
“Please tell me you have a condom,” you said.
He held the small foil up in his fingers.
At that, you rid him of his boxers and watched in tense awe as he teared the packet open with his teeth and rolled the condom on. You settled back against the bed pillows as you waited in hot anticipation.
“Uh uh,” he wagged his finger before curling it in a come hither gesture.
You sat up, letting out a surprised squeal when he lifted you by your thighs and settled on the bed before placing you above him. Your hands scrambled until they settled on his abs.
He looked up at you with hooded eyes, “Look good for me, gorgeous. I want a show.”
You leaned down and peppered kisses over his face. He let out a relaxed sigh and rubbed up and down your sides lazily. You nibbled on a spot right below his ear, earning you a delicious whimper from him.
“Tease,” he muttered and you grinned.
“Thought you wanted a show,” you remarked.
He hummed, “Mm, yeah. But just for me. No one else.”
You looked down at him, realizing he’s still a bit hung up from the incident earlier that night. Your finger slid sensually from his adam’s apple to his naval. “No one else. Only you.”
“Yeah?” His voice got deeper. “Show me.”
Sir, yes, sir. You held his dick from the base and slowly sank down on him. Logan groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. The stretch of him filling you up was deliriously good. You bit your lip as you took him in, inch by inch.
Finally, you both let out a sigh in unison. You planted your palms flat on his abdomen and started rocking back and forth.
The room succumbed to the sounds of soft moans and the subtle creak from the bed. The party downstairs was long forgotten. Here, it was just you and Logan.
“Just like that, baby, hah,” he breathed out, moving you back and forth. Even if he put you on top, Logan would always end up doing the work for you. You were his pampered princess.
You threw your head back, feeling the pleasure build up in your tummy once again. You took one of Logan’s hands and guided him through rubbing circles on your clit.
“Do you like that, sweetheart?” He asked.
You nodded fervently. “Yes. Fuck, yes, Logan. Keep doing that, baby, I’m so close.”
He held you firmly and started bucking up into you. You cried out, slumping against his chest as he thrusted in and out of you, reaching so deep inside, hitting that spongy part that left you seeing stars.
“Cum for me, baby. I know you can do it,” he said.
The coil snapped and you released, letting out a long moan. Your body shook, the pleasure and adrenaline rushing through you like a live wire meeting water. You collapsed against him, your bones feeling like putty.
He took your chin in his hand and tilted your head up to meet his face. He was still rocking into you. “Need to see you, baby. Need to see your pretty face when I cum.”
You were so out of it, barely processing his words. You simply nodded and chewed on your bottom lip. He looked so hot all sweaty and breathing heavily.
His eyes squeezed shut when he came, letting out a guttural groan. You felt his hips falter as he bucked up into you, rhythm sloppy and erratic. He let out a shuddering breath and dropped his head back onto the pillow.
The room was quiet now. The hum of electrical circuits and the distant noise of the party below filling up the space. You traced shapes onto his ribs, your touch barely skimming his skin. His hands caressed your back slowly, giving a small squeeze every now and then.
“Not jealous anymore?” You murmured, looking at him with an amused smirk.
He scoffed. “I wasn’t jealous.”
You hummed, “Ohhh, okay. Not jealous. Just possessive.”
He rolled his eyes fondly, a smile threatening to tear his lips wide. “Just…want you to be mine. All the time.”
You smiled, “I am.”
“I know you are.”
mr. i get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy fr
summary: Dating John Logan in secret would be easier if he knew how to act normal around you. Unfortunately, Logan is hopelessly in love, terrible at hiding it, and one affectionate comment away from exposing your entire relationship.
pairings: john logan x FIGURE SKATER!reader
RIN'S NOTE: i watch the show for dean and garret. but the one who caught my heart? John the freaking logan, he is such a yearner!! Ugh.
【WC 2k】
part one, part two
The first rule of dating John Logan was simple.
Never let him hold your hand in public. Not because he wouldn’t.
God, if it were up to Logan, he’d probably walk around campus announcing it with a megaphone.
The problem was that John Logan was impossible to miss. Hockey star. Campus heartthrob. Professional flirt. Owner of an unfortunately charming smile that seemed capable of making half the female population lose their minds.
And you?
You preferred quiet.
You liked empty skating rinks before sunrise, oversized sweaters, and slipping through campus unnoticed. Attention made your skin crawl in ways you could never properly explain, and being publicly attached to someone like Logan sounded less like romance and more like a nightmare.
So your relationship stayed private.
Mostly.
Which was harder than it sounded when your boyfriend was John Logan.
Because John Logan loved loudly. Even when he tried not to.
“Logan.”
“No.”
You sighed, adjusting the strap of your skate bag over your shoulder while Logan leaned casually against your dorm room doorway.
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“Yes, I do.” Logan grinned lazily. “You’re about to tell me not to kiss you goodbye in the hallway.”
“…Because the hockey team is literally downstairs.”
“Counterargument.”
He stepped forward suddenly, large hands sliding around your waist before you could escape. You immediately hissed, “John.”
His grin widened.
“You only use my first name when you’re stressed. It’s adorable.”
“Some of us value survival.”
“Some of us,” he murmured dramatically, “are being denied affection.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped you. Logan looked unbearably pleased about it.
God. That was another problem.
He looked at you like every smile was something he personally accomplished.
“You’re impossible,” you muttered.
“And yet,” Logan said thoughtfully, leaning closer, “you’re still dating me. Curious.”
Before you could respond, voices echoed faintly from downstairs. Hockey players. Your eyes widened immediately.
“Logan.”
“I hear them.”
“Then MOVE.”
He laughed under his breath but finally stepped back, hands lingering at your waist for one last second before letting go.
And even then, he still looked offended.
“This relationship is so hard for me,” he informed you solemnly.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You’re withholding public boyfriend privileges.”
“That is not a real thing.”
“It should be.”
A knock suddenly sounded somewhere downstairs. Then Garrett’s voice. “Logan! Are you alive or did you finally die flirting?”
You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop your laugh.Logan looked deeply betrayed. “You know,” he said quietly, “the lack of support in this relationship is devastating.”
“Go downstairs.”
“You wound me.”
“Logan.”
“Okay, okay.”
But before leaving, he leaned in quickly and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. Gentle. Automatic. Like he couldn’t leave without doing it.
Your chest tightened immediately. And Logan completely unfairly noticed. That smug grin appeared again.
“There she is,” he murmured. You narrowed your eyes.
“Go away.”
“See you tonight, sweetheart.”
He lean again to kiss your lips this time.
Then he disappeared downstairs like nothing happened. Meanwhile you stood frozen in your dorm doorway trying not to smile like an idiot. Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.
Logan was trying very hard to respect your boundaries. Really. He deserved credit for that.
Because keeping your relationship private might’ve been physically painful for him. Not because he was embarrassed.
The opposite, actually.
He liked you so much it was becoming a legitimate issue. And Logan had never exactly been subtle about his feelings. Unfortunately for him, subtlety was now required.
Which meant he had to settle for smaller things.
Watching your skating practices from the highest row in the rink where fewer people noticed him. Sneaking you coffee before your early morning sessions. Texting you terrible pickup lines during class. Current favorite:
Are you made of ice? Because you make me fall constantly.
You had responded with:
I’m blocking your number.
Which, to Logan, translated directly into marriage.
“Dude.” Logan blinked, dragged abruptly back to reality. Garrett was staring at him from across the cafeteria table.
“…What?” Logan asked.
“You’re smiling at your phone like a divorced dad learning Facebook.”
