synposis: dean thought it'd be funny to "accidentally" give garrett your number instead of logan's. you didn't find it very amusing at first but things change ♡
summary: reader helps a woman with her baby. logan experiences a little baby fever. fluff, short fic. requested!
The sound of a bell ringing takes you out of your almost meditative state of sweeping floors. You turn to face the door, expecting to see Logan, just to find a woman and her baby staring back at you.
“We’re closed for the night. Sorry, ma’am.”
“No, I know, I’m sorry—” The woman starts saying, her voice apologetic, “I was hoping I could use your bathroom? I– I just need to change, I’m meeting someone and she dropped her juice on my shirt.”
Now that you’re closer, you can see the big, orange spot in her white shirt, along with the way the sling tugs on her shoulders and the frown on her young face, “I won’t take long, I promise.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” you nod, “Second door to the left, ma’am.”
“Uh, one more thing.” Her face twists in embarrassment, “I’m so sorry, do you mind holding her while I do it? I don’t have her stroller with me, I was just going–” She starts rambling, stopping to compose herself, “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.”
You offer her a reassuring smile, “It’s okay. Here, hand me her–” you leave aside the broom you were holding, quickly cleaning your hands on a cloth over your shoulder. The woman carefully takes her baby out of the sling, handing her to you. The baby starts kicking her legs, making you chuckle, “Someone’s happy to be off the sling.”
She’s a quiet thing, the baby. Chubby face and big, dark eyes looking up at you. “This is Posie.” Her mother says, “I’m Mary. Thank you for watching her.”
“No problem.” You smile at her, Posie looking curiously at you, “Take your time, yeah? There’s paper towels in there, feel free to use it.”
Mary nods thankfully, quickly rushing to the bathroom. You look around the place, holding Posie on your hip as you fish the phone out of your back pocket — Logan was supposed to pick you up after practice today, but you don’t think you’ll close the bar in time. You're trying your best to type a quick message using just one hand when the door bell dings again.
“Hey, hon—” Logan walks in, stopping on his tracks once he sees you holding Posie. He looks around, eyebrows crossed in confusion, “Did I step into an alternate universe? Since when do we have a baby?”
“Ha ha. Very funny, Logan.” You say sarcastically, then smiling at the baby in your arms, “This is Posie. Her mom’s in the back using the restroom.”
Poor little Posie seems to grow fussy over the mention of her mother, face twisting in a frown much like her mother’s, “Aw, darling. You’re alright.” You say, voice so gentle, “Your mom’s in the bathroom. Let’s give her some time, yeah?”
Logan watches as the baby starts blubbering in your arms, and you shift to rest her little head over your shoulder. Your hands move to Posie’s small back, comforting her as you shush her little cries.
He can’t remember if he’s ever seen you interacting with a kid ever, but he thinks it must be the first time. There’s no way he’d ever forget this feeling, he decides, as he feels his ribs tugging, heart melting in such a lovely way.
“It’s okay,” you keep repeating, “You’re okay, Posie. Don’t cry, please. Let’s not startle your mom.”
Posie settles a little, lips still curved but now quiet, eyes fluttering closed.
“You’re good with kids.” He whispers to you, trying not to alarm the baby. You look up at him, watching as his eyes move from little Posie to you, pupils dark and adoring, “I think I’d be good too.”
Your lips quiver into a little smile, “Don’t even think about that.”
“What?” He lets out a quiet, incredulous laugh, “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Yes, you were. I can see it in your face.” You say, and his mouth splits into a smile, “See! Stop!”
He shrugs, still smiling, “Okay, not thinking anymore.” Logan takes a step back, hands on his varsity pockets, “You’d want one?”
Your hand keeps drawing circles on little Posie’s back. “I don’t know. Maybe someday?” You murmur, “Do I have to answer now?”
“No,” he chuckles, “Of course not. I’m just wondering.”
“Okay. Someday, then.”
He hums, “Someday.”
Mary doesn’t take too long in the restroom. You quickly introduce her to your boyfriend, saying he’s here to pick you up. She seems mortified to have stalled you both, but thanks you profusely once she finds her daughter so close to sleeping in your arms.
“She’s so tired, poor thing.” Mary says, adjusting little Posie on her sling, “Thank you again.”
You just shake your head, “Have a good night, you and Posie.”
Logan helps you finish cleaning the place, stacking the chairs as you finish sweeping, a quiet domesticity fog dawning over you both. You watch as he looks up at you every other minute, a chuckle breaking through his lips.
You don’t scold him for his obvious train of thought. Instead, you quickly press a giggly kiss on his cheek, him wrapping his arms around you for a bit. There’s no promise over your heads, just a glimpse of a possible future, someday.
notes: thank you for reading! requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3
summary: youre hopelessly in love with Garrett whose your bestfirends boyfriend, so when you were cornered about your love life you came up with a lie that eventually started everything.
warnings: none so far
Sorry, i know ive been posting less latly but i have a lot going on right now😩 i swear i try my best to post on time. I also see all the requests and im working on them so please be patient! 🥺🙏🏻
By Monday morning, the picture had spread across half of Briar. You knew this because three different people smiled at you knowingly before nine a.m.
The first was a girl from your anatomy lab, the second was the cashier at Malone’s and the third was your professor.
"You and Logan make a very attractive couple" Professor Bennett said casually while handing back quizes.
You nearly blacked out in the middle of pharmacology. Across the lecture hall, John caught your horrified expression imediately and had the audacity to grin.
Asshole.
Unfortunately, the photo really did look convincing, maybe even too convincing.
Fifth Line had captured the exact moment Logan’s hand tightened against your waist during the kiss after the game. Your fingers curled in the front of his hockey jacket, his head tilted slightly toward yours while the crowd blurred around you.
It did looked natural, warm and first of all real.
You hated how long you stared at it Sunday night before finally throwing your phone across your bed dramatically. Now everybody had seen it.
Including Jules Logan who took the picture herself, which of cors explained why she was currently staring at you from the doorway of the lecture hall like a detective solving a murder case.
"You" she announced. You froze mid zip of your backpack.
"Oh no..."
Jules ignored that completely before sliding into the seat beside you. Tiny, blonde and dangerus.
