My requests are always OPEN!! I write for a Six of Crows, Shadow and Bone, Game of Thrones, Marvel (Avengers, X-Men), Harry Potter, OBX, Grey’s Anatomy, Outlander, Euphoria and others!
He's such a big Targaryen hater and I really need to read an enemies to lovers Ormund x Targaryen reader!! If anyone wrote one or is going to write one please please please tag me!!!
WARNINGS: otto hightower, criston cole being a loser, implied rejection of said loser, angst, gwayne is such a lover boy, arguing, slight allusion to nsfw ig, TW: SUICIDE
WORD COUNT: 1.7k
🎶 : hymne à l’amour - édith piaf
AN: ♥️ - this is by far the most heart breaking thing i've ever written. sad sad ending - TW: suicide.
Criston Cole would be the utter demise of the noble Gwayne Hightower.
That knight (if once could even call him that) had a way of turning Gwayne’s goodnatured air into a poisonous one. For the past several weeks, the Dornishman had been on a conquest, one with the sole purpose of spreading his hate and resentment to those under his command.
And just when Gwayne thought Cole’s hatred was dwindling down, your dragon flew overhead a small dispute.
That seemed to reignite something inside him. Cole spent hours spewing horrible, slanderous things about you and the Princess Rhaenyra.
Gwayne had had a different reaction to the mere reminder of you. Reduced to his ten and five year old self, he spent his time in a daze, daydreaming and the like.
You’d been a haunting figure in Gwayne’s life for years.
The men sat around the fire, eating their horribly disgusting rations, exchanging tall tales. Cole had taken over the light-hearted nature, and forced it to become a slanderous and honestly obsessive speech about the princesses. He’d moved on from Rhaenyra, now focusing on you. Sweet, beautiful, and kind you.
“She was always a rough one.” His lip quirked, like he was trying to hint at something unbecoming of a true honorable knight. Of course, Gwayne reminded himself, Cole was not a true knight. A true knight knew when to hold his tongue. “Harsh, like that of a terrible storm. She tore through the Red Keep, leaving chaos in her wake.”
No one dared to correct him. Many that sat around the fire had visited court, had seen the notoriously kind and gentle princess move with the poise of a true noblewoman. Some had even grown up with the Princess. They all knew that she was not at all like the Dornishman said, and yet, none of them stood to defend her.
Cowards, the lot of them.
Gwayne’s jaw twitched as he waited for the man to redeem himself. He’d snapped at the Hand only a fortnight ago, and thought it would perhaps be wise to choose patience over impulse.
“Women like that are rare, truly.” Cole, unfortunately, continued. “She was, in no uncertain terms, a cun-”
In an instance, Gwayne rose to his feet, drew his sword, and held it at the Hand’s neck. “Watch your tongue, Sir Criston.”
The air stilled, the once jovial men tense with uncertainty. “It would be wise to lower your sword, my lord.”
“The mere concept of wisdom is something completely foreign to you.”
“It seems-” Criston swallowed. “That your allegiance has shifted.”
“How dare you.” Gwayne hissed. “My allegiance is not to be questioned.”
“It is-” Criston dared to speak again. “When you threaten me after my comment about the princess.”
“I am a man of honor.” Gwayne stepped back, allowing his sword to fall from the man’s neck. “And as a man of honor, I cannot stand idly by as you insult a lady. If you dare speak another ill word of her, I will strike you where you sit, the Gods as my witness.”
Criston smirked. “I shall not speak of the Realm’s Horror any longer then.” That comment earns laughs from the men.
Gwayne fought the urge to slash his throat in one swell blow. Instead, he turned on his heel, stalking towards his tent. He flung his sword on the floor beside his cot before flinging himself onto the cushion in a most undignified manner.
As he fell asleep, his mind drifted to memories of you. Well, to only one. His fondest.
Some Years Ago…
He hadn't seen you in ages, the longing in his heart nearly ready to burst. He knew that Rhaenyra and Alicent had gone off to the library thanks to his spies within the household, and he knew that that meant you were left to your own devices.
And so there he waited, watching as you walked through the castle garden, soaked to the bone thanks to the aggressive downpour. You'd abandoned your cloak some time ago, realizing there was no stopping your gown from becoming a wet rag.
His hand, gentle yet firm, had gripped your wrist, pulling you into the groundskeeper's shed. You knew who it was instantly; his touch was as familiar to you as Rhaenyra's whines (mostly regarding her father's wishes for her to marry). Still, a gasp left your lips.
Gwayne's terribly charming grin looked down at you, his face illuminated thanks to the adjacent window. “Gwayne Hightower, you cannot pull a lady-”
“I have missed you.” His head hung low, lips closer than they should be. “You have been busy.”
“Such is the life of the heir of the realm’s lady in waiting.” You reached up, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. “I have missed you as well.”
“Your gown-” He looked down, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “It is ruined.”
“Is it now?” You frowned. “What a shame.”
“A shame?” He lowered his lips to the crook of your neck, trailing kisses across your chest. Chills ran down your spine, biting your lips to suppress the urge to moan. “My darling girl, you have never looked as stunning as you have this very moment.” You glared, shoving his shoulder playfully.
“Do not tease, Gwayne.”
“I never tease-” He stopped, correcting his statement before he became a liar. “I only tease when I mean to immediately remedy the situation.”
“Ah.” Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers delicately playing with his hair. “Might I ask how you will be remedying this situation?”
“Of course, my lady.” He'd been slowly backing you toward the wall, finding satisfaction in your flustered appearance when your back collided against the partition. “I plan to ravish you-”
“Ravish?” You gawked, jaw slack. “Gwayne, what if my uncle- the guard-”
“If you do not wish for me to continue…” He whispered, hands squeezing your hips. “I will obey your commands.”
“No.” You shook your head, nudging your nose against his. “I never said I did not want to.”
“Ah.” His hands pulled at the fabric of your skirt, your stomach twisting at the action and what it alluded to. What it implied was something you’d been wanting for quite some time.
“You know-” You tried your best to seem entirely unbothered. “You have not kissed me yet.” “Haven’t I?” His eyes fluttered to your chest, your heart skipping at his actions. “I believe-”
“I would like a proper kiss.” You grumbled. “I am not a piece of meat, my lord, so you may stop eyeing me like one.”
“I do not eye.” He sounded highly offended. “I am simply taking in the vision that is before me. You are a goddess, the Realm’s Beauty indeed.”
“Gwayne-” You tugged on his doublet. “Please.”
“As you wish, my lady.” He leaned closer, his left hand left your hip to cup your cheek.
You nodded quickly. “It is.” He then pressed you further into the wall, if that was even possible. His lips never left your skin once, worshipping you like a man possessed. Your eyes closed, head tilting up toward the sky. “Gwayne-”
“I could hear my name leave your lips for a lifetime.”
“A lifetime?” Your breath caught at the implication. “What do you-”
“You know.” He murmured against your skin, causing chills to run down your spine. “You must know.”
“This-” You sounded utterly wrecked. “This is not a joking matter, Gwayne.”
“I am not joking.” He pulled your skirts up, tugging at your stockings. “You think me an unserious rake, I am convinced.”
“You must forgive me.” You gasped as his hand pawed at your upper thigh, thoughts failing to form coherently. “But your current actions are proving my point.”
“Are they?” His hand then slid up further, toying with the base of your chemise. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No!” You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with fear. “No.”
“My lovely girl-” He pulled your hand away, kissing the back gently. The act was so chivalrous that it almost made you forget he was actively taking part in the social ruin of a young noble lady. “I am asking for your hand this afternoon.”
“You are only saying that.”
“I am not. I have had this planned since a fortnight ago.”
Your legs tightened around his waist. “Have you really?”
He leaned forward, his nose nudging yours. “I love you, Your Highness. Most ardently, and if you will have me, I will make you the happiest woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“I-” You dove down, kissing him soundly. “I will marry you. I will be your wife.”
Of course, because the gods were cruel, his fondest memory was followed by his worst. He’d left you to go meet with the King and his father, to ask for your hand, hopeful, happy even.
He’d walked in calm, held his head high, but humble.
He’d even sworn that Viserys was on the verge of saying yes when his own father cut in, destroying his future in one fell swoop. “My King, I apologize. My son, he has insulted you gravely.”
“Otto-”
“Your niece is of a higher rank. He is only a second son.” Otto glared at his child. “Leave us.”
“Father-” Gwayne puffed his chest, trying his hardest not to look utterly crushed. “I love her, truly and honestly. I would- I would provide her a loving marriage, one of happiness and peace.”
“But not one that she deserves. Not one fitting of a Princess, am I right?” Otto raised a brow. Gwayne was speechless.
“Leave us. I won’t repeat myself.”
Gwayne hadn’t seen you after that day. His father had forbidden it, going so far as to post guards at his door and at the base of the Princess’s balcony. He’d sent him back to Oldtown, and sent you into a depressive state.
A mere fortnight later, Gwayne had been walking through the streets of his home when a villager whispered about the Targaryen princess who flung herself off the tallest point of the castle.
And two days later, his own father’s raven had confirmed it. You had died from heartbreak, all thanks to Otto Hightower and his scheming.
Gwayne knew that you were gone, and yet, when he saw your dragon, he let himself believe that you were still alive. He dared to have hope. And hope would kill him, just as it did his spirit all those years ago.
Or Dean’s girlfriend makes a drunk decision without thinking how he’ll react…
Some suggestive content but nothing crazy <3
The best ideas always happen at 1am. Said no one. Like, ever.
You blamed the combination of cheap tequila, loud music, and your three best friends encouraging you with the enthusiasm of people who wouldn’t have to explain the consequences to their boyfriend afterward.
“Do it!” Allie shouted over the music.
Hannah was flushed and giggling “c’mon babydoll”
Jules raised her glass. “To questionable decisions!”
You should’ve known better, hell, even the tattoo artist asked three times if you were sure
You were absolutely not sure. So why instead of a resounding no, did the words, “yep, right here” leave your mouth.
You tapped your ribs. The artist let out a laugh. Or a sigh. Who can remember.
It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t artistic but 5 minutes later there it was.
66.
Dean Di Laurentis’s hockey number.
The number that now, thanks to several shots of tequila and a complete lack of judgment, was permanently inked onto your skin.
At the time, it felt romantic. The next morning, it felt catastrophic.
⸻
“Oh my god.”
You stared at your reflection.
The tattoo stared back.
“Oh my god.”
The throbbing head wasn’t helping and neither was the fact that Dean was due back from an away game that afternoon.
You pressed a hand over the fresh ink hoping somehow when it lifted the numbers would be gone. Didn’t work.
The gentle knock on your bedroom door came moments later.
“Still alive?” Hannah called.
“No.”
The door opened anyway. She took one look at your face and bit her lip trying to hide her smile.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Oh no of course not”
“Hannah.”
“You tattooed your boyfriend’s jersey number on your body.”
“Okay, well, it sounds bad when you say it like that”
“There’s literally no way to say it that sounds normal.” She replied, causing you to let out a groan, head in hands.
Because she wasn’t wrong. But the thing was Dean had changed. Before you, commitment had been a foreign concept to him. He’d spent years charming his way through campus, never staying with one girl for very long. He was six flags for crying out loud.
Then he met you, and he fell fast. He fell hard.
Regardless of your year long relationship, a tiny part of you still worried. Shit. What if seeing his number permanently etched onto your skin scared him? What if he thought you were insane?
What if-
“So when are you gonna tell him?”
“Never if I can help it”
Hannah sighed, “this is going to blow up in your face.”
You stared down at the tattoo. You hated when Hannah was right.
⸻
So naturally, you did the mature thing and avoided Dean. Not completely, but enough for him to notice
The first day, you claimed you had a migraine.
The second day, you said you had to study.
The third day, you suddenly remembered three months worth of errands that apparently couldn’t wait.
Dean noticed immediately. Because it was you.
By Friday, he’d had enough. You were sitting in the library when your phone buzzed.
Dean: Are you mad at me?
You blinked. Shit.
You: What? No.
Dean: Then why have I barely seen you all week?
You: Busy. Like, super busy.
Dean: Liar.
You: Rude.
Dean: Come over tonight.
You stared at the message, practically feeling the burn of the tattoo.
Dean: Please?
Dean: I’ll behave
Dean: scouts honour
Your heart squeezed as a chuckle escaped.
You: you were never a scout…
The response came instantly.
Dean: Me and Beau tried - never let us in for some reason
Dean: Tried though and that’s gotta count for something
You: I’ll be there soon
Dean: Knew you’d cave.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile on your face.
⸻
Before you could even knock the door swung open and there he was. Grinning, eyes soft and looking at you like you were his favourite person in the world.
“Hey, babydoll.”
Before you could answer, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him pressing his lips to your head, breathing you in.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He mumbled against the strands
“Have not” you muffled into his chest. His shirtless chest.
You could practically see his eyebrows lift in your head.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“A little?” He let out a breathy chuckle, “baby, you practically vanished.”
Guilt twisted in your stomach, feeling you tense he pulled you inside and shut the door.
“Seriously. What’s going on?”
Nothing. Everything. A very stupid tattoo. You forced a smile.
“Just stressed.”
He studied you for a moment. Early on, Dean had developed an annoying ability to see through your lies.