Dean snorted into his drink. Logan immediately locked his phone. “Mind your business.” Garrett narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“No, seriously. What’s going on with you lately?”
“Nothing.”
“You disappeared for three hours last night.”
“I have hobbies.”
“Tinder doesn’t count as a hobby.”
Logan looked offended.
“For your information, I’m deeply emotionally unavailable now.”
Dean blinked once.
“…That sounded weirdly sincere.”
Shit.
Logan grabbed his drink quickly. Too quickly. Because Garrett suddenly sat up straighter.
“Oh my god.”
Logan froze internally.
“You’re dating someone.”
Dean nearly choked laughing. “No way.” Logan scoffed immediately.
“You guys are insane.”
“Logan,” Garrett said slowly, “you’ve checked your phone fourteen times in two minutes.”
“That’s called having friends.”
“You hate people.”
“Valid point.”
Garrett leaned forward dramatically.
“Who is she?”
“Nobody.”
“AHA.”
Logan groaned.
“You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”
“Because you’re acting suspicious!” Garrett accused. “You keep disappearing at night, smiling at your phone, and wearing actual cologne to class.” Dean pointed at him immediately.
“The cologne thing is huge.” Logan rubbed a tired hand down his face.
The worst part? He wanted to tell them.
He wanted to talk about you constantly. Wanted to mention how pretty you looked after skating practice when your cheeks turned pink from the cold. Wanted to brag about how talented you were. Wanted to tell people about the way you laughed when you got sleepy.
But he also knew how anxious public attention made you.
So instead, he shrugged lazily.
“You guys are dramatic.”
Garrett stared at him.
“…You’re in love.”
Logan nearly spit out his drink.
“WHAT?”
Dean started wheezing.
“Oh my god, he totally is.”
“I hate both of you.”
“Who is she?” Garrett demanded.
Logan stood abruptly.
“Enjoy your lunch.”
“LOGAN.”
Too late. He was already leaving.
Mostly because if he stayed another minute, he might accidentally start talking about you.
And once Logan started talking about you, he genuinely wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.
The ice rink was nearly empty by the time your evening practice ended. Only a few overhead lights remained on, casting soft reflections across the ice. You glided toward the rink barrier slowly, exhausted but satisfied after landing your final combination successfully.
Then you spotted him immediately. Of course.
John Logan sat sprawled dramatically across the bleachers wearing a backward baseball cap and Bruins hoodie, one arm stretched behind his head while the other held a cup carrier from the campus café.
The second he noticed you looking, his entire face lit up. Like you were the best thing he’d seen all day.
Your heart did that stupid little thing again. “You’re late,” you called lightly while stepping off the ice. Logan gasped. “I bring beverages and this is the thanks I get?”
“You’re ten minutes late.”
“I was fighting for my life in line.”
“You literally play hockey.”
“Exactly. I’m fragile.”
You laughed softly while walking toward him. Logan’s expression changed instantly at the sound. Softer. Warmer.
God.
Sometimes the way he looked at you felt unfair. You dropped your skate guards onto the bench beside him.
“Did you watch the whole practice?”
“Obviously.”
“You had practice too.”
“I escaped early.”
“John.”
“What?” he defended immediately. “My girlfriend was doing cool spinny things.”
“That is not figure skating terminology.”
“It should be.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately. Logan handed you one of the drinks. “Hot chocolate,” he announced proudly. Your expression softened immediately.
“You remembered.”
“Sweetheart, I remember everything about you.”
And just like that, your brain stopped functioning. The worst part was that he said things like that casually. Like he had no idea the effect they had on you. Meanwhile Logan was busy watching your expression change with obvious satisfaction. Cute. Ridiculously cute.
He loved making you flustered. Probably too much.
You sat beside him carefully, shoulders brushing. Logan relaxed instantly at the contact. Small things affected him embarrassingly fast when it came to you. He took a sip of his coffee before speaking again.
“You looked incredible out there tonight.”
You stared down at your cup. “I messed up the landing during the second pass.”
“You landed it the next time.”
“Still.”
Logan frowned slightly. He hated when you did that. Minimized yourself. Because from where he sat every single practice, you looked unreal. Beautiful. Focused.
Completely in your element. Sometimes watching you skate actually stole the words out of his mouth.
Which was saying something, considering he normally never shut up. “You know,” Logan said slowly, “normal people would just accept compliments.”
“I do accept compliments.”
“No, you politely fight them.”
“That’s not true.”
“Last week I called you gorgeous and you said, ‘probably the lighting.’”
You looked embarrassed immediately. Logan grinned.
“There it is.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And yet deeply lovable.”
“That remains unconfirmed.”
Logan placed a dramatic hand against his chest. “You say the cruelest things to me.”
Another laugh. God. I love it so much.
He’d do literally anything to keep hearing that sound. The rink settled into comfortable silence afterward. Your head rested lightly against Logan’s shoulder while he absentmindedly played with your fingers.
No audience. No hiding. Just the two of you.
This was his favorite version of your relationship. The quiet parts. The moments nobody else saw.
“You know,” Logan murmured eventually, “I still think it’s insane nobody knows about us.” You tensed slightly beside him. Immediately, Logan regretted bringing it up.
“Hey.” His voice softened.
“You know I don’t care, right?”
You looked down at your hands.
“I know.”
“No, seriously.” Logan turned toward you more fully now.
“I’d date you in secret forever if that’s what makes you comfortable.”
Your chest tightened painfully. Because he meant it. There wasn’t even hesitation in his voice.
“You don’t ever get tired of hiding?” you asked quietly. Logan blinked.
“Hiding you?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Baby, I’m barely succeeding.”
You laughed softly.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Logan’s thumb brushed gently across your knuckles.
“Yeah, I wanna tell people sometimes,” he admitted. “Mostly because I think you’re amazing and I have absolutely zero self-control around you.”
“That’s the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Thank you.”
“But…”
His expression softened again. “If being private makes you feel safe, then that matters more.”
You stared at him quietly. And Logan, poor guy, immediately started overthinking.
Too much?
Too cheesy?
Then suddenly you leaned forward and kissed him. Soft. Quick. But enough to completely derail his brain. Logan blinked after you pulled away.
“…Whoa.”
You laughed immediately. “What?”
“I just had a religious experience.”
“Oh my god.”
“I’m serious.” He pointed at you accusingly. “You can’t just do that without warning.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And deeply in love with you.”
The words slipped out naturally. Effortlessly. Like breathing. And Logan froze the second he realized what he said.
Oh. Shit.
Your eyes widened slightly. The rink suddenly felt very quiet. Logan opened his mouth immediately.
“I mean—not that I—well, obviously I do, but I wasn’t trying to—”
You started laughing. Actually laughing. Logan looked deeply offended.
“I’m emotionally vulnerable right now.”
“You’re rambling.”
“You make me nervous.”
That only made you laugh harder. Hopelessly in love. That’s what this was doing to him.
And honestly?
Logan didn’t mind one bit. Eventually your laughter softened into something gentler.
You reached over and fixed the brim of his backwards cap carefully.
Cute. Everything you did was cute. It was becoming a serious condition.
“You know,” you said quietly, “I think being private is easier because this feels… ours.”
Logan’s expression softened instantly. The teasing disappeared. Just sincerity left.
“Yeah?” You nodded.
“No pressure. No people watching. Just you and me.” Something warm settled heavily in Logan’s chest.
God. He loved you. Hopelessly. Ridiculously. Completely.
And maybe someday the rest of the world would know. But for now?