"You and my brother"
Your stomach tightened instantly "What about us?"
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "I’m just observing"
"That sounds threatening"
"It is"
Across the room, Logan arrived exactly then carrying coffee. The second he noticed Jules beside you, his entire expression changed; suspicion, fear even acceptance of death.
He handed you your drink automatically before dropping into the chair on your other side.
"Why do you look evil?" he asked his sister.
"Why do you look nervous?"
"I always look nervous around you"
She stared at him for a moment before saying "Fair"
Jules’ gaze moved slowly between both of you; studying, watching like a hawk wathes his prey.
You suddenly became hyperaware of everything: how close Logan sat beside you, his knee brushing yours beneth the desk, the fact he’d brought your coffee without asking what you wanted because he already knew your order.
And oh, that felt… weirdly domestic. Apparently Logan realized the same thing because he shifted slightly beside you.
Too late.
Jules noticed immediately.
"So" she said casually. "Tell me your first kiss story"
Immediate panic.
You and Logan looked at each other at the exact same time which was a mistake. Your heart started to shout in your chest but you tried to look calm, natural even.
Jules’ eyes narrowed further.
"We kissed at a party" Logan answered first.
"yeah... At the hockey house"you added quickly.
"After a game?" Jules asked.
"No" Logan said.
"Yes" you said simultanously.
Silence.
Jules leaned back slowly in her chair. "Oh, this is just incredible"
"We just forgot" you said weakly.
"You forgot your first kiss?"
John rubbed a hand over his face. "Jules..."
"No no, keep going" she replied delightedly. "This is really fascinating"
Before either of you could recover, the professor walked in. Saved by education...
The second class ended, Jules disappeared into the hallway while you shoved books into your bag aggresively.
"We’re terrible at this..." you muttered.
Logan laughed under his breath beside you. "To be fair, that was psychological warfare"
"She knows we’re lying"
"She suspects"
"There’s a difference?"
"Yes" Logan grabbed your coffee before you could and took a sip casualy. "Suspicion means survivable"
"You’re drinking my coffee"
"You weren’t holding it"
"That doesn’t make it yours"
"It kinda does"
You stared at him. Then without warning, Logan stole your scarf too.
"John!"
"What? It’s cold"
"It’s my scarf"
"You’re selfish"
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped. John looked at you for half a second too long afterward before tossing the scarf back around your neck.
Something about that tiny moment felt strangely comfortable like you’d done this for years instead of weeks.
The realization followed you all afternoon. Things only became worse after practice.
Or better. Honestly, you weren’t sure anymore. You sat cross-legged on the floor of the hockey house living room surrounded by flashcards while trying not to fail tomorrow’s nursing exam.
Around you, the house buzzed with its usual chaos; video games somewhere upstairs, music from the kitchen, Dean yelling at Tucker about frozen pizza.
You barely looked up when somebody dropped onto the couch behind you.
"You’ve been studying for six hours"
Logan. You recognized his voice instantly now an that realization felt unfortunate.
"I’m in medicine" you muttered without looking away from your notes. "I suffer academically for sport"
"Pretty sure that’s illegal" A bottle of water appeared beside your leg.
You looked up finally.
Logan had clearly just showered after practice, dark curls still damp beneath a backward cap. Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips while a Briar hoodie stretched across broad shoulders still flushed slightly from the cold outside.
Annoyingly attractive.
You tried to ignore that aggressively.
"You smell like a pharmacy" he informed you.
"And you smell like hockey violence"
"Fair"
The couch dipped slightly as John leaned down closer to your notes. "Jesus Christ" he murmured. "How do you read this?"
"Differential diagnosise"
"Well that sounds fake!"
You snorted softly. From the kitchen, Garrett walked in carrying two beers before stopping abruptly at the sight of both of you.
Not suspicious exactly but observant. Garrett had always been observant beneth the whole charming hockey player thing and unlike everyone else, Garrett knew one very unfortunate detail - you used to like him, maybe still did. At least from his perspective.
Which probably made this whole thing look strange. His eyes moved slowly between you and Logan.
"You two are together again?"
Logan frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means I’ve seen you attached at the hip for three days and none before"
Your stomach tightened slightly. Garrett still sounded unconvinced but not in accusing way; just… trying to understand it.
"We’re dating" Logan replied easily.
Garrett stared at him another second longer then toward you and something subtle shifted in his expression like maybe for the first time, he noticed you weren’t looking at him anymore.
Because you weren’t, not really and not when John sat this close now. Not when his knee pressed absentmindedly against yours while reaching for your textbook and not when your attention kept drifting toward his voice without meaning to.
Garrett looked almost thoughtful suddenly, then Hannah appeared behind him, wrapping both arms around his waist lazily. Garrett smiled instantly, soft, automatic, completely in love.
The familiar ache inside your chest waited to appear but strangely it didn’t hit as hard this time. The realization unsettled you enough that you looked down quickly at your notes again.
Beside you, Logan watched the entire thing happen quietly and for once, he didn’t tease you about it.
By midnight, the hockey house had finally gone quiet. Most lights were off now, music long gone, snowfall glowing softly outside dark windows.
You sat beside Logan on the living room couch reviewing flashcards while exhaustion pulled heavily at your body.
"At this point" Logan muttered, "I know more about human anatomy than some doctors"
"You still failed biology freshman year"
"That was political"
"Twelve percent is not political"
Logan looked offended as you laughed softly into your notes. The sound faded into the quiet room between you.
Comfortable quiet now and not awkward. Just easy.
Your eyes burned from studying. At some point, your head started drifting lower against the couch cushion.
"You’re falling asleep" Logan murmured.
"I’m awake"
"You literaly closed your eyes mid sentence"
"I’m resting them!"
"Mhm"
You tried reading one more flashcard and failed completely. Without really thinking, your shoulder tipped sideways lightly against his arm which warm and solid. You should probably move.
Instead, exhaustion pulled harder, Logan went very still beside you for a moment then relaxed.
"You can sleep" he said quietly after a moment.
"M’not sleeping"
"You’re barely speaking english at this point"
You huffed weakly, eyes still closed. Then slowly, without fully realizing it, your head slipped from his shoulder toward his chest instead. The Briar hoodie beneath your cheek felt warm from his body heat. Your brain registered vaguely that this was probably inappropriate.