He sighed, “okay”
Your shoulders dropped in relief. Until he added, “you’re staying tonight.”
“Dean-”
“Nope.”He grabbed your hand, “you owe me. We’re making up for lost time.”
⸻
The way you missed Dean became painfully obvious in the next few hours. You missed the way he constantly touched you, the way he stole bites of your food, the way he made you laugh until your stomach hurt and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
Like you were something precious.
Like loving you was the easiest thing he’d ever done.
By the time midnight rolled around, you almost forgot about the tattoo entirely. Almost.
It wasn’t till you were lying together on his bed with his fingers tracing lazy circles along your side. Your heart nearly stopped.
Thankfully the number lay hidden under your bra strap.
He broke the silence, “I missed you,” he admitted quietly.
Your chest tightened and guilt lined your stomach.
“Yeah?”
He pulled you impossibly closer.
“Yeah.”
The softness his voice made your heart melt, because this wasn’t the Dean everyone else knew. This wasn’t the cocky flirt who’d once been terrified of commitment. This was your Dean.
You tilted your face up, he met you half way. The kiss started slow, soft, comfortable. Your fingers slid into his hair and gave it a tug. The groan rumbled in his chest and the kiss deepened, him moving over you. When you finally broke apart, his lips moved to your neck. Down and down till his hands reached the end of your shirt pulling it off.
You could faintly hear it. The alarm bell ringing in your head. That was until his teeth grazed your hip and hands reached for your bra clasp. And suddenly all you could think was Dean Dean Dean.
You tensed and he pulled back.
“Babydoll?”
You gazed up at him and he tried again.
“Sweetheart?”
Your resolve crumbled.
Maybe if you told him now-
But before you could speak, he kissed you again and every coherent thought vanished.
You felt his smirk against your mouth and before you knew it your bra was flung across the room.
He carried on pressing kisses towards the line of your underwear teasingly slow.
And then he stopped. Because there it was in black ink, impossible to miss to the one person who knows your body.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
“Is that…”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Oh my god.”
There it was.
The horror.
The disgust.
The inevitable breakup.
You prepared for impact.
Instead, his hands gripped your thighs tighter.
“Dean?”
Then he looked at you, the expression on his face wasn’t horrified, angry or even shocked anymore.
It was something far more dangerous.
Because Dean looked ridiculously pleased.
“Babydoll…”
You covered your face.
“I was drunk.”
His grin widened and his eyes darkened.
“You got my number tattooed on you.”
“Please stop saying it.”
“You literally have sixty-six on your body.”
“Dean.”
“You’re obsessed with me”
“Di Laurentis I swear-“
He pressed his body against you, you squeezed your eyes shut feeling the warmth. He placed a kiss on your neck before his eyes dropped back to the tattoo.
“I’m getting it removed.”
“No.”
“Dean.”
“Baby…” he groaned.
Your stomach flipped.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“You hate it.”
The words came out before you could stop them.
Dean immediately looked up, “hate it?”
You shrugged, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
“It was stupid.”
“Yeah.”
You frowned opening your mouth to reply.
“It was definitely stupid.” He continued
“Dean.”
“But I don’t hate it” his grin returned.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m absolutely not lying.”
“You should hate it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s weird.”
“Oh absolutely.”
“Dean.”
His eyes sparkled.
“But it’s also kind of hot.”
You nearly choke, “what?!”
“Babydoll I’m fucking obsessed with you. Knowing you’re obsessed with me too? Fuck” he dropped his head, “does it feel like I hate it?” He flexed his hips against yours as blush coated your cheeks and mumbled into your neck about never avoiding him ever again.
I said "I love you". You say nothing back | John Logan
summary: the arrangement was simple: keep it casual, don't catch feelings, don't ask for more than what's on the table. 338 days later, you're starting to think simple was never really an option with john logan.
notes: hii, i'm back!! i was genuinely so overwhelmed by the response to my first one shot. you guys are so kind and it inspired me to keep writing. so here we are, back with more yearning, more angst, and more logan being an idiot about his feelings. my requests are open if you have any ideas or characters you want to see i'd love to hear from you. thank you so much for reading and enjoy ❤️❤️
warnings: swearing, alcohol, light angst, situationships, a puck bunny accusation and a confession in the rain.
word count: 8k
The thing with Logan had started exactly 338 days ago. Almost one year. One full lap around the sun. You knew because you had been counting, the days and the hours and even the minutes since this situationship from hell, as your dear friends had taken to calling it, had installed itself in your life like an antivirus app you hadn't downloaded and couldn't figure out how to delete.
It had started on Halloween, and at the time it hadn't seemed like a bad idea. It was just past eleven and the house off campus that your friends had dragged you to smelled like dry ice and weed, and you were tired and ready to leave, which was an anomaly. You were usually the last one standing, your friends had given you the nickname ending antagonist for a reason. In hindsight, that probably should have been a warning sign. The one night you wanted to go home early was the night everything started.
Though to be fair, things with Logan are not bad. That's the thing people don't understand when they hear situationship from hell. On the contrary, things with Logan are very good. Too good. Too good to look at directly without feeling something inconvenient shift behind your ribs, which is precisely why it's bad. Because he had been so genuinely, almost aggressively nice about the whole thing. He had found you at the edge of that party and sat next to you and talked to you for hours like you were the most interesting thing in the room, and he had made a real effort not to look at your boobs while you were talking, which in that particular environment was either extremely respectful or a sign that he was raised correctly, and either way it had done something to you.
And then you had woken up on his chest the next morning. His warm skin and steady heartbeat, the sort of light that meant it was too early to be awake, and done the awkward post-hookup shuffle of words, and heard: I'm not really looking for anything serious.
A bucket of cold water dropped directly on your head would have been less effective. More merciful, probably.
What else could you have done except agree? For god's sake, he was sitting there in black boxers holding a cup of coffee, extending it toward you like a peace offering, brown eyes looking at you with an expression that was genuinely, unfairly soft for seven in the morning. You took the cup. He readjusted against the headboard and looked at you with those eyes and said, simply: "So?"
So. So what? What were you supposed to say?
"Sure," you heard yourself say. "I'm interested in that too."
Sure. I'm interested in that too. Your internal voice repeated it back to you with the tone of a younger sibling trying to get a rise out of you. That was, objectively, the least true thing you had ever said out loud. You had been raised on Bridget Jones and every famous rom-com ever committed to film. You believed in love, in its inconvenience and its necessity and its complete refusal to be reasoned with. Casual did not cut it for you. It never had.
But god. If Bridget could have seen John Logan in that particular light, with that particular bed head, she would have understood completely.
So you agreed. And after that came the encounters.
At first they were private, almost secretive, you telling your friends you were going for a run and then actually running, just in the wrong direction entirely. Logan telling his that he was going to study somewhere, which was technically true, depending on your definition of anatomy. It gave everything a specific kind of thrill, the pleasant urgency of something that existed slightly outside the normal rules, and for a while that was enough.
But time has a way of dissolving things like that. Gradually, without either of you deciding to, you stopped hiding. And that was when the real problem arrived.
You and Logan became friends.
Not the convenient, surface-level kind, the real kind, the kind that builds without you noticing until one day you look around and realize that this person has become load-bearing in your life. You were always at the house. You knew the full taxonomy of Dean's recent romantic encounters, the specificity of Garrett's current problems, the ongoing narrative of Tucker's various endeavors. You didn't just know about them, you helped. You were involved. You had opinions and history and context, and they knew it, and they came to you with things.
And it went the other way too. Logan had gotten so close to your friends that he would voluntarily drive Marissa to her therapy appointments in Boston without being asked, would send Benny reels about topics they'd talked about the week before, remembered details that even you sometimes forgot. He had threaded himself into the fabric of your life so completely and so quietly that you could no longer locate the seam.
And finally, finally, things had started to feel like they were moving in the right direction. The direction they probably should have been heading since the morning after Halloween. Maybe the casual arrangement had just been a detour — a scenic route to the same destination. All's well that ends well.
And then you and Logan would go to Malone's, and a waitress would glance between you with a smile and say what a nice couple you made, and Logan would laugh in that easy, noncommittal way of his and say: we're just friends.
And there it was. Bucket of cold water. Every time, without fail, like a reset button neither of you had agreed to keep pressing.
Every single time.
Which brings you to now.
You are sitting on Logan's couch, draped over him, legs intertwined, peppering kisses down his neck while he makes a valiant and increasingly unsuccessful effort to tell you about the new episode of some reality show he has gotten inexplicably invested in. Something about traitors in a castle. Who cares. Not you. Not when Logan smelled like that and the house was quiet and his hands were doing that thing where they moved without him seeming to notice.
You sank further into him. The kisses started to linger. His words got sparse.
"Are you even listening to me?" Logan murmured, his voice coming out considerably less steady than he had probably intended.
You hummed against his pulse point by way of answer.
The front door opened.
You both startled, pulling apart with the practiced efficiency of people who had been interrupted before, but the moment you registered it was Dean you settled back into exactly the position you'd been in. Dean didn't care about PDA. He actively encouraged it.
He dropped onto the opposite couch, looked at the ceiling briefly, then at you.
"Okay, I have a question," he said. "Logan, dude, this is for science, please don't be weird about it."
At this point you were sitting upright, Logan's arms still looped around you, his chin finding your shoulder, using you as a very comfortable shield against whatever Dean was about to say.
"Shoot," you said.
Dean took a breath with the energy of someone preparing to say something they had already decided to say regardless of the response. "Do you think I should buy a vibrator for a friend of mine?"
Logan laughed against your neck. You shivered slightly at the warmth of his breath.
"Are you the friend?" you asked. "Are you buying a vibrator for yourself?"
"What? No. I'm a man."
"That doesn't mean anything. Men are allowed to have vibrators."
"I know that. It's not for me."
"I really think you should get one though. For yourself. If you want to be the Samantha of the group you have to commit to the bit."
"I am the Samantha," Dean said, with genuine offense. "And it's not for me."
"Have you even watched Sex and the City?"
"Yes. I'm from New York, for god's sake and you're being such a Carrie right now."
You settled back against Logan's chest, his arms tightening around you automatically, like a reflex, like something he did without thinking about it anymore.
Yes, you thought. And my own Mr. Big is currently holding me on this couch.
Garrett and Hannah came down the stairs in what you assumed were their stay-at-home outfits: sweatpants, hockey jersey, the specific comfort of two people who had stopped performing around each other. The moment they came into view you felt Logan's hand still. Not move away just still. And then he shifted from behind you to sitting beside you, technically still touching but the warmth of it had changed completely. It was less person you are tangled up with and more person you happen to be sitting next to on public transport.
You knew that shift. You had felt it before.
The first time, you had told yourself you were imagining things.
It was a Tuesday, nothing special about it, the kind of evening that had become completely ordinary, you at the house, Logan beside you on the couch, his thumb making absent circles on your knee while Dean argued with Tucker about something that didn't matter. Hannah had stopped by to pick up something she'd left there the week before, and the moment the door opened Logan's hand had stilled. Not moved away. Just stilled. Like an animal that had heard something.
You hadn't said anything. You'd filed it away in the part of your brain reserved for things you weren't ready to look at yet.
The second time was at one of Garrett's games. You had been standing with Logan at the edge of the rink afterward, his jacket half around your shoulders the way it always ended up, and Hannah had appeared through the crowd. Logan had straightened. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it the slight shift in his posture, the way his jacket had slipped back off your shoulders without him seeming to notice he'd let it go.
You'd picked it up off the floor and handed it back to him without a word.
The third time you stopped counting.
Malone's on a Friday night had a particular energy loud enough to feel festive, familiar enough to feel like home. Your usual table was in the corner, the big one that fit all of you without anyone having to pull up an extra chair, and the evening had been good. Genuinely good, the kind that reminded you why you had agreed to this arrangement in the first place, Logan's knee against yours under the table, his arm finding the back of your chair sometime around the second round of drinks, the easy warmth of being somewhere you belonged.
You were mid-story , a good one, the kind that had the whole table leaning in and you could feel it landing, the timing was right, and Garrett was already laughing before you got to the punchline and Dean had that look on his face that meant he was going to steal this story and tell it as his own later, and Tucker was—
You glanced at Logan.
He wasn't laughing.
He was looking across the table at Hannah with an expression you recognized because you had spent the better part of a year learning every single detail of his face, and what was on it right now was something soft and slightly helpless the expression of someone watching something they had decided they couldn't have.
The story finished without you. Somewhere far away, the table laughed.
You picked up your drink. Set it down. Picked it up again.
"I'm going to step outside," you said. "Just — smoke a bit."
"You don't even smoke, (Y/N)!" Tucker replied, laughing, and it killed you because all of Logan's friends had come to know you so well.
"You okay?" Garrett asked.
"Fine. Just air."
You were already standing. Already reaching for your jacket. Logan was on his feet before you made it two steps.
"I'll come with you," he said.
The parking lot outside Malone's was cold and poorly lit. You got about twenty feet from the door before you stopped walking. The noise from inside filtered out muffled and distant, everyone still laughing, completely unaware.
Logan stopped beside you. Waited. He had always been good at waiting, which was one of the things you had loved about him and one of the things that had slowly, quietly driven you insane.