This was enough. The empty rink. Your hand in his. Your head against his shoulder.
And the way you smiled at him like he was already home.
summary: reader gets a minor head injury when logan is not around and everyone jumps to help. core characters mentioned but mostly dean and allie. short fic, genuinely not as dramatic as the summary makes it sound like lol. requested!
Logan’s phone won’t stop buzzing on his backpocket as he’s elbows deep in Professor Walsh’s car engine. He grabs the rag over his shoulder and does his best in cleaning the oil from his fingers before fishing the phone out of his pocket, only to find a bunch of texts from Dean.
dean: before you say anything
dean: it was an accident okay
dean: and she really really wanted to play with us :(
That, followed by a picture of you laying down on their couch, ice pack over your forehead, is enough to make Logan mumble a stream of apologies to Professor Walsh, something akin to “sosorryigottagoseemygirlfriend” and a promise of checking his engine another day as he literally runs back home.
He finds you in that very same resting place, except your head is on Allie’s lap while she holds the ice pack for you. Dean, who’s bandaging your ankle on the end of the couch, immediately stands up and walks over to Logan’s direction,
“Dude, I swear to god that it was an accident.”
Logan takes a look at you over Dean’s shoulder, “What the fuck happened?”
“Me and Garrett were playing soccer when she got here looking for you.” Dean starts talking, “Then she asked us if she could join and I obliged, of course, ‘cause– Well, I wouldn’t I? Can you imagine how misogynistic that sounds if–”
“Dean, get to the fucking point!”
“Right, sorry– She tripped on my foot while we were playing and hit her head. It wasn’t too bad, I managed to catch her. But–” Dean motions his head to you, awake and murmuring something to Allie neither the boys can hear.
Logan moves in your direction, kneeling by the couch, “Hey, honey. How you feeling?”
You can’t see him, ice pack covering your eyes as well as your forehead. Still, your lips quiver up when you listen to his voice, “I’m good. They’re all being dramatic.”
He looks up at Allie, gesturing for him to take her place on the couch. Allie carefully holds your head as she moves from under you, letting his hands hold you instead before she let go. You lay your head on Logan’s thigh, nuzzling as he presses a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth. There’s a small cut on your chin, covered by a pink band-aid. His hands move to your cheek, drawing circles as he caresses your face, “You hurt your chin?”
You hum, and Allie speaks up, “Her arms are a bit scratched too. But we already cleaned them, and Garrett is on his way to the rink with Hannah. He said you guys keep a full first aid kit in the locker room.”
Logan hums, “Did you eat anything?” he murmurs to you.
“Tucker made me a smoothie.” You answer, then your hand moves to remove the ice pack. Logan sees a purple-tinted bump on your forehead, but your eyes are shiny and smiling, “Baby, I’m fine. Really. Don’t get too worried, handsome. Hannah and Allie patched me up, and Dean said he’s sorry a thousand times already.”
Your boyfriend looks up, watching Dean’s apologetic face turn into a pout. Logan rolls his eyes at him, a tiny smile on his lips as he feels disarmed. He’s a little ashamed now, being so ready to pick an argument with his friends a second ago for letting you get hurt, yet there you are, laying all pretty on his lap, tended and smiling as Logan’s heartstrings pull a little.
He gives you a grin, “Do you want paracetamol or something?”
Dean raises his hand and gives his most prideful look, “Already had her take one, boss.”
“Alright. You’re good, man.” Logan says before adjusting your ice pack back to its place, pressing a quick peck on your cheek, “And you keep icing your head, there’s a bump right under your hairline. Allie, take my place?”
You stir, “I can lay on the couch just fine by myself.”
“No, no. We’re keeping someone by your side for the next twenty four hours.” Allie says, already taking Logan’s seat, “We gotta make sure you don’t have a concussion and choke on your own vomit.”
“Geez,” you sneer, “So dramatic.”
He stands from the couch, moving in Dean’s direction, “And you are helping me make dinner,” he drops his arms over his friend’s shoulder, muttering, “Thanks for helping take care of her.”
Dean beams at his friend, “That was nothing. The least I could do for almost killing her, really.” He jokes, squeezing Logan’s shoulder, “She’s all yours now, dude. And I’d say a little TLC is much needed.”
He looks back at you, giggling with Allie on the couch, “I think she’s in good hands.”
“I meant for you.” Dean says, “I know you love when you get to fuss over her, you softie.”
“Well, yeah. Like you said,” Logan shrugs, “Who am I to deny some tender loving care over my oh so hurt and in need of care girlfriend?”
“I can hear that,” you shout from the couch.
“And I don’t hear you complaining, babe.”
notes: thank you for reading! requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3
𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 : john logan x fem!reader
𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : smut, its all smut, implied squirting, teasing, f! fingering, teasing, slapping. probably more. established relationship.
𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : you ask Logan for a very specific thing- and neither of you expected for him to like it so much.
𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 2.7k words
𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : so it started out as a Drabble, turned into this. enjoy I hope this turns all of you on and it turns into a masturbation session <33 @enchanthings [they deleted their blog :( ]
It was a normal, intimate night between the two of you. You rocking rhythmically on his lap while his hands gripped tightly beneath your jeans, fingers pressing into your ass hard enough that it would 200% leave a mark in the morning.
He slipped out of your pants to drag up your shirt slowly, hissing appreciatively through his teeth at your bra choice, " jesus, it's like you're tryin' to kill me."
You giggle breathlessly against his lips, leaning back to tease him, " dunno what you mean baby," your finger slips coyly past your unbuttoned waistband and into the lace band of your thong, the pretty blue peaks out behind the denim, just enough for Logan to bite his lip and glance up at you from below his lashes.
"yea?" He grips your wrist and hooks the elastic under his thumb, snapping it against your abdomen- laughing when you jolt and moan under your breath, "y'sure you have no idea what I mean?"
you shake your head and slink off his lap, "not a clue." you planted your knees onto the carpet and lay your cheek against his thigh, pushing your elbows together and boosting your tits up, presenting a shameful image for him to admire.
Logan threads his hands through your hair, "what d'ya want pretty? hmm?" he strokes your face, pushing the odd strand away from your eyes and tucking it behind your ear.
you shuffle a little beneath him, biting your lip.
Logan grins down at you, "you thinking about something baby?" you nod your head slowly, "you can tell me. it's just us here."
"wantyoutoslapme" you mumble, your fingers playing with the zipper of his fly, barely noticing the obvious tent brushing against your nose- more occupied with the sudden dryness of your throat and the burning of your cheeks.
Logan tilts his head, squinting at you, "might need you to enunciate a little darling." his index finger taps your pouted lips, pretending to not enjoy your embarrassment, he definitely didn't feel his head swim at the way your chest heaved with the weight of his stare and he swears that the sight of your pressing your thighs together didn't make his dick even harder than it was.
You glare at him, but there wasn't any heat behind it, "I said it clearly enough."
"I dont think you did baby," He leans down to peck your mouth, holding himself back from licking into your mouth and devouring that sweet, peachy taste of your lipgloss.
you whine and almost bury your head into the crook of where his thigh meets his pelvis, ignoring how he stifles a laugh, eventually you sigh. What did your mother always say? closed mouths dont get fed.
You don't really want to be thinking about your mum right now, but she always had words of wisdom that were multi-faceted.
"I want you to..." you blink up at him, "slap me."
Logan pauses above you, the hand that was playing with the ends of your hair and running along your shoulder froze.
"what?"