Then sleep won.
Across the room, the kitchen light suddenly flicked on.
Jules walked half way into the living room holding a bottle of water before freezing completely.
Her eyes moved from John to you asleep against him… to Logan’s arm resting carefully along the back of the couch behind you.
Not touching, just there; protective instinct without thought. John looked up slowly.
Neither of them spoke for a second.
Then quietlly "Oh" Something unreadable crossed Jules’ face. Not suspicion this time but something softer. More confused because there was nobody here to perform for; no audience, no teammates and no reason to pretend and somehow, that made everything look far more real.
She took her phone and took picture of you both at the best moment as John leaned his head to yours looking at your face.
pairing: harry lewis x reader
synopsis: after a weekend of bad decisions, too many drinks, and a complete lack of memory, you wake up wearing a paper ring only to discover that somewhere between the casinos and the cocktails, you accidentally got married.
word count: 1.6k
tags/warnings: accidental marriage, vegas wedding, fluff, drunk decisions, established relationship
a/n: first time writer here!! i have read fanfic for YEARS but never had the courage to start writing but here I am hehe^^ please bare with me guyss
The room was quiet in a way that Vegas never was.
Stale champagne. Expensive perfume. The familiar weight of Harry’s arm rested across your waist. You look to the right and smile with content as you see him sleeping soundly beside you.
“Haz… Hazz… wake up. I think it’s almost noon.” you whispered, carefully pushing yourself up onto one elbow.
A groan escaped him as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. “Fuck… a few more minutes please.”
“We can’t, unless you want to miss our flight back home tonig–” Before you could finish, he hooked an arm around your waist and tugged you back beside him. His arms immediately wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
“Please,” he mumbled.
You laughed softly.
“Okay… fine. A few minutes.”
A satisfied hum left him as his grip tightened around your waist.
You rolled your eyes but settled back against him anyway, letting yourself sink into the warmth of his embrace. As you adjusted your position, something brushed against your finger.
Frowning, you lifted your hand.
A paper ring sat on your ring finger.
“…Haz.”
He hummed sleepily against your shoulder.
“Why am I wearing a ring?”
Questioningly, you turned to Harry, lifting your hand for him to inspect. The paper ring was still there, wrapped loosely around your finger as though it belonged there. In the daylight, it looked even more ridiculous than it had moments ago—slightly wrinkled, unevenly folded, and clearly made from a paper towel that had no business becoming jewelry.
Yet for some reason, you couldn’t stop looking at it.
“Aww, did you propose to me last night?” you teased.
Harry cracked one eye open. “Now I know that’s not true,” he mumbled. “I haven’t bought any rings yet.”
Laughing, you reached for his hand. “Then explain this.”
Wrapped around his ring finger was an identical paper ring, poorly folded and held together by what looked suspiciously like paper towel from a public restroom.
The two of you stared at the matching rings.
“Right…” Harry said slowly. “That’s mildly concerning.”
You giggled at his response. The joke wasn’t entirely new. Marriage had come up more than once over the last year—during Christmas with your family, during late-night conversations about the future, during quiet moments when neither of you were really joking. There had never been any rush. If anything, you’d both agreed to wait until life felt a little more settled before taking that step.
Which made the matching paper rings considerably more concerning.
“So…what exactly happened last night?” you asked, examining the ring again. “You know neither of us are exactly reliable after a few drinks.”
Harry rubbed a hand across his face, squinting at the ceiling as though the answers might be written there.
“Honestly, it’s all bits and pieces to me.”
“Well that’s reassuring”
“No, wait. I remember winning three thousand dollars.”
“Babe, you lost four hundred.”
Harry frowned.
“Oh.”
You snorted.
A ringing noise from the bedside table pulled both of you back to reality.
Harry reached over with a groan, blindly feeling around for his phone before finally grabbing it. Squinting at the bright screen, he let out a breath.
“It’s Ethan.”
“Perfect,” you muttered. “Maybe he’ll remember what happened.”
“And then continue to embarrass us even further.”
“Same difference.”
You laughed as you climbed out of bed, soothing down your shirt. Leaning over, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips before making your way toward the bathroom.
“One step ahead of you,” Harry said, answering the call.
The moment the call connected, Ethan’s grin filled the screen.
“Bog!” he exclaimed, looking far too awake for the hour. “How are the newlyweds holding up?”
Harry’s eyebrows kitted together.
You paused halfway to the bathroom door.
You and Harry exchanged a look.
“The what?” Harry asked.
Ethan’s grin finally faded as he realized neither of you were joking. He shifted in his seat, running a hand over his face before letting out a long sigh.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.”
Your stomach dropped.
“Ethan.”
“Wait. You genuinely don’t remember?”
Harry pushed himself upright against the headboard, suddenly looking far more awake than he had thirty seconds ago.
“Remember what?”
Ethan dragged a hand down his face.
“No way.”
“What, Ethan?” you pressed.
“Right.” He pointed at the camera. “Before either of you start freaking out, everyone is fine. Nobody got arrested.”
“That wasn’t even remotely my first concern,” Harry deadpanned.
“It should be.”
You and Harry exchanged a look.
“Ethan.”
“Okay, okay.” He sighed. “To put it simply, you two got married last night.”
Silence.
The only sound in the room was the distant hum of traffic somewhere below.
You stared at the phone. Harry stared at the phone. Ethan stared back.
Finally, Harry let out a laugh.
“A good one.”
“It’s not a joke.”
The smile slowly disappeared from Harry’s face.
“Ethan.”
“Harry.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
You looked down at the paper ring still wrapped around your finger before glancing at Harry’s matching one.
Neither of you spoke.
Ethan winced.
“Yeah. That’s pretty much the exact reaction everyone had when you two started exchanging vows.”
Your jaw dropped.
“We exchanged what?”
Ethan's wince deepened.
“Vows. Rings too, technically. Although calling those things rings is being generous.”
You and Harry looked down at the paper wrapped around your fingers.
“Right,” Ethan continued. “Anyway, I have screenshots, videos, witness statements—basically enough evidence to ruin both of your lives.”
“Ethan,” Harry said flatly.
“I'm helping.”
“You are literally doing the opposite.”