"Don't," you said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't do the thing where you stand there and wait for me to calm down." You turned to face him. The cold air hit your face and you were glad for it. "I'm not going to calm down. So just talk to me. Tell me the truth. Please. Don't bullshit me right now, Logan, I am asking you to not bullshit me right now."
"Baby—"
"Don't baby me, Logan. Not right now"
He looked at you with that steady, unhurried patience of his, which tonight felt less like a quality and more like a weapon.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked.
"I want you to tell me if you have a crush on Hannah." The word crush felt absurdly small for the moment but you couldn't bear the weight of the more accurate alternatives.
Something shifted in his face. Not guilt exactly, something deeper than that. The specific expression of someone who had been quietly hoping a question wouldn't arrive and had known, somewhere underneath the hoping, that it always was going to.
"It's not—" he started.
"Logan."
He exhaled. Looked at the ground briefly. Looked back at you.
"It's not serious," he said. "It's nothing. She's with Garrett. It's not like I would ever—"
"Oh my god." The laugh that came out of you had nothing to do with anything being funny. "Oh my god, you actually do. You actually have a crush on her."
"It's not a big deal—"
"You have a crush on your best friend's girlfriend and it's not a big deal." You repeated it back to him slowly. "I have been right here, Logan. For almost a year I have been right here, and you have a crush on Hannah."
"It's just a feeling. It doesn't mean anything." His voice had an edge to it now, something defensive sharpening underneath the calm. "And you don't get to be mad at me for it."
"Excuse me?"
"You don't get to be mad at me for having feelings." The words were coming faster now, the composure cracking in a way you almost never saw from him. "We said casual. That was the agreement. I can't be accountable to you for things I feel when you are not my girlfriend."
The word landed like a slap.
Girlfriend.
"Right," you said. Your voice had gone very quiet. "I'm not your girlfriend."
"That's not what I—"
"No, you're right. I'm not." You looked at him. Really looked at him — this person whose coffee order you knew by heart, whose nightmares you had talked him through at two in the morning, whose hand had reached for yours in his sleep so many times you had stopped counting. "Can I ask you something? And I need you to actually answer me. Not just wait until I stop talking."
He said nothing, which you took as a yes.
"What did you think this was?" Your voice was still quiet. Controlled. "Not what we agreed on in the beginning. What did you think it was last week? Last month? What did you think it was tonight when you had your arm around me at that table? When you picked me up from my house and kissed me in your truck?" You took a breath. "Because I need to understand how you look at what we have been doing and see something casual. I genuinely need you to explain that to me."
"It's complicated—"
"It's not complicated. It's actually very simple. I just need you to say it out loud."
"You knew what this was when we started—"
"I know what it was when we started. I'm asking what it is now." You crossed your arms against the cold. "Because from where I'm standing it looks a lot like a relationship. It looks like you drive my friends places and remember things about them they never told you twice, and I know every single thing about your life, and we spend more nights together than apart, and you reach for me when you're asleep like I'm something you don't want to lose." Your voice cracked slightly and you pushed past it. "So you'll have to forgive me for being confused about the casual part."
"I can't—" He stopped. Started again. "It's not about not wanting to. It's about what I can actually give right now. Hockey takes everything. My family, my mother, I don't have money, I don't have stability, I don't have any of the things that—"
"I'm not asking you for stability. I'm not asking you for money." Something in your chest had cracked open and you were past the point of closing it. "I'm asking you to admit what this already is. That's all."
"I am being honest—"
"Then be more honest." Your voice broke on the last word and you kept going anyway. "Because I'm in love with you."
The parking lot went completely silent.
Logan stared at you. The words sat between you in the cold air like something that had changed the temperature.
"What?" His voice came out barely above a breath.
"I'm in love with you." Steadier the second time. "I have been for a long time. And I know that's not what we agreed on. But I can't stand here and pretend I don't while you tell me it's not a big deal that you have feelings for someone else." You looked at him. "We are already a couple, Logan. In every single way that actually matters, we already are. The only thing missing is you admitting it."
Something moved across his face — something large and unguarded and almost frightened.
"It's not that simple," he said, quieter now, the defensiveness gone out of it.
"I know it's not simple. I know about hockey. I know about your mom. I know all of it, Logan, because you told me, because that's what we do. But none of that changes what I just said." You took a breath. "So just tell me. Do you have feelings for me? Yes or no. That's all I'm asking."
Logan looked at you.
And said nothing.
The silence stretched between you, long and terrible. His jaw was tight. His eyes moved across your face like he was looking for something he either couldn't find or couldn't say, and the longer the silence went on the more clearly you understood that the silence was itself an answer.
"Wow," you said finally. Very quietly. "Okay."
You picked up your bag. Straightened your jacket. Looked at him one more time this person you had spent 338 days loving in whatever form he would accept.
"Don't follow me," you said.
He didn't.
You walked back toward the warm light spilling out of Malone's windows, past your friends still laughing, past the table that an hour ago had felt like home, and you kept walking. Past the door, past the window, down the street, into the cold.
Too angry to cry. Too tired to pretend. Too done to look back.
Behind you, in the parking lot, Logan stood very still and said nothing which was the thing he was best at, and the thing that had finally cost him everything.
It had been a hard couple of days. But the upside of a not-breakup in college was that you didn't get to wallow, no watching rom-coms until the wee hours, no doing the Bella, watching the months pass from your bedroom window. Life was as it had always been, minus the space Logan had occupied in your weekly schedule. Not a metaphysical space, a literal one. When you opened your Google Calendar you found his game days still blocked out in blue, his training days still marked, everything still there like a calendar that hadn't gotten the news yet.
Pathetic, you thought, and deleted them.
Your days now belonged entirely to yourself, which should have felt like freedom and mostly felt like a lot of unscheduled Tuesday afternoons. No more disappearing in the middle of the day, no more make-out sessions in the library during lunch break. Just you and your own company and the slow, unglamorous work of being fine.
You weren't fine. You were something adjacent to fine that required daily maintenance and the careful avoidance of certain songs.
Marissa had noticed, she called it being under the weather, which was such a specific and old-fashioned way of putting it that in the beginning you had found it strange and now found it completely endearing. Your own personal nanna, showing up with iced coffee and terrible ideas at exactly the right moments.
The terrible idea this time was an underground bar in Boston she had found, which was a surprise since Marissa was fundamentally a sports bar person. You had a strong suspicion the entire excursion was engineered entirely for your benefit and the benefit of your appetite for expensive, colorful drinks, and you loved her for it and didn't say so.
The drive took exactly long enough to hype yourself up.
I'm pretty. I'm smart. I'm a catch.
The bar was dimly lit in a way that felt intentional rather than neglected, all low ceilings and good music and the general atmosphere of a place that didn't need to try. You, Marissa and Benny settled into a corner booth and approximately ninety seconds later Benny's elbow was in your ribs.
"Cute guy. Nine o'clock," he said, in what he apparently believed was a whisper.
You glanced toward the bar. Tall, white jacket, the kind of easy posture that meant he wasn't thinking about his posture at all.
"I'm not really looking for anything," you said.
"You're single. He's cute. The bar has drinks. What exactly is the problem?" Benny tilted his head. "Go order our drinks and make some poor decisions. You've earned it."
"I didn't bring my ID."
Benny stared at you. "You came to a bar without your ID?"
"I forgot." You shrugged.
"(Y/N)." His voice had the specific tone of someone choosing their words carefully. "What is wrong with you. Go. Drinks. Now. The ID thing is a you problem, figure it out."
You slid out of the booth before he could say anything else.
The guy at the bar was, up close, even more irritatingly attractive than he had been from across the room. He glanced over when you appeared beside him, and then glanced again in a way that was not subtle and didn't try to be.
"You look like you're deciding something," he said.
"Whether to admit I forgot my ID at a bar."
He looked at you for a moment. Then he smiled easy and genuine. "Hunter," he said, and held out his hand.
"((Y/N))."
"I'll vouch for you," he said. "If you tell me what you're drinking."
You told him. He ordered both without being asked, which was either presumptuous or exactly right, and you decided it was exactly right.
By the time you made it back to the booth with four drinks and Hunter's number in your phone, Benny was looking at you with the expression of someone who had orchestrated something and was very pleased about it.
You didn't tell him he was right. But you didn't have to.
The thing about Hunter Davenport was that he was genuinely, irritatingly likeable.
You had not been thinking about Logan when you said yes to Hunter's suggestion of getting coffee. You had not been thinking about Logan when the coffee turned into a walk, and the walk turned into two hours of easy conversation that asked nothing from you and gave something back.
That was the point.
You had gotten very good at not thinking about Logan in the weeks since Malone's. It was a skill, like any other, it required practice and the occasional forcible redirection of your own brain, but you were nothing if not disciplined when the situation called for it. You had been showing up to things. Laughing at the right moments. Sleeping through the night, mostly.
You were fine. You were getting finer by the day, which was either progress or a very convincing impression of it, and right now you weren't examining the difference too closely.
Hunter was easy. That was the thing about him. He was warm and uncomplicated and he looked at you like you were worth looking at, which was something you had apparently needed more than you realized.
It was nothing serious. You had been very clear about that with yourself. You were not ready for serious. But his hand was warm when it found yours walking back from the coffee place, and you let it stay there.
You were almost believing it.
The team was at the rink for an open practice, one of the informal ones that sometimes drew a small crowd of friends and the generally affiliated. You had come with Marissa, which gave you plausible deniability about why you were there, and you had sat in the third row and watched without watching, which was a skill you had also been practicing.
Hunter had waved at you from the ice. You had waved back.
You had not looked at Logan. You had been extremely disciplined about not looking at Logan, which meant you were also extremely aware of exactly where he was at every moment without technically looking at him, which was its own kind of exhausting.
After practice, Hunter had come off the ice still in half his gear and found you immediately, easy and unhurried, and said something that made you laugh. Your hand had gone to his arm the way hands do when you're laughing at something someone said, and it had stayed there for approximately four seconds.
Four seconds.
You knew it was four seconds because you had counted them, which meant some part of you had been paying attention to something you were pretending not to pay attention to.
The locker room door swung shut behind Logan without him looking back.
You found a quiet corner of the rink lobby while Hunter went to get his bag. You were looking at your phone, not reading anything on it, when you heard footsteps and looked up.
Logan.
He had changed out of his gear. His jaw was doing the thing: the tight, controlled thing that meant something was happening underneath the composure that the composure was working very hard to contain. His eyes moved from your face to the door Hunter had gone through and back.
"Hey," you said carefully.
"You and Hunter," he said. Not a question.
"That's not really your business."
"You're spending a lot of time with him."
"Logan—"
"I'm just making an observation." His voice was very even. The voice he used when he was the least controlled.
"Make it somewhere else."
He laughed short and humorless. "Right. Okay." He looked at the floor. Looked back at you. "I just didn't think you were the type."
You went very still. "The type to?"
"To go after a guy because of who he plays for." Quiet. Measured. Like he had chosen this version of the sentence carefully. "I didn't think that was your thing."
The lobby was very quiet.
You looked at him for a long moment. Long enough to make sure you had heard what you thought you'd heard. Long enough to see something flicker in his expression, the immediate, unmistakable recognition that he had gone too far.
"Say that again," you said softly.
"I didn't mean—"
"No." Your voice was calm in a way that had nothing to do with being calm. "Say it again. I want to make sure I understood you. Are you calling me a puck bunny?"
Logan said nothing. The flicker had become something closer to horror.
"Because that's what you just said." You tilted your head slightly. "After everything. That's what you went with."
"I didn't — that's not what I meant—"
"Then what did you mean?" You took a step toward him. "Because I have been patient, Logan. I have been so patient with you. I said the most honest thing I have ever said to anyone in that parking lot and you said nothing back, which I am trying. I am actively trying to make my peace with. But you do not get to say that to me. You don't get to do that."
"I know." His voice had lost all its evenness. "I shouldn't have—"
"Why did you say it?"
He looked at you.
"Tell me why." Your voice cracked slightly and you kept going. "Because it wasn't an observation. So tell me why."
Something moved across his face the composure fracturing in a way you had only seen once or twice in all the time you had known him.
"Because I can't—" He stopped.
"Can't what?"
"Because I can't watch you with him and not—" He stopped again. Pressed his mouth shut. Looked at the ceiling briefly.
"Not what?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.
He looked at you. Right at you. And for one unguarded, terrible second you could see everything, all of it, the whole enormous weight of everything he hadn't said in the parking lot outside Malone's, sitting right there on his face with nowhere left to hide.
And then he looked away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It was wrong."
You looked at him for a long moment.
"Yeah," you said. "It was."
You picked up your bag. Hunter had reappeared at the far end of the lobby, jacket on, easy smile, completely unaware of the wreckage he had wandered back into. You walked toward him and did not look back at Logan.
But you heard him the sharp exhale of someone who had just watched something leave that they weren't sure was coming back.
Good, you thought.
And hated that you thought it.
Here was the thing about being called a puck bunny: it wasn't the word itself that got to you.
Puck bunnies weren't the worst thing a person could be.
Men were allowed their types, allowed to prefer blondes or brunettes or redheads, to only date younger women, to have a thing for accents, to announce their type to anyone who will listen like it’s a personality trait, to want someone tall or short or with a specific laugh, or say things like "I have never been with a Brazilian before". They were allowed to say these things out loud, to Tinder-filter by height, and if it was possible they would do by weight too, to have opinions about bodies that they shared freely and without apology.