"see I knew you'd do that-" You huff, noncommittally shrugging your shoulders "it's fine, take off your pants, I'm more than happy-"
Your fingers are held in place with his, "let a guy buffer for a bit baby. It's not everyday your girlfriend asks you to slap her."
"yea but not in like a weird way" you justify, "in like a kinky way. you don't need to full palm bitch slap me, just like. a little one."
"a little one?"
"yea, try it"
"now?"
"babe start acting your IQ and slap me"
Logan huffs, and against every single nerve in his body, against his rational judgement, against his brothers parenting and beatings into his brain that under no circumstances do you ever lay your hand on a woman, jackass.
"okay..." he brings his hand up and pulls back very slightly.
well to him it was.
but you jerked back as you watched him bring his hand out, further and further like a rubber band and you weren't prepared to feel snap against your face.
"woah!" you grab his wrist and place it, maybe 4 inches away from your cheek, "the fuck you winding up for?"
"I'm not" he jumps, "babe I dont want to hurt you, I dunno how I feel about hitting you."
you cock your head at him, "I get that, but you're not hurting me, its more like.." you chew your lip racking your brain for an example, "oh."
you slap his thigh.
Logan hesitates, staring at the spot that you slapped, "huh..." he nods slowly. It wasn't so much of a slap than a firm pat against his skin, sure his muscles tingled a little beneath his jeans, but the area warmed just as quickly. maybe he could see the appeal.
you rush to interrupt his thoughts, "sorry- that probably was so random. and I won't force you to do anything you dont want to, I'm more than happy with what we do right now plus we can find other things."
"no..."
"no?"
"no- I mean yes- no." He shakes his head and wraps his hands around your shoulders, "I'll slap you."
What a weird sentence, and whats weirder is that your panties flooded almost instantly.
"yea?"
"yea ill slap you."
"ok, but don't like warn me before, it's the surprise that-"
you swallow the rest of your words with a gasp, your cheek burned deliciously and Logan's hand hovered by the area in question. Slowly you returned back to your position, your breathing stutters and fingers quake as red, hot pleasure burns through your body.
"like that?" Logan's cocky smirk makes you want to simultaneously stick your fingers down his throat and beg him to fuck the living daylights out of you.
"yea, just like that. do it again. m'dont care that it hurts"
He does it again, gaining confidence- instead of hovering and waiting for your approval his hand forms a choker over your neck, his fingers bracing against your jaw, "pretty baby doesn't care that it hurts huh? Just wants me to slap her" He brushes his knuckle against your face, "So fucking gorgeous, fuck, you wouldn't think that you're such a filthy girl from your face darling."
You whimper, barely noticing that your hand had started to slip under your panties and rub slow circles over your clit.
"turns y'on? never would've thought that you're into this, not in my wildest dreams." Logans eyes flutter from your face, where moans slip from your puckered lips to your fingers that begin to quicken.
He tsks, watching your hips roll into your palm, "naughty girl," He slaps the other cheek. Not letting you register the tingles blooming through your face before he manhandles you onto the bed.
You laugh, sitting up onto your shoulders as Logan kneels between your legs, dragging his arms backwards to slide off his t-shirt, gripping the neckline and throwing the article somewhere onto his floor.
He lowers himself, staring up at you predatorily, his lips dragging up from your stomach, biting the skin until you fall back with an appreciative hum- head bouncing on the soft pillow beneath you. He lifts again, one palm pressed to where his lips were teasing you, the other caressed your neck, pushing your hair away.
"this," he murmurs lowly, pointer finger ghosting from your throat down to your cleavage and circling your nipple through the flimsy fabric. The bud hardened and you arched into his touch- gasping softly, "off." he flicks the puckered nub.
You struggle to contort your arms to your clasp, shoulders straining against the stretch.
Eventually it falls limp and you graciously throw it in the general direction of where his shirt was carelessly thrown on the floor.
Logan hums from above you, "hmmm, this is the perfect view, in fact.." he trails off, grabbing your jeans and tugging them harshly down your legs, contributing to the pile on the other side of the room. You moan when he presses a finger against the ruined fabric of your panties, "there she is..my pretty girl."
You blush and attempt, albeit pathetically, to whine against his arms placing your legs wide apart, bending at the knee so he can slot comfortably between them, still rubbing and teasing you over the lace of your underwear.
The protests die on your tongue when he pulls the barrier to the side and delivers another slap, this time to your pussy, which clenches hopelessly around nothing. Logan brings his hand up in awe, fingers glistening under the yellow glow of his lamp.
"oh my god" he glances at you, grinning when he sees you nearly at the point of tears, "you are so into this. The whole tough guy, dominant thing really does it for ya?"
You shield your face from his teasing, "I didn't fucking know asshole," you peak at him between your fingers, "and don't act like you dont love this." you angle your knee to grind into his bulge.
"you play dirty, baby," he punches out, gripping your knee in place while he taps against the hand covering your mouth.
You lower your palm hesitantly and startle against his fingers that bury themselves into your mouth, the taste of your arousal bursts over your tongue, and you delicately hold his wrist, keeping the two digits firmly in place as you coat them with a thick layer of your saliva.
he hisses, watching you intently make a show out of sucking his fingers, tongue swirling and weaving in between the knuckles. Logan chuckles to himself when you try to force more into your throat, barely gagging when your swollen lips meet the webbing of his hand.
"what's got you so worked up pretty?" you roll your eyes and discreetly shift your hips towards him- the answer is pretty obvious, but Logan decides to toy with you a little bit more.
Maybe he really is loving this whole dominant thing.
He takes his fingers gently from your mouth, skimming them down your body and into your underwear.
"fuck! Logan," Your hand shoots down to grip his forearm, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut when he rolls your clit between his soaked fingers.
"nuh uh baby," He breathes against your lips, arm bracketing over your head to hold himself up, "look at me. wanna see your gorgeous eyes." his fingers drum against your temple until you meet his gaze.
You jump forward and bite his lip, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to drag him closer to you while free hand snakes under his arm, digging your nails into his back.
Logan swears against your mouth, "or you could do that." You laugh at his surprise, but it turns into a guttural moan when he delves into your face, mouth devouring yours whilst his tongue strokes and licks any inch of you he can reach.
"please" you whisper when you break apart for air, breathing into each others mouths, "Logan, you gotta do something- pleaseeee," you whine and buck your hips when his fingers stop circling your clit and tease your hole.
"patience baby," He snickers, thoroughly enjoying watching you suffer.
"fuck you, and fuck your patience." you grit out, squeezing your eyes shut when he barely breaches you with the tips of his digits, "fuck you more than your patience, ohmygod, god I'm going to kill you logan. As soon as we're done fucking, and we fuck a little bit more, I'm breaking up with you. How humiliating is this, I'm so wet baby- please come on."
Logan nods along, almost condescendingly to your babbles, eyes widening in the right places and pouting his lips at the better ones. But when your voice breaks into that breathy whine, his resolve shatters along with it and he can't help but swallow the gasp you let out when he sinks in, knuckles deep.
"fuckkk" you both say in unison, granted yours is more muffled because you've arched so far back that your mouth is in the pillow, but Logan compensates, his voice is significantly deeper than when you started and the obscenity is breathed against your sternum- where his mouth is peppering kisses whilst watching your chest bounce with each hard thrust of his wrist.
Your moans are choppy and sound more like sobs when Logan sits up onto his haunches, staring at where his fingers disappear inside of you, a wet trail left along them every time he pulls back.