The call continued for another ten minutes, most of which consisted of Ethan recounting the events of the previous night while the two of you sat in stunned silence.
Apparently, there had been drinks.
Many drinks.
There had also been a heated debate about whether true love could survive a game of blackjack, an argument with a cardboard Elvis, and a declaration from Harry that if he was ever going to get married, it would be to you.
After that, the details became increasingly difficult to defend.
By the time the call ended, neither of you knew whether to laugh or be horrified.
The room fell quiet.
Harry slowly lowered his phone.
You stared at the wall.
He stared at the ceiling.
Neither of you spoke for several seconds.
“Well,” you finally said.
“Well,” Harry echoed.
Another pause.
“We got married.”
“Apparently.”
“We accidentally got married.”
“Allegedly.”
You turned toward him.
“Harry.”
“Yeah, alright. We definitely got married.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
The absurdity of the situation was beginning to outweigh the shock.
Harry laughed too, running both hands over his face.
“This is insane.”
“A little.”
“A little?” He sat up straighter. “We went to Vegas for four days and somehow came back with a legally binding commitment.”
“That does sound quite Vegas, actually.”
His head dropped back against the headboard.
For a moment, the two of you simply sat there.
The paper rings suddenly felt heavier than they had any right to.
Eventually, Harry broke the silence.
“If you want to get it annulled, we can.”
Harry’s voice was quiet, stripped of the teasing tone that had carried most of the morning. The suggestion was reasonable. Expected, even. After all, neither of you had planned for any of this.
Yet as you looked at him, sitting beside you with a paper ring still wrapped around his finger, the idea settled strangely in your chest.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “We can.”
Neither of you moved. Neither of you sounded particularly eager.
A strange feeling settled over the room.
Not disappointment. Not relief. Something awkwardly caught in between.
Because the truth was, the idea of marriage had never been the problem.
The timing had been.
The planning.
The fact that neither of you wanted something so important to happen because of tequila and poor decision-making.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
“It's not that I don't—”
“I know.”
His eyes met yours.
You knew exactly what he was trying to say.
It wasn't that he didn't want to marry you.
And it wasn't that you didn't want to marry him.
If anything, that was what made the conversation so complicated.
The room grew quiet again.
Outside, Vegas carried on as though it hadn't completely altered the trajectory of your lives overnight.
Harry glanced down at the paper ring around his finger before letting out a soft laugh.
“Not exactly how I pictured doing it.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“No?”
“Nah.”
He looked at you then.
“When it happens for real, I'm at least getting you a better ring than toilet paper.”
A laugh escaped you, soft and breathless.
Only a few minutes ago, the idea of being married had felt absurd. Something that happened to other people. Something that belonged years in the future, after enough planning and certainty and carefully laid-out decisions.
Yet sitting here now, looking at Harry with a crumpled paper ring around his finger and bedhead sticking up in every direction, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about any of that.
Not really.
Because beneath the panic and confusion and absolute insanity of the situation was a truth neither of you had argued against once.
It wasn’t the marriage that scared you.
It was the fact that neither of you remembered it.
Your gaze dropped to the paper ring before finding him again.
“I like shiny things,” you said softly.
A smile tugged at the corner of Harry’s mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.
“But I’d marry you with paper rings every single time.”
pairing: harry lewis x reader
synopsis: a chaotic night at sidemen hijingo takes a blurry turn when you lose all focus on the game and completely abandon your team to find cozy, clingy comfort on your boyfriend's lap.
word count: 3.8k
tags/warnings :alcohol consumption, clingy reader, established relationship, fluff
“Welcome to Sidemen Hijingo!”
The room erupted into cheers and applause as Simon’s voice echoed through the venue.
Purple and pink neon lights washed over the venue, reflecting off glasses scattered across each table. Conversations overlapped from every direction as everyone started getting comfortable in their seats, already laughing amongst their teammates before the game had even begun.
You were teamed up with Tobi, Becky, and Pie, seated right in between them with your first bingo card and drinks splayed across the table.
“I just know that today is going to end badly for me.” You said turning to Tobi.
“For as long as you follow the rules and don’t say Hijingo, don’t worry I got you.”
“Of course you do, ya big softie.”
Across the room, you caught sight of your boyfriend Harry, with his own team staring at you.
The second he noticed you looking back at him, he grinned and sent you a thumbs up.
You rolled your eyes, and turned back to Simon as he continued to list the rules, asked for team names and started the first round.
Immediately, everyone’s attention snapped towards the front to see the first number call out.
“Number Twenty-seven”
Chaos had well and truly commenced.
Round after round, drink after drink, mystery challenge after mystery challenge, nobody seemed capable of staying quiet for longer than five minutes.
Every few moments, another table would erupt into cheers or groans, followed almost immediately by someone insisting the game was rigged in their favour or against it.
Your team, somehow, was doing well.
Mostly because Tobi seemed to have developed an unnatural ability to spot numbers before they even properly registered on the screen.
The moment one appeared, he was already leaning forward.
“We’ve got that.”
“Tobi, this is getting ridiculous,” Becky laughed as she marked another square.
“I’m just efficient.”
“Of course, it’s literally thee TobJZL,” Pie added, though he was smiling into his drink.
Tobi sat back like he’d just been crowned champion of something far more important than bingo.
Across the room, another team erupted into cheers, followed instantly by loud, dramatic protests from somewhere else. The entire venue never really settled; it just shifted between different bursts of noise...
You found yourself smiling at it all without really thinking, resting your chin in your hand.
The drinks didn’t help.
Not in a way that made anything unclear or blurry.
Just in a way that made everything feel slightly softer at the edges. Easier to drift through. The loud voices around you started to blend into a warm, comfortable background track.
You took another slow sip of your drink, feeling the cool liquid hit your throat, and leaned back slightly in your chair.
Across the room, Harry’s table was in its usual state of controlled chaos.
George and Bach were deep in yet another argument about whether the system was “emotionally biased,” while Arthur looked like he had accepted that logic was no longer required for participation.
Harry was laughing through all of it.
He wasn't trying to steer the conversation. He wasn't really contributing to the argument.
He was just enjoying it—properly enjoying it—throwing his head back like the whole thing was the absolute best part of being there.