But god forbid a woman had a type. God forbid a woman found hockey players attractive or musicians, or academics, or anyone with a specific quality she was drawn to. Then she was something to be named and categorized and looked down upon. Then she was a bunny.
You were not offended by the word.
You were offended that Logan, who had been silent while you poured your heart out in a cold parking lot, who had said nothing when you asked him the most direct question you had ever asked another human being , had found his voice again specifically to say that. That of all the things he could have finally said to you, after all the silence, this was the one he chose.
That was what got to you.
Not the word. The timing. The source. The specific, devastating irony of a man who couldn't say I have feelings for you finding it very easy to say something that small.
You didn't tell anyone what he said.
That was the first decision you made, walking out of that rink lobby with Hunter's hand in yours and Logan's exhale still somewhere in your chest. You were not going to tell Dean, who would say something devastatingly accurate about it. You were not going to tell Marissa, who would want to talk about it for three hours. You were not going to tell anyone, because telling someone meant turning it over, examining it, and you were not ready to examine the specific shape of what Logan had said to you and what it meant that he had said it.
You knew what it meant. That was the problem.
You had known the moment you saw his face, that flicker of something before the composure reassembled itself, the way his eyes had moved to Hunter and back to you with an expression that had nothing casual about it. You had spent 338 days learning the map of Logan's face and you knew exactly what that look was. You had just also heard what came out of his mouth immediately afterward, which meant that what Logan felt and what Logan was willing to do about it were, as always, two completely different countries.
You were done trying to travel between them.
The week that followed was quiet and it felt different from the other times you had gone quiet. Before, the silence had always been temporary, a held breath. This felt more like an exhale. Like something had finally, after a very long time, finished.
You went to class. You had coffee with Hunter on Tuesday, which was easy and warm and asked nothing from you. You went to Marissa's on Thursday and watched something forgettable on her laptop and fell asleep on her couch, and she put a blanket over you without waking you up, which was the kindest thing anyone had done for you in recent memory.
You did not go to the house off campus. You did not text Logan. You did not check if he had texted you, which required leaving your phone face-down on your desk for approximately four days straight, which was its own kind of discipline.
You were fine. You were getting finer.
You were also absolutely not fine.
Dean found you on a Wednesday.
Not dramatically, he just appeared at the coffee shop near your building where you went on Wednesday mornings, which you had mentioned to him exactly once four months ago, which meant he had remembered it and filed it away and was now using it, which was such a Dean thing to do that you almost smiled.
He sat down across from you without asking if it was okay and stole a sip of your coffee before saying anything.
"He told me what he said," Dean said, without preamble.
You looked at your coffee. "Okay."
"He feels terrible."
"Good."
"I mean genuinely terrible. Like, I've known Logan for three years and I've never seen him—" Dean stopped. Seemed to decide something. "He's not sleeping. He's barely eating. He showed up to practice yesterday and coach pulled him aside after because his head wasn't in it, which has never happened, not once in three years."
"Dean." You looked up at him. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you deserve to know that it cost him something." His voice was straightforward, without manipulation. "I'm not asking you to forgive him. What he said was awful and he knows it. I'm just, you spent a long time showing up for him and I don't want you to think that none of it landed. It all landed. It's landing right now. It's just landing a little late."
You were quiet for a moment.
"A little late," you repeated.
"Okay, very late."
"Dean." You wrapped your hands around your cup. "He called me a puck bunny."
"I know." Dean had the grace to look genuinely pained. "He said it because he was jealous and scared and he handled it in the worst possible way and there is no defense for it. I'm not here to defend it."
"Then what are you here for?"
Dean looked at you across the table, this person who had been in your corner since before you had any idea how much you would need someone in your corner, and his expression was very honest.
"I'm here because he's my best friend and he's falling apart," he said. "And you're also my friend. And I hate watching both of you be miserable when I know exactly why you're miserable." He paused. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I just wanted you to know."
You looked out the window. The street outside was grey and unremarkable, the specific flatness of a Wednesday in November.
"How long has he known?" you asked quietly. "That he has feelings for me. How long has he actually known?"
Dean was quiet for a moment.
"A while," he said carefully.
"How long is a while, Dean."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Since pretty much the beginning," he said.
You closed your eyes briefly. Opened them.
"Okay," you said.
"(Y/N)—"
"I'm not angry." And you weren't, which was almost surprising. You were something quieter and more tired than angry. "I just needed to know." You picked up your coffee. "Tell him I said he needs to sleep."
Dean looked at you. "That's it?"
"That's it." You met his eyes. "I'm not ready for anything else right now. But tell him to sleep."
Dean nodded slowly. He finished stealing your coffee and stood up and put his jacket on, and then he stopped with his hand on the back of the chair.
"For what it's worth," he said. "The Hannah thing. It was never real. He told me that too. He said he thinks he latched onto it because it was safer than admitting what was actually happening."
You didn't say anything.
"Okay," Dean said. "I'll see you around."
He left. You sat there with your cold coffee and the grey Wednesday street outside and the specific, exhausting weight of loving someone who had known the whole time and chosen, over and over, to say nothing.
Since pretty much the beginning.
338 days. And he had known since pretty much the beginning.
You sat with that for a long time.
It had been raining since noon.
Not the dramatic, cinematic kind of rain that arrived with thunder and purpose, just the steady, grey, unrelenting kind that soaked through your jacket in the first thirty seconds and didn't apologize for it.
You were on your way back from the library, hood up, head down, thinking about nothing in particular, which you had gotten very good at recently. The art of thinking about nothing. Occupying your own brain with the immediate and the logistical the paper due Thursday, the coffee you were going to make when you got home, the question of whether you had remembered to charge your phone.
You had not been thinking about Logan.
You were almost at your building when you heard him.
"(Y/N)."
You stopped walking.
He was standing at the bottom of your building's front steps, which meant he had been waiting in the rain for some amount of time, which was evident from the state of him soaked through, hair flat, jacket dark with water. He looked like someone who had arrived with a plan and abandoned it somewhere on the walk over and was now operating on something more basic and less manageable.
He looked, for the first time in all the time you had known him, completely unguarded.
"Logan." Your voice came out carefully. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you."
"It's raining."
"I know."
"You're soaked."
"I know." He took a step toward you. "I've been standing here for forty minutes trying to figure out what to say and I still don't know, so I'm just going to say it badly and hope that counts for something."
You looked at him. The rain came down steadily between you.
"You have two minutes," you said.
He exhaled. Ran a hand through his wet hair. Looked at you with the expression of someone stepping off a ledge they had been standing on for a very long time.
"I have been in love with you," he said, "since pretty much the beginning."
The rain was very loud suddenly.
"I knew it when we agreed to casual. I knew it when we stopped hiding. I knew it every time I reached for you in my sleep and every time a stranger called us a couple and I laughed it off, and I knew it in that parking lot outside Malone's when you told me the truth and I stood there and said nothing back." His voice was steady but only barely, the steadiness of someone gripping something very hard. "I said nothing because I was terrified. Not of you. Never of you. Of what it meant. Of what I would owe you if I said it out loud. Hockey takes everything I have and my family situation is a disaster and I don't have money or stability or any of the things that a person is supposed to have before they ask someone to—" He stopped. "But Dean said something to me last week. He said that I was losing you anyway. That all my careful management of the situation had achieved was losing you slowly instead of all at once, and somehow I had convinced myself that was the better outcome."
You said nothing. The rain soaked through your hood and you didn't move.
"And then I said what I said to you at the rink." His jaw tightened. "I have replayed that moment every day since it happened. There is no version of it that I can make okay. I said it because I saw you with Hunter and something in me just broke. Not a good break. Not the kind that leads anywhere useful. Just — I broke, and I said the cruelest thing I could think of, and I aimed it at you, and I have hated myself for it every single day since." He looked at you. "I'm not telling you that to make you feel sorry for me. I'm telling you because you deserve to know that it was never about you. It was never about who you are. It was about me being terrified and handling it in the worst possible way, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry."
The rain fell between you, steady and indifferent.
"You knew since the beginning," you said finally. Your voice came out quieter than you intended.
"Yes."
"A year."
"Yes."
"And you said nothing."
"Yes." He didn't flinch from it. "I said nothing, and I let you carry it alone, and I told myself I was protecting you from the complications of my life, but I think I was just protecting myself. From having to be as brave as you were in that parking lot." Something moved across his face. "You were so brave. You said the true thing and I just stood there. And I have thought about that every day since. About what it cost you to say it and what it cost me to say nothing back."
You looked at him. This person. Soaked through and unguarded and finally, finally saying the thing he had been not saying for 338 days.
"The Hannah thing," you said.
"Wasn't real." Immediate. Certain. "I think I needed it to be real because it was safer than admitting what was actually happening. She has what you and I have, what you and I were and I think I confused wanting that with wanting her. It was never her." He held your gaze. "It was always you. It has only ever been you."
The rain had soaked through your jacket completely now. You were cold in a way that had stopped being uncomfortable and become simply the condition of the moment.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me tonight," Logan said. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I just needed you to know that I heard you in that parking lot. I heard every word. And I should have said this then, and I'm sorry that I didn't, and I'm saying it now because Dean was right, I am losing you anyway, and I would rather lose you having finally told the truth than keep you at a distance by staying silent." He paused. "I love you. I have loved you for a long time. And I'm sorry it took me this long to be brave enough to say it."
The street was very quiet under the rain.
You looked at him for a long moment. Long enough to turn it over. Long enough to feel the full weight of 338 days, of every almost-conversation and loaded silence and reset button and bucket of cold water. Long enough to remember his hand going still when Hannah walked in, and the parking lot, and the rink lobby, and the specific sound of his exhale when you walked away.
Long enough to remember, underneath all of it, a Halloween party and a wall and two people waiting out the night from the edges of it, talking like they had nothing to prove to each other.
The beginning, before it got complicated. Before it got careful.
"You're an idiot," you said.
Something shifted in his expression. Not quite hope. Something more tentative than hope.
"I know," he said.
"You made everything so much harder than it needed to be."
"I know."
"I carried that alone for a very long time, Logan."
"I know." His voice broke slightly on it. "I know you did. I'm sorry."
The rain came down. You looked at him this soaked, unguarded, finally honest person standing at the bottom of your steps and felt something in your chest that had been braced for a very long time slowly, carefully release.
"You should have just said it," you said. "In the beginning. You should have just said it."
"I know." He took a step closer. Close enough that you could see the rain on his face, the wet dark of his hair, the expression underneath all the composure that had finally run out of places to hide. "I know. I'm saying it now."
You looked at him.
"Say it again," you said quietly.
"I love you." No hesitation. No composure. Just Logan, standing in the rain, finally saying the true thing. "I love you. I have loved you since pretty much the beginning and I am done pretending I don't."
The rain fell between you and neither of you moved and the street was quiet and everything was very still.
Then you closed the distance.
You kissed him in the rain, which was cold and slightly impractical and nothing like the careful, managed version of Logan you had spent 338 days trying to navigate. This was different. This was him kissing you back with both hands and no hesitation and none of the holding back, and it felt finally, finally like the true thing. Like the version of this that had been waiting underneath all the other versions the whole time.
When you pulled back you were both soaked and breathing slightly unsteadily and his forehead dropped to yours in the rain.
"I'm still mad at you," you said.
"I know." His arms tightened around you. "I know you are."
"The puck bunny thing is going to take a while."
"I know. Whatever it takes."
"And you have to tell me things." Your voice was muffled against his jacket. "When you're scared, when it gets complicated, when your brain does the thing where it decides silence is the safe option. You have to tell me instead."
"I will." He said it simply, without qualification, which was how you knew he meant it. "I will."
You stood there in the rain outside your building, soaked through and slightly ridiculous, and you thought about Halloween and 338 days and parking lots and rink lobbies and all the long, complicated distance between the beginning and right now.
WOW! This is a masterpiece!! Your writing is so beautiful, and don't even get me started on all those references! I love every little bit about this fic!! Absolutely amazing!
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
Bed on Fire | John Logan x Fem!Reader [ chapter one]
Summary: No one knew about John Logan’s crush on Hannah Wells except for Y/N L/N, because every time she was looking at him, he was looking at her.
Pairings: John Logan x Fem!Reader, Garrett Graham x Hannah Wells, [future]Dean Di Laurentis x Allie Hayes
A/N: Ah thank you so much for all the love and excitement. I'm beyond thrilled to have received such feedback! I've have also received a couple requests for a taglist - which I've never done before - so I'll be adding this to the fic. As said before, I have decided to make a series of slight rewrites of the show during some parts to include two new characters (the reader and her brother), along with new scenes and new relationships. I hope y'all will enjoy reading through the first chapter while I'll be going over the outline of the story and possibly pimp my profile since it's very bare at the moment.
Also, the gif inspired the entire fic because those 3 seconds alone I've watched over a hundred times. Gif is by bynatty.
Taglist: @parker-barnes-af @loml-gs
“Remind me again why I let you talk me into showing up like this?” you groaned, tugging at your black turtleneck. At least you’d swapped the green khakis for leather hotpants at the last second. There would be no way you were letting your outfit scream ‘avoid me at all costs’ tonight.