"You're doing so well baby," he bites his lip, angling the hell of his palm into your clit, so with each push the bundle of nerves is bumped with the calloused skin, "look at you, doing so well f'me." he leans down briefly to kiss your pussy, but stays longer when he feels how wet you are against his lips.
"Logan," you whimper warningly, both hands scratching his scalp as you fight against the momentum to trap his head between your thighs, "Logan m'gonna cum if you do that."
He glances up at you, almost as if he forgot you were present whilst he got lost in your pussy, the lower half of his body now bent along and off the bed- it seems he took you with him, your knees now hooked onto his shoulders.
"I mean I'm not complaining," He shrugs, huffing in amusement when you roll your eyes, which widen comically when one of the hands that was wrapped around your thigh and rested on your hip came down in a harsh smack.
You let out a broken moan when his head dips again, this time working in tandem with his fingers. The sounds are lewd and you feel inexplicably sorry for whatever poor soul was getting the free show- but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming amount of pleasure that spiked through your entire body.
Logan slurped and nipped at your pussy, tongue lavishly stimulating your clit with harsh sucks that ended in debauched pops, making your head spin and cheeks flush.
"what were you saying pretty?" he mumbled against you, removing his mouth to kiss the inside of your thigh. You whimpered in response, barely able to bring your head up to meet his gaze, "what?"
"that," His fingers sped up and mouth parted when you jolted, gripping your breasts whilst gaping at him, " 's soon as we're done fucking, and we fuck a little bit more,' " his voice is pitched slightly higher, mimicking you, breaking at bits when he leans down to spit on down onto your hole where his fingers disappear, "what was the end bit? I cant seem to remember."
His fingers slow, much to your dismay, as he waits for your response,
"No! nono, baby," you words are slurred as you blindly reach for his wrist, "baby," you coo at him, stroking his hair, "I don't even remember, you know what they say, bitches be crazy. all that jazz."
He snorts at you, "really?"
"yea, but I'm bitches. please make me cum."
"You're not a bitch pretty," He kisses your cheek.
"John," You grind your hips down into his fingers, "Can we talk about the feminist meaning of the phrase and the wider effect on society. after you make me cum."
"Oh so I'm John now?" He pecks your hip, curling his fingers slowly.
"No," You stroke his face and whisper, "Logan."
He hums happily, increasing the pace slightly whilst crowding over you with his body, "And?"
Your chests brush together as you grind out a deep groan, hands limply hung from his shoulders.
You hook your ankles over his hips, welcoming him into your space, "Baby," You murmur, noses brushing together. Logan speeds up, plunging fast inside of you, the promiscuous sound of your wetness makes you arch your back.
"Anything else?" He prompts, breath fanning over your neck- you moan and bury your finger in your hair,
"F-fuck" You legs quiver around his torso, "I don't fucking know, daddy? sir?"
Logan nips at your throat, "Not what I was looking for, but I'll take it." He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly and rolling it between his teeth.
"Shit," Your hands fly to cradle his face against your breast, "cumming, yes Logan, don't stop" You sob into his hair, body convulsing against his.
A silent scream parts your mouth as wetness gushes onto Logan's fingers, you twitched and writhed as he continued to fuck you with slow thrusts- his fingers making hollow and wet sounds against you.
Only when your orgasm subsided is when he removed his fingers, eyes glistening as he sucked off your arousal. You watched, heavy pants still billowing out between your lips.
"So..." He slumped next to, already moving to grab a wet wash cloth, "You got any other requests for me?"
𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: where you decide to prank logan by pretending to be excited for a date he never planned. unfortunately, your boyfriend's response to being pranked is to take you on the most thoughtful, romantic date of your life.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: boyfriend!john logan x fem!reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.8k
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: pure fluff, established relationship, prank gone wrong (or right?), logan being aggressively boyfriend-shaped, excessive sweetness, reader trying and failing to outsmart her boyfriend, garrett graham being a surprisingly useful best friend, bookstore dates, flowers, lots of hand-holding, kissing, logan remembering every little thing about reader, weaponized thoughtfulness, excessive use of "babe", use of she/her pronouns, reader is explicitly referred to as "girl", emotional damage via acts of service, let me know if i missed any!
all characters in this story are adults.
english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors.
𝐀/𝐍: alt title: john "whatever my girlfriend wants, she gets" logan. dedicated to the wonderful anon who brought to my attention that using the small font on here made fics hard to read—thank you for helping me get better <3
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎: so high school by taylor swift.
18+; mdni.
The plan had seemed significantly funnier about three hours ago.
The idea started with Hannah—which, in hindsight, should've been your first warning sign.
"Hear me out," she'd said, abandoning her Philosophy textbook entirely to lean across the table toward you and Allie. "You should tell Logan you're excited for the date he planned."
You had frowned. "What date?"
"Exactly."
Across from you, Allie had immediately burst out laughing. For a long moment, you simply stared at the two of them, confused. Then, the realization dawned on you. "Oh, that's evil."
Hannah leaned back in her chair, looking mighty pleased with herself. "Why, thank you."
Now, as you stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, half your closet scattered across the room, you were beginning to realize that there was a very real possibility that Logan would simply smile and nod. The man was impossible to prank—partly because he was so observant, partly because he was so annoyingly nice.
You lifted your favourite dress to your chest, studying it with a critical eye, just as the bedroom door creaked open.
Speak of the devil.
Logan stepped inside, hair still damp around the ends from his shower after practice. He was dressed in a Bruins t-shirt and grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Your eyes met his brown ones, the corner of his mouth tipped upward into that gorgeous smile.
You watched his face as gaze shifted from your face to the mess covering the bed and half of the floor space of the room, then landed right back to you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. His smile widened at the sight of you with that dress. "What happened in here, babe?"
Game time, you thought to yourself, turning to him. "Oh good, you're here."
"Yeah?" confusion flickered across his face as you held up the dress, raising your eyebrows at him in question.
"What do you think of this?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.
Logan dropped his duffel back beside the bedside table, kicking off his shoes. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "You know I love you in everything, babe. But yeah, that dress always looks incredible on you."
You smiled, turning back to the mirror. In the reflection, you could see the mattress dip beneath his weight as Logan perched on the edge of the bed, still studying you with that smile on his face.
You met his stare in the mirror, your mind playing the opening notes of your master plan. "God, I'm so excited for tomorrow."
Logan blinked. "What's tomorrow?"
You almost laughed—almost. But you were determined not to break character, so instead, you forced your face into a look of utter confusion. "What do you mean, what's tomorrow? Its the date you planned for us."
A long pause stretched out between the two of you. Then, Logan's brow creased into a tiny frown. "The... date. Right."
The words coming out of his mouth were perfectly calm, which immediately threw you off, because other than the little crease on his brow, there was no evidence of panic, or confusion—not even concern. You narrowed your eyes.
Interesting.
Logan reached for the TV remote, casually crossing his legs as he leaned back. Your suspicion deepened, because there was no way he was this calm, this collected. There was no date. No reservation, no plans, nothing.
You would've known. He would've told you... unless. A horrible possibility entered your mind, because John Logan was the kindest, most thoughtful man ever, and more importantly, he knew how much you loved surprises. So maybe, just maybe... he'd actually planned something, and you'd accidentally stumbled right into it?
The thought almost made your confidence waver, until you caught the look on his face. His eyes were fixed on the TV, but you knew the expression in his eyes. You'd seen it before—during games, while the two of you studied for finals, before presentations. John Logan was thinking.
You bit back your smile, trying not to completely ruin your own prank, especially as Logan, in the most faux-casual voice you'd ever heard, asked: "So, babe, what're you most excited about?"