It made you smile before you even realised you were doing it, your gaze lingering on the way his eyes crinkled.
“Got it.”
Becky’s voice pulled you back as the sharp clack of the marker hit the table.
You blinked, shaking yourself out of the daze, and glanced down. “Already?”
“You were looking elsewhere,” she said simply, her eyes tracking the screen as she spoke, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
“I was multitasking.”
“Sure you were.”
Tobi didn’t even look up from the card, his finger tracing the grid. “We’re two numbers away.”
That pulled your attention back in properly. The competitive spark finally nudged its way through the alcohol.
For a while, you actually tried.
You followed the screen. The calls. The reactions around the table.
You leaned forward when everyone else did.
You marked things when Becky told you to.
It almost worked.
Almost.
But the room was too loud, too vibrant, to fully settle into. There were too many things happening at once, pulling at your senses.
A sudden shout from another table pulled your attention sideways.
A loud cheer from somewhere else followed it a second later.
Then laughter — Harry’s distinct, wheezing laugh echoing over the music. His table was briefly visible between people moving around the venue, a pocket of bright energy in the crowded room.
You didn’t turn fully this time.
Just caught it in passing.
Enough to register the sound.
Not enough to completely lose track of everything else on your own table.
Still, Becky noticed the half-second delay.
She didn’t comment immediately.
She just slid the pen back across the table, her fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the wood, and continued watching the screen.
A few beats later, she glanced side-long at you again.
Not annoyed.
Just… noting it.
Like she’d quietly started keeping count of something else entirely.
Tobi marked another number off the card with a flourish.
“We’re actually flying through this,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair like he was inspecting his own masterpiece.
You laughed quietly, the sound muffled by the ambient noise of the room, your eyes still half-focused on the board.
For a moment, it almost felt like you were fully back in it.
Almost.
“Got it,” Becky said again, already reaching for the marker before Tobi even had a chance to react.
You blinked, looking between the card and her. “Wait—how are you both seeing these so fast?”
“We’re paying attention,” Tobi said, throwing a playful look your way.
“I am paying attention.”
Becky gave you a look, her eyebrows raised, without actually looking away from the screen.
“That’s not what I’m seeing.”
You frowned, shifting in your seat. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Tobi added lightly, his tone teasing, “you’ve got a delay.”
“I don’t have a delay.”
“You do,” Becky said simply.
“I don’t.”
A beat.
The neon lights pulsed overhead, casting long shadows across the table. Becky finally turned her head slightly toward you, letting her marker rest.
“You do a thing.”
“I don’t do a thing.”
“You do,” Tobi nodded, chiming in seamlessly. “It’s consistent.”
You narrowed your eyes at them, trying to look serious. “What thing?”
Becky didn’t answer straight away.
Instead, another number boomed through the speakers, and both of them reacted instantly, their eyes darting to the card.
You were a fraction slower.
Not enough to lose the point entirely.
Just enough for Becky to notice the hesitation again.
“There,” she said, marking it with a definitive click.
“I was literally right behind you.”
“Emotionally behind us too,” Tobi added with a grin.
You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now,” Becky said.
You shook your head again, but you were smiling, the warmth of the room catching up to you.
Across the room, another massive burst of noise went up from the far tables.
Your head instinctively turned—
You caught yourself halfway.
Stopped.
Looked straight back at the card like you had just narrowly avoided a crime, staring hard at the little printed squares.
Too late.
Becky had already seen the movement out of the corner of her eye.
Tobi had too.
There was a long, deliberate pause at the table.
Then Tobi leaned back in his chair slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“I think we should start charging her for every time she looks over there.”
You gasped, your jaw dropping slightly. “Excuse me?”
Becky hummed in agreement, tapping her chin. “We could increase team funding. Buy another round.”
“I am right here,” you protested, looking between the two of them.
“You are,” Tobi agreed, his smile widening. “Just… intermittently.”
“I am fully present.”
Becky finally turned to look at you properly now, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.
“Are you though?”
“Yes.”
A beat.
Another number was called out by the announcer.
You didn’t look this time. You kept your eyes glued to the center of the table.
You were proud of that.
Genuinely.
Until Tobi spoke again, his voice dropping to a casual, conversational whisper.
“Harry’s laughing again.”
Immediately, your head turned.
Instantly.
Without permission from your brain.
There was a sudden, heavy silence at your table.
You froze, your eyes locking onto Harry's table for a split second before you realized what you'd done.
Slowly, you turned your head back around.
Becky was already smiling, holding back a laugh.
Tobi was biting his lip, trying desperately not to break.
You stared at them, your cheeks warming up under the pink lights.
“…That doesn’t count.”
Becky tilted her head, her smile spreading. “It absolutely counts.”
“It was informational,” Tobi added helpfully.
“I hate both of you.”
Becky reached for her drink, finally letting the full smile show now as she lifted the glass to her lips.
“We’re just saying,” she said lightly, the ice clinking softly against the glass, “you’ve got very fast reaction times…”
Another number flashed up on the big screens.
Becky marked it instantly, her hand moving without hesitation. Tobi followed a second later with a nod, checking it off his own mental tracker.
You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands on the sticky wood of the table, already trying to refocus your attention when the loud announcement suddenly cut through the room.
“Right — mystery challenge!”
The entire venue shifted at once, a collective wave of movement and chatter rising as the neon lights began to pulse a deeper shade of purple.
Becky turned to you immediately. Her expression changed, turning less focused on the card and more on you as a slow grin spread across her face.
“Ooo, go on then.”
You blinked, pointing a finger at your own chest. “Me?”
“Yes,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Tobi nodded from across the table, leaning back in his chair. “You should go.”
“I should?”
“Yeah,” Becky said, already smiling. “You’ll be good at it.”
You hesitated, looking at the marker still in your hand. “Based on what exactly?”
“Vibes,” Tobi replied.
“That’s not a qualification.”
“It is here,” Becky said, shifting in her seat and standing slightly now to give you room.
Across the table, Pie gave a lazy thumbs up, his eyes crinkling as he took a sip of his drink. “Go on. Represent us.”
You looked between all of them, completely outnumbered. “You’re all just sending me up there?”
Becky laughed softly, the sound almost lost to the bass of the room. “We’re not sending you. We’re encouraging you.”