Finn, your twin brother, didn’t even bother to look up as he fiddled with the strings of his teal hoodie. Of course, the costumes were his idea. He’d even left Garrett’s place early just to make your costumes a surprise for everyone.
“You’ve been complaining for over an hour,” he replied calmly as he looked in the mirror, trying to hold your gaze.
“I was hoping it was a joke,” you replied, quickly finding his eyes in the mirror. They were the same color as yours. Most of your features were the same. Your personalities were quite similar as well, even though you would both argue differently.
Finn placed his hand over his heart, faking a shocked expression. “You wound me, sister.” Then he pulled the hood of his hoodie over his head, and a giant beak flopped over his forehead.
Your jaw dropped. “Nope. Ab-so-lute-ly not,” you said, shaking your head and marching over to yank the hood off his head. “This is where I draw the line. I refuse to walk into a party - late, mind you - looking ridiculous just because you do,” you declared, finger jabbing at his face.
“This,” Finn announced, “is art.” He grimaced and pulled the hood back over his head with one sweep, which made the beak hit his mouth and immediately bounce back into place.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, “You’re the reason I will die alone.”
Finn grinned. “You’re just mad because Dr. Doofenshmirtz doesn’t pull as Perry does.”
That’s when you looked down at yourself. You were wearing a long white lab coat over your black turtleneck and hotpants. To top it all off, you were wearing black combat boots to complete the look. Yeah, you were definitely going to get rid of this lab coat as soon as Finn was out of your sight and too drunk to notice you had hit it somewhere, so he was probably never going to find it again. Hopefully, the boys would pull him into taking a couple of shots so it would be sooner rather than later.
“C’mon, we’re going to be late,” Finn said as he grabbed his keys off your desk. Then, if on cue, your phone buzzed from where it lay on your bed. As soon as you picked up the pink checkered phone and turned it towards you, your eyes were met by a text from Allie. ‘Where are you guys??? Sean already left me!?!!’ Another text came through immediately after. ‘I lost Hannah as well.’
‘She is probably with Garrett,’ you texted back.
A few weeks ago, that would have been the weirdest five words you could ever send one of your best friends, but it has become a habit by now.
Before, you were the only one who would hang out with the hockey guys, since Dean, Finn, Beau, and you were childhood friends who went to the same college. Plus, Tucker’s cooking was impossible to resist. He single-handedly improved your diet. It was a nice change not being the only girl at the house who wasn’t just there to hook up, even though Hannah was usually in Garrett’s room.
“That’s our cue,” Finn said while looking over your shoulder, reading the texts Allie had sent you. You shoved your phone into the pocket of your lab coat and followed your brother out of your dorm room. “Lord, have mercy,” you prayed as you slammed the door shut behind you.
By the time you pulled up, the house was bursting at the seams. Finn parked across the street, and the music thumped so hard it rattled the porch and even your car windows. Classic Beau and Dean. “How long before the cops show up?” you muttered, unbuckling your seatbelt. Finn just rolled his eyes and herded you inside.
You barely managed to step through the front door before you were greeted by Dexter with a hug. He sloppily threw his arms around your neck, which barely missed your face. “You made it!” he screamed into your ear.
“Yes!” you yelled back, which immediately made him let go to reach his ear with one of his hands.
He was about to complain about your response when he finally had a moment to comprehend what you and Finn were wearing. “Oh my god!” he screamed again, “I love your outfits! It’s so iconic!”
You smiled and nodded, letting Finn soak up the praise. Once you deemed the conversation over, you peered past Dexter’s shoulder and spotted a cluster of Briar U students, star athletes included, crowded around the kitchen counter, tossing back shots. Mostly Dean and Beau, of course. Their grins were your signal to escape Dexter and make your way over.
“Bambi!” Dean shouted, pulling you into a hug the second you reached them. There it was again, the nickname he’d given you back in high school after your secret drunken adventure and your epic stair tumbles. Sure, you could claim you were just pretending the stairs were a slide, which in fact was true, but no one would buy it. Besides, you secretly loved the nickname and how everyone else let it stick. “So, what are you supposed to be?” he asked, finally letting you go.
You sighed and nodded towards the person behind you. “Just check out the idiot behind me, and you’ll figure it out.” Dean froze, then doubled over in laughter. Beau nearly choked on his shot, eyes wide. “No way,” he sputtered.
“Yes way!” Finn spread his arms as he walked towards the group. “Where’s my award?” He spun around, showing his friends what he called his masterpiece. “Y/n are you-”
“Dr. Doofenshmirtz,” you deadpanned, lips pursed as you finished Tucker’s question for him. Dean was too busy wheezing with laughter to say anything.
“Break a leg, why don’t you,” you muttered to the blond, who was practically on the floor, gasping for air. “Or better yet, break both. That’ll keep you out of getting laid, which serves you right.”
“That’s not very nice, Bambi.” You turned, and there he was - Logan, with those big, dreamy brown eyes you tried not to get lost in. He stood next to Tucker, supposedly part of a duo, though all he wore were wings and a sleeveless shirt that did his arms every favor.
Logan smiled, “I think you look nice,” he added.
Shit. His words made your stomach clench, and your throat tighten, like invisible hands were squeezing every last bit of air from your lungs.
“So,” you lingered at your words, “Who or what are you supposed to be anyway?”
Tucker frowned at your question. “The bees and the birds.” Both hockey players replied, slightly in unison, slightly not. You blinked at their answer. “That’s-” you stumbled, “Why?”
Logan shrugged and smiled his famously wide smile. “It was easy, and Tucker really wanted to make use of the bee costume he had lying around.”
You blinked again. “Why do you even own a bee costume?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. Then you shook your head, hands up in surrender. “Actually, never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“We need to take a picture.” Tucker suddenly demanded. “No,” you replied even faster.
“Yes,” he challenged you.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Before Tucker could argue, Logan caught your lab coat sleeve and steered you toward the kitchen corner. His hand brushed your bare shoulder, just for a second, barely there, but you felt it all the same.
Suddenly, a wave of heat crashed over you. Fuck, why was it so hot? How was Dean not melting in that denim suit? You needed this lab coat off. Now, or you’d melt right there on the kitchen floor.
“C’mon, Doc. Smile,” Logan said, looking down at you, blissfully unaware of the predicament you were in.
Doc.
“Screw this lab coat,” you muttered, yanking at the sleeve in a desperate attempt to free yourself.
“What are you doing?” Logan asked, eyes narrowing as he watched you finally wrestle the coat off.
“I don’t like the coat,” you shrugged as you placed the coat on the kitchen counter.
“I do.”
“Well, too bad,” you shot back, locking eyes with him as you debated which layer to ditch next, since losing the coat hadn’t brought the breeze you craved.
“We want to join too!” You heard a familiar voice disrupt your thoughts, and as you looked to your left, you saw Garrett and Hannah appear from the crowd.
So, against your will, you ended up in the stupid picture. Beau jumped in halfway through, then some random guy in a Mike Wazowski costume. By the end, you’d lost count of the photos. Tucker had you in stitches, dramatically posing as ‘the bee’ and grabbing every prop he could find.
And Logan was still right there, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back. Your throat tightened, heart fluttering up into your chest, desperate for more space.
Breathe. You needed to remember to breathe.
An hour later, the party had somehow become even louder. You were leaning against a counter, eavesdropping on the conversation Allie and her boyfriend Sean were having. “Let’s have this conversation another time,” she said, leaving her red cup on the counter and her boyfriend and you to fend for yourselves.
Spotting the abandoned red cup reminded you that your own hands were empty. You pushed off the counter and made your way toward the drink stash.
“Do you think there is something else besides alcohol?” You heard Garrett ask the person next to him who had his back towards you. “For you?” A familiar voice asked back, which made you jump and immediately cover yourself against the wall next to the doorframe.
Logan.
“No, it’s for Hannah,” Garrett explained while opening and closing every drawer. Logan turned towards the counter and put his hand in the sink filled with ice and drinks. “Here,” he handed a closed can of beer to Garrett and smiled softly, “Cans are safer.”
Oh.
Your stomach plummeted like you’d just stepped off a ledge.
“Thanks.” Garrett took the can from Logan and slammed a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, then walked away, presumably to go and find Hannah.
But Logan didn’t move a muscle. He just watched his best friend walk away. And you recognized the look in his eye as Garrett met up with Hannah again. It was soft, as if he finally felt relaxed for the first time in a while. You recognized it because you wore the same one every single time you looked at him.
Something twisted deep inside you. You felt a pang of jealousy that caught you off guard, mixed with heartbreak. The realization settled quietly. Logan had feelings for Hannah.
Oh.
This time, your stomach twisted so hard it felt like it was clawing its way out. Impossible, but it felt painfully real.
“Y/n?”
You blinked and let out a gasp. Your eyes found his as Logan was watching you now. He was leaning against the doorway, holding a red cup, probably filled with beer.
“Huh?” was all you managed. Words wouldn’t come, not after what you’d just realized. It felt like you were trapped in a storm cloud, ready to burst and rain for days.
“You look traumatized. Are you okay?” His expression changed from bright, open eyes to narrow ones, desperately trying to find out what it was that had you in such a grip that you couldn’t even pronounce a word.
You opened your mouth, closed it, then let out a sigh - half frustration, half laughter.
“Yeah, just fine,” you finally managed to scramble some words.
“That’s not what people say who really are fine,” he explained, slightly rotating his head while pronouncing ‘fine’. And then a crooked smile appeared on his face.
You stayed silent. What were you supposed to say? Actually, Logan, I just realized I’ve been crushing on a guy who looks at my best friend the way I look at him. That would go over great. You almost rolled your eyes, but forced a smile instead and took a sip, only to realize your cup was so crumpled it nearly spilled everywhere.
Logan studied you for a second, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Then Tucker yelled something ambiguous from the middle of the room. He shook his head while laughing at the younger boy. “Duty calls.”
“Good luck,” you replied. And then he was gone. You stared after him for half a second too long before dragging your attention back to the red cup in your hand.
“Okay,” you muttered, eyeing your crumpled red cup. “Love this for me.”
“Talking to yourself is usually the first sign of insanity.”
You frowned and looked up. Beau stood across the kitchen, holding his own red cup - uncrumpled, unlike yours, which had barely survived the stress of a single conversation.
You groaned once your gaze locked with his. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough,” he answered as he strode towards you, leaning against the counter across.
You grimaced and raised your cup. “Amazing,” you said, earning a smile from Beau. He was never loud like Dean, always letting people come to him. Maybe that’s why you loved him being your friend. He understood the art of quiet, and you admired his calm presence. You’d learned to bury your wants deep, not always healthy, but at least you didn’t trouble anyone else. Beau always had your back since he figured this out during the years in high school you spent together, and the number of times you complained about your boyfriends to him.
“You could talk to me,” he said, which made you look up again and smile softly. “I know,” you nodded, “I just don’t know-”
You both turned at the sound of someone shouting Garrett and Hannah’s names. The crowd parted, revealing the pair near the hallway. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Logan watching Hannah, his gaze tracking her laughter. When Garrett tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Logan looked away quickly, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.
You swallowed hard. Beside you, Beau followed your gaze, watching Logan slip away from the scene. Then Beau looked back at you, noticing the way you watched Logan. “Y/n…” he started, but Tucker’s voice cut him off.
You blinked at the sound of your name and looked around immediately like a deer in headlights. “What?” you shouted to nobody in particular.
“We need you for beer pong!” he yelled back as he threw the small white ball in your direction. Surprisingly, you caught it just before it would have hit your face and immediately shook your head. “No,” you answered fast.
“Yes.”
“We’re not doing this again,” you said, hands on your hips as you set your cup down. Suddenly, Logan appeared behind Tucker, draping his arms over his friend’s shoulders. “I’m with Doc, then,” he grinned, making your stomach drop. You shot him a look at the nickname.
“Who’s Doc?” Tucker asked as he turned his head towards Logan.
“Bambi.”
“Ah.”
“Fine,” you sighed, “but if I win, Logan drops the nickname.” He stepped up, offering his hand. You shook on it, and for a moment, he just stood there. Then he turned to Tucker and mouthed, “Never,” making Tucker snicker.
Beer pong quickly became chaotic, to no one's surprise. The red cups on the table were filled with water to prevent the floors from getting sticky and the house from smelling like dried-up beer. Dean contributed the most to the chaotic game by insisting on acting as a commentator and fully embodying his role as Maverick.
As the game started, Tucker roped Finn into being his beer pong partner. Finn was all in until he saw just how terrible Tucker’s aim was once he hit that tipsy-to-drunk sweet spot. It took about five minutes for them to start trash-talking each other.
Unfortunately, you weren’t much better. Every miss earned a laugh from Logan. It almost made you want to miss on purpose, but sadly, your aim was just that bad. “I swear I’m usually better than this,” you said, wincing as the ball landed four inches from the cup. “Hard to believe,” he teased.
“Have I ever lied to you?” you asked, turning to find him already watching you instead of the game. You stumbled, clearing your throat, trying to shake off the tightness. “No,” he said quietly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but then cold droplets splashed your bare arms, snapping you back to reality.
“Let’s go, Perry!” Tucker jumped and bumped his chest against your brother’s. Then both of them raised their hand in the air and high-fived each other.