Oh, he was fishing—you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out exactly what you were talking about. The realization nearly made you giddy, even as you fought to keep a straight face, shrugging. "Oh, you know what I'm most excited about."
"No, I don't know." The innocence in his voice was almost convincing—almost.
"No?" you asked, fighting to keep a straight face. The two of you stared at each other for a minute, and then—then, Logan's face split into a smile. A beautiful, Logan smile.
Suddenly, your faith in the plan working out wavered, because somehow, against all logic, it suddenly felt like he wasn't the one being set up—you were.
The second the bedroom door snapped shut behind him, Logan knew he was fucked.
Not because there was definitely a date, but because there might be. Which was, somehow, infinitely worse.
"You're pacing, man."
Logan looked up from where he'd been wearing a path into the carpet of his friend's bedroom. Garrett was sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he watched Logan with growing amusement.
Logan opened his mouth to protest, but Garret raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly down at Logan's feet.
Right. He was, in fact, pacing.
Garrett sat up. "Come on, man. What's wrong."
Logan sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, contemplating whether or not he should keep the thoughts plaguing his mind to himself... then immediately abandoned that plan—because Garrett was his best friend, and he was rapidly losing his mind. "She says she's really excited for our date tomorrow."
Garrett blinked. "Is there a reason she should not be?"
"I don't even know if there's a date tomorrow," Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"What the fuck?" Garrett ran a hand over his face. "How could you not know?"
Logan shrugged. "There's a possibility she might be messing with me."
Garrett nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Or," Logan sighed dramatically, collapsing onto the foot of Garrett's bed. "I forgot."
"You forgot a date?" Garrett burst out laughing, and for a moment, Logan genuinely looked around the room for something to throw at his head.
"This isn't funny."
Garrett only laughed harder. "Sorry, man. It kinda is, though."
Logan burrowed his face into the mattress, groaning. "She's picking out dresses and shit, dude."
"Huh."
Logan lifted his head. "What?"
"No idea," Garrett shrugged. "But... if she's trying to prank you, that's hilarious."
Logan narrowed his eyes at Garrett, but his grin only widened. Then, after a moment, he sighed. "Okay, worst-case scenario: you forgot a date with your girlfriend."
Logan winced. "Jesus."
Garrett leaned forward. "No, listen. This is simple. You just need to take her on the greatest date of all time."
Logan blinked. "What?"
"Yeah, man. It's the only way. You gotta plan the date to end all dates."
"Come on, man. This is serious."
"I'm being serious." Garret sat up, his brow furrowing, deep in thought. "Think about it."
Logan usually hated when Garrett said that—because it meant that his friend was about to make an annoyingly good point. And it stood true this time too. Because either way, regardless of whether he was being pranked, or if he'd actually fucked up and forgotten, his girl deserved a date. Heck, his girl deserved everything. "Fuck."
Garrett leaned, back against the headboard, smug smile on his face. "Exactly."
If there really was a date he'd somehow forgotten, this fixed the problem. And if there wasn't—well, he still got to spend a day with you. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Garrett smirked. "There's that face again."
"What face?"
"The one you make whenever she's involved."
Logan rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
Garrett ignored him, grabbing Logan's phone. "Okay, let's plan the greatest date ever."
An hour later, what had somehow started as a joke had somehow turned into a full-scale operation.
Logan's notebook was open between the two of them, Garrett's laptop balanced on the edge of the bed.
"What's her favorite restaurant?" Garrett asked, frowning at the listings on the screen.
"The sushi place downtown."
The keys on Garrett's keyboard clacked as he wrote it down. "Favorite dessert?"
"Cheesecake from the bakery near campus."
"Favorite flowers?"
Logan didn't even take a moment. "Pink lillies."
Garrett paused, slowly turning his head to look at Logan. "Dude, you answered that way too quickly."
Logan frowned. "I know my girlfriend."
"You know your girlfriend's favorite flower. I don't even know my favorite flower."
Logan couldn't help but let out a laugh at the genuinely offended look on Garrett's face, because it made sense. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, and he wasn't about to let anything—anything—get in the way of making you happy, not even himself.
He could already feel the tension he'd been carrying since leaving the bedroom easing slightly, because now, he had a plan.
Actually, he had several plans—dinner, dessert, a walk afterward, maybe the bookstore you'd been talking about for months. Things that might not look like grand, extravagant gestures on the outside, but things he knew you'd love anyway. Things he knew would make you smile.
He could feel Garrett's watchful eyes on him and the realization settled warmly in his chest. "You know she's probably fucking with you, right?"
Logan could feel his face splitting into a slow, soft smile, "I know."
Garrett froze, the room enveloped in silence for a moment. Then: "What do you mean, you know? You spent an hour freaking out."
"I wasn't freaking out."
"You absolutely were."
Logan ignored him—because the truth was, he'd known almost immediately. The second you said it, the second he'd seen that look in your eyes—the one you got whenever you were trying not to laugh, he knew.
But that wasn't the point, it was never going to be. Because whether there had been a date or not, now there was. If his girlfriend wanted to spend a entire day together, Logan wasn't going to complain.
Garrett groaned. "Oh, my God."
"What?
"You're so disgustingly in love with her."
Logan considered arguing but instead, he just smiled. "Yeah, man. I am."
For once, Garrett didn't make fun of him for it.
By the time Logan picked you up the next evening, you were beginning to regret everything.
Not because the prank wasn't funny—it was downright hilarious. Or at least, it had been, right until a gorgeous bouquet of pink lillies had appeared on your bedside table with a note in Logan's handwriting.
Fuck, you loved them. They were your favorite flower.
The note read, Pick you up at 8. Wear the blue dress.
Now, standing in front of your mirror, smoothing down the skirt of the blue dress you loved so much, you were beginning to suspect that somewhere along the way, things had gotten out of hand.
A knock sounded from the other side of the door, making your stomach flutter. It was ridiculous—you'd been dating Logan for three years, and yet, as you opened the door, you immediately forgot every coherent thought you'd ever had.
Logan stood in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of dark jeans, navy button-down rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair was falling across his forehead, his brown eyes softening the second they found you— like they always did. Every. Single. Time.
No matter how many years passed, they always softened. "Hi, babe."
A smile spread across your face automatically. "Hi."
For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Logan's gaze landed on the vase of flowers sitting on your bedside table. "You got the flowers I sent you?"
Your heart squeezed. "They're beautiful, Logan."
"I know."
You blinked, and Logan immediately cringed. "Oh, fuck. That sounded terrible.""
A laugh escaped you. "It really did."
He groaned. "I meant you're beautiful."
Your laugh grew louder, and Logan pressed his forehead against the doorframe, hiding his face and the shy, pink flush that was creeping up his cheeks. "I somehow made it worse."
"You absolutely did."
His answering grin was sheepish, beautiful. You slipped your hand into his, softly closing the door behind you. "Ready?"
Logan squeezed your fingers. "Always."
The date was perfect.
Not because of where he took you— though the restaurant was lovely. The bookstore afterward was also lovely. And the bakery where he insisted on buying three different desserts "for research purposes" was lovely.
Not because of any of it. The date was perfect because every stop felt intentional, like Logan had built the entire evening out of tiny pieces of you.
At dinner, he'd ordered an appetizer while you ducked into the restroom right after the two of you arrived, because he knew you always got hungry while looking at menus. At the bookstore, he somehow remembered the title of a novel you'd mentioned wanting to read six months ago. At the bakery, he'd walked directly to your favorite cheesecake without even glancing at the display.