“That is the same thing.”
“No it isn’t,” Tobi said.
“It is emotionally,” you muttered.
Becky leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was letting you in on a secret over the roar of the crowd. “Honestly, it’s perfect timing. You’ve been way too locked in on the wrong things anyway.”
“I have not.”
“You have,” she said gently, her eyes darting briefly toward the other side of the room before she smiled back at you. “Go. Have fun with it.”
Tobi pointed a finger toward the front of the venue where a small crowd of people was already starting to line up by the stage. “Plus it’ll be chaos. You’ll like it.”
You hesitated for a second longer, the pink neon light catching the edge of your glass. Then the noise of the room rose again — laughter, movement, chairs shifting against the floorboards, people calling out to each other as they got up. And somehow, that decided it.
“…Fine.”
Becky immediately lit up. “Yes.”
Tobi nodded approvingly, crossing his arms. “Good choice.”
Pie clapped once, a short, sharp sound. “Proud of you.”
You stood up, still half-protesting under your breath, but already being gently waved forward by the encouraging hands of your own table.
“I hate you all.”
But you were already walking forward, joining the rest of the selected players weaving through the crowded gaps between the tables. And as you moved through the shifting crowd toward the front—
Your attention flickered, just for a second, across the room.
Harry was already right there among the rest of the group on stage — just another person caught up in the same chaos, like this was completely normal.
And somehow, that made it easier.
“Hi,” you said, almost under your breath as you stepped closer.
Harry turned immediately. A grin appeared on his face the second he saw you, looking like nothing about this was unusual at all. “Hello.”
You didn’t even think about it before closing the small gap between you. The hug was quick — natural, easy. One arm each, a brief squeeze, like it was just something that happened without needing permission.
“Well look who decided to participate,” he said as you pulled back slightly, his hand lingering for a fraction of a second.
“I didn’t choose to,” you replied immediately.
“Sure.”
“I didn’t.”
“I believe you,” he said, not sounding like he did at all.
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Around you, the rest of the group was shifting into place, laughing, talking, settling into that familiar pre-challenge chaos. Before either of you could add anything else, Simon’s voice cut through the room.
“Right — listen up everyone!”
Neither of you fully let go straight away. You stayed in that half-second of contact, still half-facing each other, while the room slowly shifted into attention around you. Simon continued explaining the rules, gesturing as he spoke about a rock paper scissors tournament. Fast rounds. Immediate elimination. Simple enough that everyone was already nodding along.
Still half in the hug, Harry glanced toward the front. “This is going to be chaos.”
“It always is,” you said.
A small laugh left him. Only then did the two of you properly separate — not abruptly, just naturally as attention tightened across the stage.
You barely had time to settle before Simon was already speaking again. “Right — everyone pick someone. Rock paper scissors. Winners move on.”
The stage erupted instantly. Fast rounds, loud reactions, and people dropping out almost as quickly as they stepped forward. It stopped feeling like separate matches after a while, narrowing down exactly how everyone expected it to until it was obvious, even before Simon said it over the microphone.
“Right,” Simon sighed, looking between the two of you. “Of course it’s you two.”
The room erupted immediately. You let out a small laugh, turning slightly to find Harry already looking at you, still smiling.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” he said.
You rolled your eyes. “Unfortunately.”
Simon raised a hand, and the noise dipped just slightly — enough for the moment to land. You stepped forward, Harry did too, and the rest of the stage blurred into background noise. Just the two of you now.
"Rock. Paper. Scissors."
Instant. You played. A beat.
Then—"I win!"
The room exploded. Harry immediately laughed, shaking his head as he stepped back. "Course you do," he said, the defeat fading into a proud, effortless smile as he looked at you.
You blinked, staring down at your own hand like the reality hadn't fully caught up yet. "...I actually won that."
"Yeah," he nodded, stepping closer to nudge your shoulder playfully. "You did."
Simon pointed a finger toward you through the roaring noise, his voice booming over the microphone. "Right—your team gets to pick a number!"
You caught Becky’s frantic signaling from across the room and called out, "Number Fifty-eight!"
The venue reacted immediately with a massive wave of cheers, groans, and shouts of disbelief. And then—
"HIJINGO!"
Your table erupted into absolute madness. Becky's voice sliced clean through the ambient noise even from a distance, screaming, "I KNEW SHE'D GET IT!" while Tobi threw his hands up, laughing hysterically at the sheer luck of it all.
On stage, Harry looked down at you, his eyes crinkling. "Not bad."
You gave him a small, satisfied look, soaking in the high. "Obviously."
Before heading back down, Harry gave your arm a quick, affectionate squeeze—a private beat of warmth amidst the loud chaos—before you both parted ways to return to your respective sides. You practically floated back to your table, met with high-fives from Pie and triumphant cheering from Becky and Tobi. For a couple of rounds, the adrenaline kept you completely locked into the cards, matching Tobi's hyper-focus number for number.
But the peak of the excitement eventually began to cool.
As the next few rounds ticked by, the game slowly settled back into its usual, rhythmic chaos. Numbers continued to be called, teams celebrated, and George—predictably—resumed his ongoing, passionate argument that the entire venue had a personal vendetta against him.
And that was when your attention, warm and slightly fuzzy from the drinks, began to drift across the room again.
Somewhere along the way, you completely stopped making a conscious effort to stay at your own table.
At first, Becky had been strict about it. She had marched over, physically guided you back by the shoulders, and reminded you that they still had a game to win. You had sat down, taken an obedient sip of your drink, and stared hard at the card. But the alcohol was making the room feel too warm, and Harry's table had a gravitational pull you couldn't fight. Less than ten minutes later, you had drifted right back.
This time, Becky didn't follow. Across the room, you caught her catching Tobi’s eye, pointing a finger at your empty chair, and dramatically dropping her head into her hands. They had officially given up on you.
Completely liberated, you stepped up right behind Harry’s chair, letting one hand settle absent-mindedly onto his shoulder.
Harry didn’t even look up, completely unfazed by your sudden reappearance. Arthur was in the middle of a sentence, George was still complaining, and the game roared on around you, but Harry’s hand instantly lifted from the table. Without a word, his fingers slipped between yours, locking your hands together like muscle memory.