“Truce?” Finn asked his friend, and the boy nodded enthusiastically. “Truce,” he confirmed, and they both turned towards you and Logan, who stood beside you on the other side of the table, close enough to touch.
summary: john logan may be in love with you, only problem? if your brother finds out then he’s a dead man walking.
request: yes/no
warnings: swearing, illusions to smut if you squint
word count: 2.44k
authors note: I wanted to give her a cute little relationship with Beau too cause all the stuff he’s in on here that I’ve seen are sad af 😭 anyways on to the actual story, I am a sucker for the brothers best friend concept so brothers teammate is just something I’ll eat up. So glad you guys liked the garrett post from this morning, keep the requests coming because they are genuinely so good I can’t wait for you guys to read them!
It was only meant to be a quick favour for a friend.
Your car broke down on a late winter evening last year and you called the only person you could think of. Well the one that made sense, your older brother Dean would have turned it into a massive lecture that you’d be required to listen to for the rest of time. John Logan on the other hand was someone who you knew would help.
Not only because you were in the pouring rain with only ten percent left on your phone, but because he was the only one who actually listened when you begged him to keep it between you two.
He refused to take any kind of payment stating what he did was just helping a friend.
Neither one of you fully remembered how things got serious. The nights spent in the library studying, seemed to mix with the times you tried to teach him how to cook. And before either one of you knew it, you were finding him in crowding rooms. Far too many times than Dean would consider appropriate. Or without fail at the end of a party, Logan was walking you home.
That was the time that the two of you officially knew you were crossing a boundary, your brother wouldn’t agree with “you know you can’t look at me like that.” Logan sighed, letting his fingers hook into the hoop of your belt.
The way he pulled you into him made you smile “like what Johnny boy?” You let your hand rest on his chest as the spring air breezed past you.
He sucked at his teeth letting out a sigh “like you’re gonna give Dean a reason to kill me.” Of course your brother knew you were an adult, but that wasn’t gonna stop him from killing any guy you were with.
Because he trusted you of course, it was men where he had a problem “he’d kill ya if we get caught.” You smirked licking your lips “and besides I’d deal with him if that happened.” Most people were scared of the blonde, but you had him wrapped around your finger in more ways than he ever wanted to admit it.
Logan looked up at the night sky as he let out a sigh “you are dangerous.” He tucked your hair behind your ear “you love it.” He knew you were right.
So that’s why he didn’t think twice when he finally kissed you. It had been building up for months, the kiss wasn’t careful nor was it tentative. It was this kind of kiss that came from holding something in for too long and finally accepting that it really was there.
Your breath caught as his hand slide around your waist, pulling you closer like he’d been waiting for permission that never really needed to be given. The taste of your lipgloss on his tongue made his head buzz, like you were a drug for his taking.
When he pulled away to breathe again, his forehead rested against yours “this is a bad idea.” His voice was rougher as his eyes scanned yours.
He couldn’t help but smile when you did “probably.” You nodded licking your lips “do it again.” The request was listened to as Logan followed your instruction.
Sneaking around became easier than it should have been. And that was the really scary part.
The lies that you’d tell your friends or the guys became second nature, as nobody knew anything. Sure there was the occasional suspicion that came from Logan no longer entertaining the girls around him at parties, but it was all just the boys wondering what made the mystery girl so special.
The boys had so many theories about the girl too “what is it even about this girl that makes her so special?” Dean scoffed sitting down next to you as he snatched a fry from your bowl.
It made you swat at your brother’s arm shooting him a glare as he stuck his tongue out at you“more importantly why haven’t we met her?” Tucker spoke up from the kitchen causing Logan to mentally cringe.
He couldn’t exactly say that the girl they were looking for was actually right in front of them and that if they paid attention, they would have known by now “she’s just shy guys.” Logan avoided your eyes as you sent him a glare.
Your arms crossed, making it clear that he didn’t give the right answer “I think you shouldn’t speak for her when she’s not around.” The boy knew you were gonna make him regret that one later.
Garrett furrowed his eyebrows at your comment “should we say the same thing about your special guy?” The boy teased, motioning to your neck.
Logan it happened two nights ago when some guy from the lacrosse team paid for your coffee, and the hockey player just wanted it to be a little clearer to others that you were taken “who are you seeing?” Dean gasped as he pulled your hair back to see the hickey on your neck.
Your cheeks turned red “well would you look at the time I should go back to the apartment!” You announced as you got up, shoving your bowl of fries into Deans lap.
It made the boys laugh “I’ll drop you off on my way to the library.” Logan nodded as he looked at his watch.
At this point library should just about been code for your bedroom “absolutely not, I want to know who this man is!” Dean shook his head trying his best to not think about the fact that you were definitely banging someone.
It seemed as if you were saved by the bell when Beau walked in “you know you’re like twenty minutes late for our gym session right Dean?” The words were like music to your ears as you shoved your phone into your back pocket.
The brunette smiled seeing you there “hey little D.” He sent you a nod as you walked to the door “good to see ya B.” You gave him a salute when Logan was hot on your tail.
He grabbed his duffle bag from the floor and his keys from the table “bye guys!” You both spoke at the same time letting the door shut behind you.
The rest of the guys couldn’t help it when they looked at each other “I can’t be the only one that thinks that was weird, right?” Beau pointed back to the door as everyone nodded but Dean.
The blonde laughed, “please, she’d never go for a hockey player.” Your brother shook his head “and Logan so wouldn’t go for her.” You were the human version of chaos and he tried so hard to keep his life where it needed to be. So you were just like chalk and cheese, totally not meant to work.
Logan colour-coded and alphabetised appointments and assignments; you, on the other hand, were lucky if you were wearing matching socks and got to class on time. Dean could have understood you being with almost anyone else, so the concept of you liking a calm man like that should have been crazy “hey, they both seemed pretty excited to be getting out of here if you ask me.” Garrett’s smirk made it clear that he was enjoying this whole thing far too much.
The boy’s words shouldn’t have gotten to Dean. They were clearly trying to get under his skin and even though it shouldn’t have worked, somehow it did, and now, almost an hour later he was still thinking about them “you know, they were just kidding, right?” Beau patted his back on Dean’s shoulder as they left the gym.
Dean looked at the sky as he frowned, “I know that they would never-” he cut himself off as he sighed “I just think that it is a little weird that they both have someone they won’t tell us about.” Your brother really didn’t like the concept of you two being together, but he knew that some possibility was enough to make it even the slightest bit probable.
Beau couldn’t help but laugh, “while I think she’d never go for someone like him.” He looked down to his watch, knowing that the blonde was going to think about this for the rest of the night until he knew the answer.
The brunette was glad he didn’t have a twin in the same way that you and Dean had each other, “if we go to hers and she’s alone, then we know they aren’t together.” Beau smirked, “because let's be real here, in the middle of the week, Logan is so not getting some.” It was the middle of a massive assignment week for Logan so the assumption that he really was at the library was valid enough.
It was just that he had actually spent all of his mornings getting everything done so that he could hang out with you in the evenings this time.
Dean looked down at his phone to see your little Life360 character was at your apartment “you’re right, man, she’s probably rewatching Burlesque, knowing her.” Your brother nodded, watching as Beau put your address into Maps to finally put his worries at ease.
You straddled the hockey player, letting your thighs rest on either side of him “you think I’m shy huh?” You nipped at his jaw, feeling his strain beneath you
Logan let out a grunt as his head rested against the back of your couch “shiest thing around.” He nodded, acting like he was convinced by his words.
You pulled away to focus on him, running your fingers through his hair “you’re lucky, I think you’re hot.” You rolled your eyes, sending him a glare.
It made the boy laugh “I mean I’m your special guy after all.” His joke didn’t land as you began to drive your hips against his “I’d watch your tongue if I was you.” Your warning came as you pressed a kiss against the shell of his ear.
Logan felt his throat grow dry “what are you gonna do if I don’t?” He taunted back, watching you sit up straight.
Your hands ran up his chest “because I’ll put on the best show if you don’t.” You smirked bringing your chest closer to his face “and I know how much you hate having to watch.” He hated not being able to touch you when he wanted, especially if you were alone.
He nodded, sucking at his teeth in the process “you are deadly.” He groaned, looking at you through dazed eyes.
It was like music to your eyes as you grinned, “thought we had already been over that one, silly boy.” You let your lower lip form a pout, making the boy roll his eyes, “shut up.” He grumbled, cupping your jaw with his hands as he kissed you.
His lips were hungry against yours, his tongue dragging along your lower lip. While Logan let his hands squeeze at your ass, making you moan into his mouth. The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn’t hear the sound of keys jiggling at the lock, or even the gasp that came when it was finally unlocked.
Dean stood at your door, frozen as he didn’t know what to do “I can’t fucking believe this!” Beau had to admit that he almost wanted to laugh. When you pulled away from Logan, you both looked as if you had been caught in some heinous crime.
You got off of Logan, ignoring that your lipstick was definitely all over Logan instead, “I swear I can explain.” You pushed your hair behind your ears.
Logan nodded in agreement, “it’s not what it looks like?” His words came out as if they were unsure they had a place to be there.
Dean clenched his fists “what it looks like?” His tone was almost amused, even if he was glaring fully at the brunette.
Your brother pinched the bridge of his nose “what it looks like is that you’re sleeping with my sister” He gagged, wanting to wake up from the lousy nightmare that it was.
Logan raised his hands in defence, “I’m not just sleeping with her.” The answer made both you and Dean send him a glare as it was possibly the worst thing he could have said.
Dean shook his head as he clenched his fists “you are so dead!” He warned, looking over you as you stepped in front of his teammate, “let’s just talk about this Dean.” You pleaded as you felt Logan wrap his hand around your arm.
But that only irritated your brother even more “I will talk to you later.” He obviously wasn’t ready to unpack that you liked his teammate, so instead he was going to deal with the fact that his teammate liked you.
Somehow that answer didn’t make you feel any better “but right now?” You let your eyes screw shut knowing that the next thing was going to be much worse.
Logan wished you were easier to hide behind in that moment “right now?” The blonde sucked at his teeth as his eye twitched.
Dean looked as if he was ready to kill someone “I’m gonna murder you for sleeping with her!” He yelled as Beau grabbed you, trying to make it so that you wouldn’t get hit in what was inevitably about to happen.
The duo ran past you as Dean chased Logan, yelling strings of curses and threats about what he’d do if he ever got his hands on his sister’s boyfriend. Beau crossed his arms as he looked at you “for the record if you told me I wouldn’t have told him to just come check for himself.” The older boy confessed as you smiled.
He always had your back so you knew he was honest “in our defence we didn’t tell anyone.” You shrugged trying to lessen the blow “does he make you happy?” Beau knew that even while Dean was off trying to kill Logan. His biggest worry was how you were actually being treated.
It made you nod while you toyed with your necklace “honestly I don’t think I could be happier.” Even though Beau cared for you like you were his own sister, he knew he didn’t have a say in the matter. So that answer was good enough for him.
You could hear Logan’s pleading coming from down the hall “we should probably go make sure that Dean doesn’t kill him right?” Your words made Beau laugh as he nodded “yeah we better before Garrett kills us.”
I need hotch with angry bau reader 😔😔 I’m genuinely so pissed off recently and him calming me down would actually heal me
over the line
you and me both 😣 cw; bau fem!reader, established relationship, typical cm case descriptions, a misogynistic rude officer, hurt to comfort <3 wc; 1.2k
You’d just finished another debrief on a case you already knew would be especially difficult. After all, it wasn’t every day you were called out after only one victim; this one had been so brutal that nobody wanted to give the guy a chance to do much as think about making it serial.
Now, you were all gathered around the table, deep in discussion of victimology. But despite the focus, you still caught the murmur of a side discussion to the left of you.
"Don’t know why we’re even trying to find this guy. Way she was flirting, sounds like she had it coming." One of the officers snickered under his breath, muttering to his colleague. He got a laugh in response. A laugh. Un-fucking-believable.
You were already in a bad mood hearing about the case on the jet, but rehashing it brought an even sicker feeling to your stomach. It didn’t help that your features left you a practical mirror image to the victim. It may have well been you plastered up on that board.
You turned towards the officer, your expression full of shock and disdain. "What did you just say?"
Sharing a glance with his friend, he realized he had two options: retreat and shut up, or continue to be an asshole. Clearly he chose the latter, the option that fed his ego. “I said she had it coming. Look at her,” he added, gesturing towards the table with open disgust.
The crime scene photos. The victim bound and mutilated. The defense marks were clear as day, painting the image of her struggle in your mind as if you’d watched it happen right in front of you.
"She had it coming." You repeated, taking an authoritative, threatening step towards him. The rest of the group fell silent, their attention snapping to you. "You think she asked for this to happen? Is that what you think?"
He shrugged, a smirk forming on his face. He challenged you right back: Yes.
A sharp, disbelieving laugh tore out of you. Your fists clenched as you stepped in again, deliberately invading his space. “Maybe we should hand you over to him next,” you snapped, your voice rising with fury. “Then we’ll see how fast you realize nobody asks for this.”
“From the looks of it, I’d think he’d prefer you.”
“Oh-”
Before you could finish, Aaron intervened, gently yet resolutely grabbing your elbow. He held back the Sweetheart that threatened to pass his lips. "Agent. A word, please."
"Get your men in order. It's disgusting." You snapped at the chief as he joined the rest of you, arriving too late to stop what had already been said.