By the time the two of you found yourselves walking along the Charles River, the city lights glittering across the water, you were fairly certain you'd accidentally created the best date of your life.
The realization was mildly infuriating.
Logan glanced at you. "What?"
"What do you mean, what?" you frowned.
"You've got your thinking face on."
You rolled your eyes. "I do not."
Logan laughed, the sound settling warmly in your chest. For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, your hand fit perfectly in his. The city hummed around you—comfortable, easy.
Eventually Logan guided you toward a quiet bench overlooking the water. You sat down beside him, your shoulder brushing his. You could smell his cologne, could feel your heart beginning to stutter like it always did around him.
"You know," you said, carefully. "I had a really good time tonight."
Logan smiled. "I'm glad, babe. I did too."
You sighed, because you could feel the guilt winning. "I have to tell you something."
Immediately, Logan looked concerned. Your stomach twisted at the look on his face. God, he was too nice. "I kinda feel bad."
His eyebrows lifted. "About?"
You looked away, suddenly fascinated by the water. "The date thing."
"What about it?"
"Okay," you sucked in a deep breath. "I made it up. There wasn't actually a date."
The silence stretched out between the two of you—unbearable, suffocating, until you couldn't take it anymore. A groan escaped your lips. "Oh, my God, please stop looking at me like that."
Logan laughed. You froze, because it wasn't a surprised laugh, or even a confused one. No, he sounded... amused?
Slowly, you turned toward him, meeting his eyes. He was smiling.
Your eyes narrowed. "John Logan."
His grin widened. "Yeah, babe?"
"Oh, fuck off." The pieces clicked together all at once—the confidence, the calmness, the complete lack of panic. Your jaw slacked. "You knew."
Logan laughed. "I knew."
You stared at him, horrified, offended and impressed. Mostly offended. "When did you know?"
"The moment you said it."
Your mouth fully fell open this time. "You fucking liar."
Logan's shoulders shook with laughter. "You were picking out dresses, way too excited."
"I was acting," you gasped.
"Babe, come on." The words carried approximately zero belief.
You slapped his arm, and Logan caught your wrist immediately, still laughing. "You are unbelievable. You let me think I was winning!"
His grin softened. "You looked so excited." The words came out quietly, simply, like they explained everything.
And maybe, they did.
Logan continued, like it was obvious, like anyone else would've done the same thing. "You were excited, and I like taking you on dates."
You chest tightened. "So you planned all of this?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
The answer left his lips immediately, without hesitation, without uncertainty. "Because I love you."
The words settled softly between the two of you, warm and certain.
You groaned. "Fuck off, Logan. You can't be cute when I'm being mean and trying to prank you."
Logan chuckled, leaning forward, his forehead brushing yours. "You're not mean. You're perfect. And, you're so, so impressed by the fact that I pulled this off."
"I'm not," you scoffed, but you both knew you were lying.
His grin widened knowingly. You hated it—and you hated it even more when he kissed you, slow and sweet, smiling against your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair.
When he finally pulled away, your heart was somewhere around your ankles. "You know what?"
"What?"
You jammed a finger in his chest. "This still counts as me pranking you."
Logan laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench—and somehow, that felt like victory enough.
pairing: john logan x fem!reader
words: 1.3k
summary: based on this request; you loved books, Logan loved hockey, and you both loved each other very, very much.
warnings: none, this is all fluff babyyy <3, maybe a couple swear words idk
Truth, dare, spin the bottle. It was right out of a book how you met Logan.
Picture this. It's raining heavily. Cats and dogs. And it's late at night. Everyone is running to find shelter from the pouring rain, holding their valuables close to their chest. Guy is running into a bus stop; he's not paying attention, bumps into a girl. Girl drops her book into the growing puddle of water and groans.
"Dude! I bought that like twenty minutes ago," she mourns.
"Oh my god, I am so, so, sorry, I wasn't looking, I—" he looks now.
The street light makes her glow, and she's dewy from the rain. She's frowning, she's angry, and she is not ready to put up with his bullshit. She looks radiant. He completely loses his train of thought. He's just staring at her now, mouth slightly ajar but finding nothing to say. She snaps him back to reality.
"Hey! Earth to Captain Splash."
"What? Oh, yeah, right, I'm— uh, I'm sorry," he manages, but he's not quite concentrating yet. He is positively smitten. And he feels awful because he just soaked this poor girl's brand-new book in a puddle of rainwater.
"Thank you for the apology; my book is completely dry now," she deadpans, bending to pick up what used to be the book. A laugh escapes him despite himself. He can feel her glaring at him.
She grimaces the moment her hands touch the item. That is not a fun sensory experience. She is holding it up with her index and thumb in front of her face, assessing the damage. Yeah, that book is done for.
"Again, I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll get you the exact same book, from the exact same place, and I'll throw in a cup of coffee as reparations."
"As long as you don't throw it at my book..." she trails off.
"Logan. John Logan."
And the rest was history.
Every day, at least once, Logan swore that you were the best thing that ever happened to him.
"You are literally the captain of the hockey team."
"Baby, I could be the president, and my point would still stand."
And that would make you blush and bury your face into his chest every single time.
You and Logan were the best part of each other's day. He'd come back from an emotionally and physically exhausting practice day, climb up your fire escape (because you didn't want to tell anyone yet), and collapse on your bed like a thirsty man who finally found a river.
You'd let him lie down on your lap and stroke his hair as he'd tell you all about his day. Sometimes you'd just let him sleep for a while, and you'd read your book, a moment of peace for both of you.
A lot of times, when he woke up, he'd be annoyed that he wasn't getting enough attention and would try every single trick in the book to get you to focus on him instead. He would whine, complain, pout, and feign heartbreak while you promised one more page.
"Logan, I swear, it's getting so good I can't stop now, but give me five minu—"
He'd bury his face into a pillow and scream.
Eventually, he'd snatch your book from your hand, put the bookmark in and toss it on the table, despite your protests, and pin you to the mattress, knocking the wind out of you.
"Baby," he'd say, in that breathy voice he knew did things to you, "I've been patient, and I think it's my turn to do some reading now." You would nod slowly, breathless, and he'd laugh before grazing your jaw with his lips, and trailing further and further down. His hands would test the waters, sliding under the hem of his your T-shirt. He'd leave marks in places only you'll know about, and you'd go crazy thinking about it all day.
It was never either of your intentions to hide each other from your friends. God, no, but what you had, it was just... yours. Just him and you. To the entire world, he was John Logan, captain of the Briar U Hawks, playboy on sabbatical, charming handyman straight out of a dirty movie, the John Logan.
But to you, he was John Logan, golden retriever in disguise, supplier of endless hoodies, brings you coffee the way you like, memorises your convoluted and frankly concerning subway orders, best kisser in the entire world (among other things), John Logan. A version of him that no one will ever know, not like you did.
To him, you were the only aspect of normalcy in his entire life. Everywhere he went, he had to be somebody. A captain, a student, a friend, a brother, a son. But with you, he didn't have to put up a front. He didn't have to pretend. Because being your boyfriend was not something he had to learn or actively do. He just... did.
You were the one place in his life where he felt like he belonged. It was like he always knew how to be in love with you; he just hadn't found you yet. Now that he had, it was like he had found purpose. That's who he was now. John Logan, man in love.
The privacy, you thought, was what made the entire ordeal special. This was beautiful, and just yours. And you both wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.
And then there was that part of Logan that wanted to parade you around the campus, show you off, kiss you in front of everyone, and declare his undying love for you, god and all of Briar U as his witness.