To be fair, the boys had seen this happen countless times. Whenever the group went out drinking, there always came a point in the night where you became significantly more attached to Harry’s side than your own.
You stood there for a few minutes, contentedly swaying to the music, before gently nudging his shoulder. "Harry."
He finally looked up, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Hm?"
You looked at him, then eyed the crowded, occupied chairs around the table, and then looked back down at him with a sleepy pout. "Can I sit here?"
A soft smile immediately tugged at his lips. "Yeah, sure baby."
Harry gave your hand a small tug, guiding you down until you settled comfortably onto his lap. His free arm wrapped naturally around your waist, your legs sideways across his lap.
"Comfortable?" he murmured against your hair.
You hummed happily, resting your head on his chest. "Very."
"Good."
And that was that. Across the venue, Becky slowly lowered her glass, watching you completely dissolve into George's latest dramatic story. She nudged Tobi, pointing with her chin, before gesturing to Pie—who was currently engaged in a very passionate conversation that seemed to be making perfect sense to him and absolutely nobody else.
"Yeah," Tobi laughed, taking a sip of his own drink as Pie joined in on a random cheer across the room. "She's gone, and he's completely tuned out. We're the only two left."
Across the room, the game had officially become background noise—at least for you. George was already in the middle of another joke, fully committed to a bit that seemed to get more ridiculous every time he opened his mouth. Arthur was laughing, Bach was laughing, and unfortunately, so were you.
“You cannot seriously think that’s true,” Arthur said through a laugh.
“It is true.”
“It’s literally not.”
“It absolutely is.”
George looked around the table like he was expecting support. Your hand immediately shot up. “I agree with George.”
“Thank you,” George said instantly.
Harry looked up briefly. “You don’t even know what he’s talking about.”
“Don’t need to.”
“That’s concerning.”
You pointed at George. “He’s got conviction.”
“Exactly!” George said.
Arthur laughed harder. Harry just shook his head before looking back down at the card in front of him.
One hand resting on the table. The other still loosely wrapped around your waist. Not because he was paying particular attention to it. Just because at some point you’d ended up there and neither of you had thought to move.
“You are encouraging him,” Harry informed you.
“I think he’s funny.”
“He already knows that.”
“Good.”
George looked delighted. Harry looked significantly less delighted. You grinned before settling further against his chest.
For a moment, Harry glanced down at you. Then at the nearly forgotten card in front of him. Then back at you.
“You’re supposed to be helping your own team, you know.”
You tilted your head. “My team seems fine.”
Harry snorted. “Right.”
And despite the fact that George was still talking, Arthur was still laughing, and numbers were still being called somewhere in the background—
Neither of you moved.
A few moments later, another drink appeared on the table.
Your eyes immediately lit up.
Harry noticed.
Unfortunately.
The second your hand reached for it, his got there first. His fingers closed around the glass before you could even touch it.
"Harry."
"No."
You stared at him. "You don't even know what I was going to say."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I absolutely do."
You frowned. He looked entirely unconvinced.
Without another word, he slid the drink slightly further away, out of your reach, before reaching for the glass of water beside him. The one that had been sitting there mostly untouched for the last hour.
"Drink."
You looked down at it. Then back at him. Then back at the water.
"You're no fun."
"Drink."
Arthur laughed. George pointed at Harry immediately. "He's doing that thing."
"What thing?" you asked.
"The protective boyfriend thing."
"I am not," Harry said.
"You are."
"I'm literally not."
Bach was already laughing. Meanwhile, Harry simply continued holding the glass of water out towards you. Waiting. Patiently. Like he already knew how this was ending.
With a dramatic sigh, you finally took it from his hand.
"There we go."
You narrowed your eyes, taking a slow sip. Harry looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Satisfied, he returned his attention back to the card in front of him. One hand resting on the table. The other found its way back around your waist without a second thought.
The game carried on around you. Numbers continued being called. Teams continued celebrating and complaining in equal measure.
And somewhere between the drinks, the laughter, and the constant chaos of the room, the rest of the evening seemed to settle into something comfortable.
The party had started out exactly the way everyone expected it to.
Loud music. Too many people crammed into the hockey house. Someone had already broken a lamp. Dean was arguing with Tucker about something completely ridiculous. Garrett was somehow winning every drinking game despite barely paying attention. Hannah and Allie were sitting on the kitchen counter watching the chaos unfold like they were observing a wildlife documentary.
And then there was her.
The one person in the entire house who looked like she belonged absolutely nowhere near a party.
John Logan's girlfriend had a reputation.
Quiet.
Reserved.
Intimidating.
The kind of woman who walked into a room and instantly made people sit up straighter without even trying. She wasn't rude. She wasn't cold.
She was simply... calm.
Controlled.
Dangerously composed.
The hockey team often joked that she was basically a black cat in human form.
Sharp stares.
Dry sarcasm.
Zero tolerance for nonsense.
Meanwhile Logan was a golden retriever who somehow woke up every morning excited to exist.
Nobody understood how they worked.
Yet somehow they were perfect together.
At the beginning of the night she sat beside Logan on the couch, nursing a single drink and occasionally smiling whenever he leaned over to tell her something.
Normal.
Completely normal.
Then somebody handed her another drink.
Then another.
Then a mystery punch that nobody should have trusted.
And everything changed.
At first nobody noticed.
She seemed exactly the same.
Quiet.
Relaxed.
Maybe slightly pink around the cheeks.
Then Logan felt something poke his side.
He looked down.
His girlfriend was staring at him.
Not unusual.
The problem was that she was staring at him with the biggest smile he'd ever seen.
A ridiculously happy smile.
The kind that looked completely foreign on her face.
Logan blinked.
"You okay?"
She nodded aggressively.
Then she grabbed both of his cheeks.
"You're so pretty."
The room went silent.
Dean nearly dropped his drink.
Garrett choked on his beer.
Allie's eyes widened.
Hannah looked delighted.
Logan looked like he'd just won the lottery.
His girlfriend never said things like that in public.
Ever.
She continued squishing his face.
"So pretty."
Logan grinned.
"Yeah?"
"Very."
Then she kissed his forehead.
Everyone froze.
Then she kissed his cheek.
Then his other cheek.