Your glare didn’t waver as Aaron began to guide you away. You allowed him to do so, even as anger burned hot in your chest, your hands still trembling at your sides. His grip was grounding, even as your pulse still pounded, rage coursing through your veins.
"I don't care if I was out of line." You started rambling as soon as the conference room door shut behind the two of you. "I wasn't going to stand there and let him belittle that poor girl."
Now, finally able to use the endearments he’d grown accustomed to, Aaron tried, “Sweetheart-“
"The fucking audacity.” You let out an exasperated sigh, beginning to pace. “Again, I don’t care if I overstepped, I don’t care how ‘unprofessional’ it was. He had no right - none - to speak about her like that, to twist what happened into some sick joke.”
"That's not why I pulled you away. I was afraid you'd start swinging at the guy."
You scoffed, averting your eyes, though the tension in your expression didn’t ease. Crossing your arms tightly over your chest, you shook your head, your jaw set. "He deserved it."
"He did. He was out of line, and thought he could get away with it without consequence. You made sure he didn’t.“ Aaron's lips tugged into a smile, referring to you barking at the person in charge. "And you did my job for me. Maybe you should do it more often."
You laughed gently, but it faded as quickly as it came. You felt yourself coming back down, the anger no longer flaring but settling into something quieter, heavier.
“Hey.” His hands rested gently on your forearms, holding you still and steadying you once more. While appropriate, an outburst from you was rare. "Do you want to talk about it?"
As Aaron studied you, his brown were soft and full of concern. He could see the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your shoulders carried the weight of the past few days. The empathy you felt for the victim.
He was infuriated by the way the officer had spoken to you, and in moments like this, he almost wished he didn’t have a badge - or the restraint that came with it; sometimes it would be nice - and warranted - to be able to use his fists to make a point. He ached at the thought of how it must have made you feel, even as a quiet sense of pride settled in at how you’d handled yourself.
You shrugged, biting on the inside of your cheek. To hold back tears? Buying time to answer? You weren’t quite sure.
Quickly glancing around to make sure no one was coming, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. There were no words that felt right - sometimes, that was just how it was. So he held you tighter, hoping it might be enough to say what he couldn’t.
You sank deeper into his touch, letting out a sigh as he pulled you close. For the first time in days, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. His embrace was familiar and loving, a quiet refuge from everything that had come before. If only you could stay here forever, wrapped in this quiet safety, shielded from all that was cruel and ugly.
"It's getting to me too." He offered softly. You weren't the only one visualizing yourself as one of the victims, and the thought unsettled him deeply.
You hummed sadly into his chest, burying your face deeper into it. For a moment, you were overtaken by the juvenile notion that you could hide here forever.
Much too soon, a knock on the door signaled that the two of you were needed. Aaron sighed and pulled back reluctantly, maintaining his hold on you. “Do you need another minute? Can I get you anything?”
Did you? Maybe you could manage, but the thought made your stomach twist into knots. Back into the suffocating atmosphere of the bullpen where horror awaited. Back to the misogynist asshole who thought he could belittle and poke fun without consequence. It would be much easier to stay here and hide - concealed and safe. But you couldn’t. You owed it to the victim. You had to see it through.
At your prolonged silence, and from the expression of unease that grew quietly on your face, Aaron decided for you. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart.”
“No, no, I’m okay,” you started to protest, rather unconvincingly - the shakiness in your voice giving you away. “I just want to catch this son of a bitch unsub.”
“Take two more minutes.” Aaron pressed a kiss to your forehead, reaching for the doorknob.
“Is that an order?”
With the door open halfway, he turned back, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “If that’s what it takes.”
Summary you are at party when you get cornered by a guy who can’t take a hint luckily Logan is there to save you
The party was loud in the way college parties always were, the music rattling the walls, people packed shoulder to shoulder, the air too warm from too many bodies crammed into one house.
You’d lost Logan somewhere around the kitchen twenty minutes ago after one of his teammates dragged him into a conversation, leaving you leaning against the counter with a drink in your hand while you waited for him to come back.
Not because you needed him attached to your side all night. Just because parties were easier when Logan was nearby.
He was easy in a way no one else was. Steady. Familiar. The kind of person who always noticed when you went quiet or when your social battery started draining. Your friend.
Your very attractive friend who you had feelings for and unfortunately for you, you didn’t know how to tell him about your feelings.
“You look bored.”
You glanced over at the guy suddenly beside you and offered a polite smile. “Just taking a breather.”
“Well that’s tragic,” he said easily. “A girl like you shouldn’t be standing alone at a party.”
You resisted the urge to cringe.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
But he stayed planted there anyway, leaning closer against the counter.
“Are you here with anyone?”
Your brain immediately went to Logan before you could stop it.
“Friends.”
“Just friends?”
Something about the question made heat creep into your face.
“Yeah.”
The guy smiled like he’d won something.
“Then I don’t feel bad flirting with you.”
You laughed awkwardly, trying to angle your body away without being rude. “I’m not really looking for anything.”
“C’mon,” he said. “You haven’t even given me a chance yet.”
His hand landed beside yours on the counter, effectively boxing you in enough to make your chest tighten.
You glanced around the room automatically looking for Logan or any of the guys but to your relief you immediately saw that Logan was looking at you. His eyes locked onto yours from across the room instantly, expression shifting the second he noticed your discomfort.
The smile he’d been wearing while talking to his teammates vanished.
You watched him excuse himself without hesitation.
Your pulse skipped stupidly because Logan was quick to drop anything when it came to you.
The guy beside you was still talkiing, oblivious.
Then suddenly warmth pressed against your side.
A familiar hand settled carefully on your waist.
Logan stepped directly between you and the stranger with effortless ease, not aggressive enough to draw attention but firm enough to make a point.
“She’s with me.”
Your breath caught.
The guy blinked. “Oh my bad, man. I didn’t know.”
“You do now.”
Logan’s voice stayed calm, but there was something unmistakably sharp underneath it.
The guy muttered an apology before disappearing back into the crowd.
The second he was gone, Logan turned toward you completely.
His hand was still on your waist.
Neither of you mentioned it.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
But your voice came out smaller than you intended.
Logan’s brows pulled together slightly. “He touch you?”
Your stomach flipped a little at the question. At the concern in his voice.
“Not really.”
“Not really isn’t an answer.”
You huffed out a laugh. “He was just annoying.”
Logan looked unconvinced.
His thumb brushed lightly against your side before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He started to pull his hand away. Without thinking, you caught his wrist making the both of you freeze.
Logan looked down at your hand around his, then slowly he looked back up at you. The music suddenly felt very far away.
“You can leave it there. I want you to leave it there.” you said softly before you lost your nerve.
Something in Logan’s expression changed completely. Gone was the calm, teasing version of him you knew so well. Suddenly he looked almost wrecked by you.
His hand settled back onto your waist carefully, like he was trying not to read too much into it even while clearly reading too much into it.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I really hate when guys hit on you.”
Your heart stumbled. “Why?”
Logan let out a breath through his nose, eyes searching yours.
“Because I’m standing there pretending I’m okay with it when I’m definitely not.”
The confession hit you like a punch.
“Logan…”
“I know we’re friends,” he said quickly, softer now. “I know. I just—”
“We are idiot’s.”
He blinked. “What?”
You stepped closer before you could overthink it.
“I’ve been waiting for you to do something about this for months.”
For a second Logan just stared at you.
Then he laughed once in disbelief, hand tightening slightly on your waist.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before flicking back up.
“So if I kissed you right now…”
“I’d probably stop talking to be honest.”
That finally broke the tension enough to make him grin.
“Yeah?” he murmured, leaning closer.
“Mhm.”
And when Logan kissed you, warm hand still anchored at your waist like he never planned on letting go again, the entire party disappeared around you.
summary: logan falls for garretts twin sister. garrett is not happy.
—
Garrett knew something was off long before he had proof.
It started small.
Logan suddenly getting up to leave the room whenever you came over.
You going weirdly quiet anytime Logan’s name got brought up.
And then there was the eye contact. Jesus Christ, the eye contact.
Garrett noticed it during movie night at the house.
You sat curled into the corner of the couch scrolling through your phone while Logan leaned against the kitchen counter pretending to watch the TV.
But he wasn’t watching the TV.
He was watching you.
Not even subtly.
You looked up at one point and your eyes locked for maybe half a second too long before Logan immediately looked away.
Garrett narrowed his eyes.
Then Logan left the room entirely.
Garrett turned toward you. “Why’d he run away like you’ve got the plague?”
Your face went suspiciously blank. “How would I know?”
“Uh huh.”
That was the beginning.
Now, Garrett walked into Logan’s bedroom at one in the morning without knocking namely seeking a condom, because boundaries had never existed in their friendship, only to freeze dead in the doorway.
You sat cross-legged on Logan’s bed wearing one of Logan’s hoodies.
Logan sat beside you.
Way too close beside you.
All three of you stared at each other for one horrible second.
Then Garrett exploded. “What the fuck?”
You jumped up instantly. “Garrett, calm down.”
“No, absolutely not,” Garrett snapped, pointing at Logan. “You.”
Logan stood slowly. “G.”
“Don’t G me, asshole!”
You groaned quietly. “This is why we didn’t tell you.”
Garrett whipped around. “Oh good, so you KNOW this is insane.”
“It’s not insane.”
“It’s Logan.”
Logan crossed his arms. “Little insulting, bud.”
You moved between them before Garrett could fully lose his mind.
“Nothing bad is happening.”
Garrett laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “You’re sitting in his bed at one in the morning wearing his clothes.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh my god.”
But Garrett wasn’t even close to done.
Because now that he was really looking at Logan, he could see it.
The nerves.
The guilt.
The way Logan kept glancing toward you automatically like he was checking you were okay.
And suddenly Garrett felt sick.
“You’re serious?”
Your expression softened slightly.
Logan looked away.
And that was somehow worse.
Garrett stared at his best friend in disbelief. “No.”
“Garrett,” you started carefully.
“No, because this idiot does not do serious.”
Logan’s jaw tightened.
You crossed your arms. “People change.”
“Not him.”
“That’s enough,” Logan said quietly.
Garrett looked at him then, really looked at him, and somehow that made him angrier.
“You crush on my girlfriend and my sister?” Garrett barked out a laugh. “God, John, you want what I’ve got so badly.”
The room went dead silent.
You looked horrified instantly. “Garrett.”
Logan physically flinched.
And Garrett regretted it immediately.
Because Hannah had never really been a thing.
Sure, Logan had liked her once. Everybody knew that. But Logan had buried it the second Garrett and Hannah became real.
He’d stepped aside without complaint because Garrett was his best friend. And now Garrett had just weaponised it.
Logan swallowed hard once before speaking.
“That’s not fair.”
Garrett rubbed both hands over his face angrily. “You’re my best friend.”
“I know.”
“And she’s my sister.”
“I know that too.”
“Then what the hell were you thinking?”
Logan looked over at you then.
Not Garrett.
You.
Like you were the answer to the question.
“I tried not to.”
Your breath caught slightly.
Garrett stared at him.
And damn it all, Logan looked honest.
“I stayed away from her for months,” Logan admitted quietly. “I avoided her whenever I could. I didn’t want this.”
You reached for his hand instinctively. Logan took it immediately.
Garrett looked down at your joined hands and felt another wave of betrayal.
“You kept this from me.”
You sighed. “Because we knew you’d react like this.”
“You think?”
“You act like Logan’s some random asshole.”
“He kind of is.”
“Garrett.”
“I’m serious.”
Logan actually huffed a laugh at that. “Fair.”
But you looked furious now. “No, it’s not fair. You know him better than anyone.”
Garrett looked between you both.
At you standing protectively in front of Logan.
At Logan looking at you like you were the only thing in the room.
Garrett had seen Logan hook up with girls for years.
None of them had ever looked like this.
“You love her?” Garrett asked suddenly.
Your eyes widened.
Logan didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”
The answer hit the room hard.
Garrett felt his stomach drop.
Because Logan meant it.
You looked stunned too, staring up at Logan like you hadn’t expected him to say it out loud.
But Logan never looked away from Garrett.
Like he knew exactly what admitting that meant.
Garrett exhaled slowly.
“This is a horrible idea.”
You rolled your eyes immediately. “Thank you for the blessing.”
“I’m not blessing anything.”
Logan finally spoke again, quieter this time. “I know I don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt here. But I would never hurt her.”
Garrett looked at him for a long moment.
His best friend.
His idiot best friend.
Who looked more afraid of losing you than Garrett had ever seen him look about anything.
“Yeah,” Garrett muttered reluctantly. “Well you saw what I did to that kid from St A’s so hurt her and say bye to your pretty face, John.”
Tropes - fake dating, he fell first and hard, slow burn, golden retriever boyfriend x black cat boyfriend, body insecurity and reassurance, Popular Boy x Guarded Girl, banter
summary: it’s casual, dean is a little less than casual when he sees someone elses hands on you.
—
Dean had never been jealous a day in his life.
Possessive? Sure.
Competitive? Absolutely.
But jealous? No.
At least that was what he told himself while staring so hard at the guy sitting beside you on the couch that Logan physically leaned over and took Dean’s beer from his hand before he crushed the can.
“You’re being weird,” Logan muttered.
Dean didn’t look away from you. “I’m not being weird.”