He would unapologetically carry your stack of books whenever you were at the bookstore, and, ever the gentleman, never let you pay. Your bag was his by proxy at this point, the way he would always let it hang over his shoulder whenever you walked with him, halfway through some tangent about your latest book. And if you ever carry your own bag, god forbid, he'd look at you like you had an extra head before taking it from you.
You were deeply in love with each other.
It was a mundane day at the hockey house. Garrett had his feet up on the coffee table, controller in hand, losing spectacularly to Dean, who wasn't even looking at the screen half the time and still winning.
Tucker came through the front door, shaking rain out of his hair, and didn't bother with hello.
"Where's Logan?"
"Room," Garrett said, not looking up. "Don't bother him; dude went up like ages ago. Hasn't come out since"
Tucker paused halfway through unlacing his boots. "Let me guess. She climbed up the fire escape again?"
"Uh-huh," Dean said, eyes still on the TV, thumb working the controller. "Only tripped once this time. Progress."
"How do you even know that?"
"Window's right above the kitchen. You can hear everything. Heard her go 'shit—' real quiet, heard him go 'you good?' even quieter, and then I heard her go 'yeah, I'm fine, your stupid fire escape is a death trap,' and then nothing for like... an hour," he explained, his voice going an entire octave higher when he imitated you.
Tucker dropped onto the arm of the couch. Garrett looked up toward the ceiling like he could see straight through it to Logan's room, and he just smiled.
"Does he know we know?" Tucker asked.
"Nah," Dean said, easy, unbothered, like it wasn't even a question. "Nah, man. Let him have this."
Tucker nodded slowly, settling back, already reaching for the third controller. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah."
Upstairs, muffled through the floor, came the unmistakable sound of Logan laughing— the real laugh, the one none of them had heard much before this year, and nobody downstairs said another word about it.
SMUT ໒꒱ logan doesn't celebrate the fourth, he celebrates you | 18+ MDNI
໒꒱ Older!Logan would have a nice ass yummy beard. IDC.
prin’ prelude: Your husband is a famous NHL player and the best thing about being married to an athlete isn't just the luxurious lifestyle or lavish holiday trips. It's about how devoted your husband, John Logan was. You were his real life royalty, the reason why he even strives to build the lifestyle you both spent time constructing, together. There is one thing that John Logan cant help, but consider his irresistible main pleasure. Making you cum.
précis ꒰ঌ 🜲 ໒꒱ older! john logan x fem!reader completely horny brainrot and all I could think about was John Logan as my hot older rich husband and that's exactly what this is LOL, no age gap specified, married, Dom!Logan, Sub!reader, 'Boss' kink? Yeah..., public sex kinda, rich sex on a yacht, slight rough!Logan, and finger sucking, very minor mentions of whiskey ;)
꒰ঌ 🜲 ໒꒱ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST
the best part of 4th of July? Being on your husband’s yacht that’s quite literally named after you.
it hits different when youre stretched out on the sun warmed deck of an angel white yacht that struck tall, shadowing navy onto the blue sea. The letters that spell out your name, painted across the hull in dark navy with an iridescent coat primed on top to shine with the sun. A floating love letter, just for you.
your husband is after all is the John Logan.
your husband bought that yacht after signing his monstrous contract, the one asset he insisted, christening after you, his words echoing in your mind, "I want the whole damn coastline to know who I come home to."
And oh did he mean it, and, he meant in every way.
The most filthy and favorite way, was screaming his name as he pounded into you while the fireworks exploded into beautifully shaped crackles in the sky.
The tinted windows, sailing a private marina, and the sound of slow sensual jazz music in the background, harmonizing with your gutteral moans.
“Logan-ah! Fuck me!” you whined helplessly as he had you cradled in his arms. Back to his front, holding you up by your neck as he makes you watch the firework show.
your eyes couldnt focus properly. everything blurred and looked far out, beyond, and the waves of the ocean cruising under the horizon of the sun tucking behind the clouds, and leaving the moon to watch you crumble into pleasured pieces.
“Such a good fuckin’ girl, who’s the boss baby?” He grunted into your ear, making you squeeze around him as your knees painted red by the soft stitching on the designed cushions.
“You ar—are! youre the boss, baby.” You moved your hips back a bit, feeling the fat of your ass massage against the fuzz of his thighs, angling him deeper, and feeling him hit your arousals sweet spot.
You clench around his cock, drooling down your chin, and with each pull back of his lengthy thick cock—just to feel him fill you completely. your pussy molded just to fit him.
Logans hand go to massage your hair as the other moves from his hand to massage your tits. Taking his time switching in between both as he fucks into you with such strong percision, nothing else on your mind.
Eyes shut as you couldn’t give two fucks about the fireworks that continued to pop over the own performance of your husband’s favorite song—the sound of you taking his big cock.
The feeling of his rough yet gentle fingertips tickle your scalp sweetly, softly, and allowing you to melt back into his big calloused palm. Then, he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling your neck back harshly to rub against the untamed, disheveled, and warming beard.
You almost purred, shuddering at the sensation of the roughness, and brushing your cheek against his facial hair, like a damn cat in heat. All just for him.
You felt your stomach bubble and twist delectably as your body chased after its own orgasm, toes curling, and your moan choked out into a shriek.
Your body shook within logans arms, slowing his thrusts to match the way your body fell into putty while your shared sweat stuck your bodies together.
“Open your eyes, doll.” He cooed into your ear, handful of your hair, still.
You listened, fluttering them as you come down from your orgasm. You could hear the tink of glass and ice swish faintly.
Logan looked down as he moved only two fingers within the cup of iced whisky, the glass outside dripped into melted cold condensation from just sitting there.
He picked his fingers out the dark malt whisky, dripping onto your bare torso, streaming down your ribcage and gathering into your belly button.
“Open up f’me.” He brings the fingers to your lips, opening them as you follow along softly, and diving his fingers into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around his two fingers, sucking off the whiskey which caused a hot tingle at the back of your throat.
Logan only gave you a second to process the mix of whiskey and sex off his fingers before kissing you.
Your hands caress his manly stuble, moving back, and cradling his long fluffy brown locks. The kiss longed as he played with your bottom lip, his tongue flicking, and sucking on it.
You felt his big hands go from your shoulders, down to your tits, and then finally resting at your hips, before pulling away with a hot breath that tickled your nostrils—the smell of cool whiskey, and saliva.
A delicious smirked smugged logans face, pulling you down by your thighs harshly, to the end of the deck; where your legs almost hang off.
“M’gonna eat this pussy so good. Gonna’ taste the fourth of july, huh doll?”
࣪ 𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ REBLOGS & COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED₊ ⊹ ˑ
TAGLIST 🜲 @lunalovemore @pinknjm @chrismattnick
A/N: This was rushed in the AM! Im definitely making a part 2 not like for this but with older!John logan like I actually had a ball w thissss. I am so finna be fixated on this for a minnn meoww
Also just wanna say a big thank you to the overwhelming support and love from the off campus community! I used to write mainly for TLOU and to see the same people YALL KNOW WHO YALL ARE! support me as I dive into a different fandom with my works. It warms my heart so much especially after my hiatus.
I hit 1K again at the beginning of this week and I just want to say thank you so much for everyone who has followed, read, and kept up with me. I love y'all and I have a celebration coming up. For now, Happy 4th of July if you celebrate.
And if you don't, I'm right there with you. Stolen land cant be celebrated as Free until it is! MAY WE ALL GET TIPSY TONIGHT! MUAH
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