“You’ve looked two seconds away from murder since we walked in.”
Across the hockey house living room, you laughed at something the guy beside you said, head tipping back slightly. His hand rested on your knee like he belonged there.
Dean’s stomach twisted violently.
Garrett followed his line of sight and immediately groaned. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous.”
Dean scoffed loudly enough to earn a glance from you across the room. “I’m literally not.”
“You absolutely are,” Garrett laughed. “This is incredible. I’ve never witnessed such a sight.”
Dean ignored them both, taking his beer back before shoving himself off the kitchen counter. He needed another drink. Or maybe twelve.
This was ridiculous.
You were single.
He was single.
That was the whole point.
From the beginning, the two of you had agreed this wasn’t serious. No labels. No exclusivity. No clinginess.
Just sex.
Really good sex.
The kind that had somehow turned into movie nights and late-night drives and you stealing his hoodies and Dean memorising your coffee order without meaning to.
Except now there was some finance major touching your thigh like he’d earned it, and Dean suddenly felt borderline homicidal and violently ill.
“You good, D?” Tucker asked as Dean grabbed vodka this time instead of beer.
“Fantastic.”
Tucker looked toward the couch.
“Oh,” he said carefully. “That bad?”
Dean glared at him. “Shut up.”
The worst part was that you looked good tonight.
Dean knew exactly what your skin felt like under his hands. Knew what you sounded like when he got you alone.
And now some other guy was making you laugh.
You spotted him hovering near the kitchen and smiled automatically.
That smile almost made it worse.
You excused yourself from the couch a few minutes later, weaving through the crowd toward him.
“There you are,” you said easily. “You disappeared.”
Dean leaned back against the counter. “You seemed busy.”
One eyebrow lifted immediately.
Uh oh.
“Why are you talking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like an asshole.”
You folded your arms over your chest. “Dean.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been glaring at Evan all night.”
“Evan,” Dean repeated flatly. “Jesus Christ, even his name sucks.”
You stared at him for a second before realisation slowly crossed your face.
“No way…”
Dean took another drink.
“Oh my God,” you laughed quietly. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m annoyed.”
“Because I’m hooking up with someone else?”
The directness it was harder than he expected.
Dean’s jaw tightened. “I just think you could do better.”
You blinked at him slowly. “Dean. You literally sleep with half the female population of Briar.”
“Not anymore.”
The words slipped out too fast.
Your expression shifted slightly.
Dean immediately regretted opening his mouth.
You stepped closer, voice softer now, your fingers grazing softly over his shirt covered abdomen, “What’s going on with you?”
Dean didn’t know when this had happened.
Didn’t know when you’d become the first person he looked for at parties. Or when his bed started feeling empty without you in it. Or when hearing another guy make you laugh started feeling like someone scraping a knife against his ribs.
He was fucking Dean Di Laurentis.
He didn’t do this. Relationships were messy. Feelings complicated things. Casual was supposed to be easy.
But watching another guy touch you all night had made him feel insane. And maybe worse than insane was hurt.
“You said casual,” he said finally.
Your face softened slightly. “Hey, we both did.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
Dean laughed once, bitter under his breath. “Because apparently I’m an idiot.”
You went quiet.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw before looking at you directly for the first time all night.
“I didn’t think I’d care.”
There it was.
Ugly and embarrassing and completely unavoidable now.
Your lips parted slightly.
Behind you, the music blasted and people were yelling.
Dean barely noticed any of it.
Because you were just staring at him.
“You care if I hook up with someone else?” you asked carefully.
Dean gave you a look. “That obvious?”
“A little.”
“Fantastic.”
A small smile tugged at your mouth before you shook your head. “You know what the crazy part is?”
“What?”
“I only started talking to Evan because I thought you were losing interest.”
Dean actually frowned. “What?”
“You stopped sleeping with random girls,” you said quietly. “You started acting weirdly domestic with me and then pulling away after. I figured maybe you were getting bored.”
“Bored?” Dean repeated like the word offended him personally.
You shrugged slightly. “You never said anything.”
“Because I was trying not to turn into a psychopath!”
You laughed softly.
Dean stepped closer before he could stop himself.
“You think I liked watching him touch you?”
Your breath caught slightly.
Dean noticed immediately because of course he did. “I almost put him through a wall, baby.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I’m serious.”
Silence settled between you both, your fingers gripping his shirt a little tighter. The space between you was closing.
He knew he had no right to feel this way when he’d been the one insisting on casual from the start.
But standing here now, looking down at you with your mouth slightly pink from the drink in your hand and your eyes fixed on his, Dean realized something horrifying.
“You wanna know something pathetic?” he asked quietly.
You looked wary already. “Probably not.”
“I have your coffee order saved in my notes app.”
You blinked.
Dean pushed forward before he could lose his nerve.
“You leave hair ties all over my apartment and I don’t throw them out anymore. Tucker asked why there’s strawberry yogurt in our fridge because I don’t eat strawberry yogurt but you do when you’re studying. Garrett says I smile differently when you text me.” He paused. “And apparently seeing another guy touch you makes me physically ill.”
Your lips twitched despite yourself. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “That’s pretty much how I felt too.”
For a second neither of you moved.
Then quietly, “So what now?”
Dean looked at you for a long moment.
Then his eyes flicked toward the living room where Evan was still sitting on the couch waiting for your return.
“Now,” Dean said calmly, “I’m gonna walk over there and tell him to stop looking at my girl.”
The Deal With The Devil | John Logan x Fem! Reader
Summary: Y/n is tired of her friends keep assuming she has a crush on Garrett Graham, her best friend's boyfriend. Her best solution? Make everyone believe she’s dating John Logan.
pairings: John Logan x Fem! Reader
warnings: Sexual themes implied. John Logan and the reader can’t stand each other. Some spoilers ahead. English isn’t my main language so excuse any mistake.
authors note: haven’t seen lots of x reader for off campus so i decided to write a little john logan imagine in honor of off campus eve.
Y/n wished things could be simple. She liked to consider herself a simple girl. But life didn’t want to hand her anything on a silver platter. Her love life couldn’t be a silly love story. She was cursed with the worst love trope known to man kind, unrequited love.
God, did it suck. Twenty guys in the Briar U Hockey team, yet she only had eyes for one. She wished she would’ve fallen for her best friend’s brother, that would have been easier than whatever she was feeling now. But no, here you were with a “crush” on your best friend’s boyfriend, Garrett Graham.
Y/n L/n had known Hannah Wells since freshman year. Both of them got assigned to the same dorm and after that, they instantly became friends after Hannah spotted Y/n’s One Direction posters covering her side of the dorm. Y/n and Hannah were tight so imagine Y/n’s surprise when she dropped the bomb that she didn’t like Justin Kohl anymore and that she was dating Garrett Graham.
At first, Y/n didn’t trust Garrett. He was a player. Word around Briar U got around quick and Hockey players didn’t have the best reputation when it came to relationships. You wanted a one night stand? The hockey boys were your guys. You wanted a serious commitment relationship? maybe check in the history department.
But after Hannah begged Y/n to hang out more with the couple, she started to enjoy his presence. She knew Garrett was attractive, at this point it was a requirement for the hockey team to be jacked, hot and have luscious hair. But Garrett wasn’t her type, at all. Maybe it was how Hannah spoke so highly of him or how she would see them together cuddle up by the common room couch wishing it was her that she picked up on the fact that she had a little crush on Garrett Graham.
She felt so guilty. Hannah was her best friend. Why did she have a crush of her best friend’s boyfriend? Yes, he was attractive but so were his roommates. Why couldn’t she have a crush on Dean, Tucker or even Logan.
She thought she had everything under control. One night after hearing them have their second round of sex, Y/n pulled up her notes app to come up with a plan to shake off her feelings. First, avoid one on one time with Garrett and Hannah. Second, try not to gawk when Garrett is around. Third, don’t daydream about watching a movie with Garrett. Don’t daydream about Garrett in general.
For Y/n, her crush on Garrett wasn’t obvious. But for everyone around her it was as clear as day. When she saw them together she would sprint the other way. Which made Dean comment and on the regular that maybe Y/n should consider joining the track team with how fast she would sprint out of that situation. She would also avoid eye contact with Garrett, rambling random excuses to not speak with him. Everyone knew about her little crush, even Hannah and Garrett, themselves.
So after much discussion with Hannah. She had convinced Allie Hayes to speak to you.
“Y/n, come on. I won’t judge. But the first step to overcoming this is admitting you have a problem.” Allie says sitting on the small twin size bed. Y/n forcefully laugh her eyes still glued on the computer in front of her, her physiology midterm essay glaring back at her.
“Allie, are you reciting an addict intervention script? I don’t need to overcome anything, like I said before, you are insane. Why would I have a crush on Garrett? First, he’s Hannah’s boyfriend. Second, he’s not my type? Third… I can’t think of a third because of how ridiculous this sounds.”
“You can’t think of a third because you are clearly lying and are in denial. Look, I won’t judge you Y/n. Garrett’s an attractive guy. But you need to accept that he’s in love with Hannah, so you can move on this pathetic little crush you have. You can’t avoid spending time with all of us forever.”
“I can since I'm here to get my degree. I’m not here to get shit wasted at a stupid frat party or to get accused about liking some guy by my friend. I’m not going, not because I'm avoiding Garrett and Hannah, I'm actually busy doing things?” Y/n replies shutting her computer. Allie scrunches up her face thinking of ways to deescalate the situation.
“You are starting to sound like Logan”
It was ironic. While Y/n was crushing badly on Garrett. John Logan, Garrett’s best friend, was crushing on Hannah. A full soap opera moment if you will. Y/n picked up on Logan’s crush, not because he told her, but because it was pretty fucking obvious with the way he acted around her. Then Y/n would wonder if she was also that obvious, but she would shake it off.
There were two possible options for Logan and Y/n. They could continue with their sad high school crush and avoidance, it would eventually work on the couple making them break up and date the two. or they could date each other to end each other's suffering. When the thought passes through her head Y/n doesn’t think about it twice. That’s how she found herself in John Logan’s room on a Friday night at 10:30pm.
“You told Allie what! No scratch that. How the hell did Allie believe you? You barely even speak to me.” Logan said looking down at Y/n with a stressed look on his face.
“I’m speaking to you right now, Logan.” Y/n claps back as she reads one of Logan’s notes from an Econ class.
There was a small problem with the little white lie Y/n had told Allie. Y/n L/n and John Logan, don’t get along at all. John Logan got along with loads of people, but Y/n was one of the girls that didn’t stick for him. One time she had insulted his form after a game in front of the guys and that was the start of his dislike towards her. They would constantly bicker and to the blind eye, people would consider that there was pent up sexual tension between the two, even if they both denied it.
“You know what I mean. We barely talk to each other and when we do it’s to fight about something stupid.” John replied back clearly annoyed at your comments.
“So, you admit that the things you usually say are stupid? See we are starting to get along already.” Y/n force a smile as she turns to look at the man pacing in front of her.
“How the hell would you tell her that we are together. She has to know you're lying. You clearly aren’t my type.” Logan sat in the chair in front of you tugging his hair frustrated.
“Gee thanks. Don’t worry I don’t go for condescending assholes. She always says we have this pent up sexual tension and that we should work on it. So my best bet was to say I was dating you for it to make some logic. I was helping you out because Tucker has been calling you out on your crush on Hannah and…”
“I don’t have a crush on Hannah.” Logan cuts you off. Slapping his hand on the table in front of him.
“ and I don’t have a crush on Garrett but if we work together we could put those fake rumors to rest.” Y/n replies in the same tone as him. John Logan stands up and leans toward you.
“Fine, it’s a deal. I’m not going to enjoy this. We are doing this under my rules” Logan’s hand rests between your knees pushing them apart.
“Fine.”
“First rule. If they are going to think we are together they need to hear us hooking up” Y/n feeezes, she starts nervously rambling but he chuckles. “ I don’t mean actual sex. We can fake it. Like I said, you aren’t my type.”
“Oh, really? I thought you fucked everything that has a skirt on.” Y/n replied sarcastically.
“I have my exceptions.”
Logan grabs the bottom of the bed and pushes it against the wall. He pushes it again, doing the same action repeatedly as the headboard hits the wall.
“They aren’t going to believe it if you don’t moan. Come on, I know you’re a screamer” Logan says making Y/n glare at him.
“You are a pig. That’s what you tell all your hook up’s to fake their moans?”
“Actually, I work for it. I have an impressive form when it comes to sex.”
“Just like your impressive form in hockey”
“L/n. I wasn’t the one that lied to our friends. If you want to keep this act up and make our friends believe it. No scratch if you so desperately wanted to be in a fake relationship with me, you need to put in the work. Now let me hear you.” He whispered in her ear, still continuing the moments with the bed. His arm would occasionally bump with your knee.
“Why would I be the only one moaning. You need to moan too!”
“I don’t moan.”
“Bullshit. I’ve heard you and you are pretty vocal. Come one John. Hannah and Garrett are next door. You want them to stop bothering with the crush? you better start moaning.” Logan let out a fake but impressive loud moan.
“Damn. Y/n” He let out a breathy moan. You hold in your laugh trying to take the situation as seriously as possible.
“Do I need to go down on you to hear you moan? Because I like a challenge, L/n.”