Then his nose.
Then his jaw.
Then his forehead again.
"Oh my God," Dean whispered.
"She's broken," Garrett said.
Logan was practically glowing.
His girlfriend continued peppering kisses all over his face like she had suddenly forgotten how to stop.
Every few seconds she would pull back.
Look at him.
Smile dreamily.
Then kiss him again.
"You're my favorite person."
Logan looked seconds away from proposing.
Dean gagged dramatically.
Nobody paid attention.
A few minutes later she wandered into the kitchen.
The team watched nervously.
Like researchers observing a rare animal.
Dean happened to be eating a blueberry muffin.
She stared at it.
Dean stared back.
"Do you want some?"
She nodded.
Dean tore off half and handed it over.
She accepted it.
Took one bite.
Then immediately wrapped both arms around him.
Dean froze.
The entire kitchen froze.
His eyes widened in absolute horror.
"Guys."
Nobody moved.
"Guys she's hugging me."
His voice cracked.
The hug tightened.
"Dean."
"What?"
"You're nice."
Dean looked genuinely emotional.
"Nobody's ever said that to me before."
Then she kissed his cheek.
The room exploded.
Everyone started shouting.
Dean screamed.
"LOGAN SHE KISSED ME."
Logan nearly fell off his chair laughing.
His girlfriend looked completely unbothered.
She simply finished her muffin and wandered away.
A few minutes later she discovered Garrett's truck keys sitting on the counter.
Her eyes lit up.
"You let me drive your truck that one time."
Garrett nodded carefully.
"Yeah."
"I liked your truck."
"Thanks?"
Before Garrett could react she launched herself at him.
Full hug.
Both arms.
Maximum affection.
Garrett stood there looking absolutely terrified.
The hockey team immediately pulled out their phones.
"No."
"Take pictures."
"Absolutely not."
"Garrett is getting hugged."
"Delete that."
His girlfriend squeezed him tighter.
"You're nice too."
Garrett looked deeply uncomfortable.
Which only made everyone laugh harder.
Eventually she released him and wandered off again.
Like a very affectionate ghost.
The next victims were Hannah and Allie.
She found them sitting together on the couch.
Immediately pointed at them.
"You."
Allie looked concerned.
"Me?"
"You both bought ice cream."
Hannah burst out laughing.
This had happened months ago.
A random midnight ice cream run when she'd been stressed about exams.
Apparently drunk her never forgot.
"You bought me chocolate ice cream."
Allie nodded.
"You deserved ice cream."
Her expression softened instantly.
Then she practically collapsed onto both of them.
Wrapping her arms around them.
Allie laughed.
Hannah laughed harder.
The three of them ended up tangled together on the couch while she repeatedly informed them how much she loved ice cream.
And how much she loved them.
And how nice they were.
And how everyone should eat more ice cream.
The speech lasted nearly ten minutes.
Nobody interrupted.
It was too entertaining.
By now the entire party had become dedicated to watching Logan's girlfriend.
Nobody cared about the music anymore.
Nobody cared about the games.
The intimidating woman everyone knew had vanished.
In her place was a clingy, affectionate sweetheart who seemed determined to hug every person she'd ever liked.
Logan eventually found her curled up between Hannah and Allie.
Her eyes were drooping.
Her words were becoming slower.
She spotted him immediately.
"Logan."
His heart melted.
"Hey, baby."
She stood up.
Wobbled.
Then marched directly toward him.
The crowd watched.
Waiting.
She reached him.
Grabbed his hoodie.
Pulled him down.
And kissed his cheek.
Then his other cheek.
Then his forehead.
Then his chin.
Then his nose.
Then his cheek again.
Logan was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
"Sweetheart."
"Hm?"
"I think you're drunk."
She frowned.
"No."
"You kissed Dean."
Her eyes widened.
Then she nodded seriously.
"He shared his muffin."
The room erupted.
Even Logan doubled over laughing.
Her logic seemed perfectly sound.
She ignored everyone.
Instead she pressed her face into Logan's chest.
Wrapped her arms around his waist.
And sighed contentedly.
The laughter slowly faded.
Because suddenly she looked exhausted.
Comfortable.
Safe.
Logan stroked her hair.
"You tired?"
"Mhm."
"Wanna go home?"
"Mhm."
She didn't move.
Logan smiled.
"Baby."
"Mhm."
"You have to stand up."
"No."
He laughed softly.
"Why?"
"Comfortable."
A chorus of groans echoed through the room.
The couple was disgustingly cute.
She mumbled something unintelligible.
Then snuggled closer.
Then closer.
Then somehow even closer.
A few seconds later Logan realized she wasn't responding anymore.
He looked down.
She was asleep.
Completely asleep.
Curled against him.
Arms still around his waist.
Face buried in his chest.
The entire house went quiet.
Dean looked shocked.
Garrett looked shocked.
Hannah smiled.
Allie looked like she might cry from how adorable it was.
Logan stared down at his sleeping girlfriend with the softest expression anyone had ever seen on his face.
Carefully he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.
Then kissed the top of her head.
"Best party ever," Dean whispered.
Nobody disagreed.
Because for one hilarious, unforgettable night, the house had gotten to see the impossible.
The black cat had become a golden retriever.
And Logan looked happier than he'd ever been.
The next morning began with a headache.
Not a terrible one.
Not the kind that made her want to throw up.
Just enough to make her regret every life decision that had led her to this exact moment.
A low groan escaped her as she buried her face deeper into the pillow.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains.
The room was warm.
Comfortable.
Safe.
Unfortunately, her brain was beginning to wake up.
And with it came memories.
Scattered at first.
Fragments.
Pieces.
A party.
Music.
A drink.
Logan laughing.
Then—
Her eyes flew open.
She sat upright so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.
"No."
Her voice came out hoarse.
"No."
A horrifying image flashed through her mind.
She remembered kissing Logan's cheek.
Then another.
Then another.
Then another.
Then another.
Her stomach dropped.
"Oh no."
More memories surfaced.
Dean.
The muffin.
The hug.
The kiss on the cheek.
She stared blankly at the wall.
"No."
Garrett.
His truck.
The hug.
"Oh God."
Allie.
Hannah.
Ice cream.
Another hug.
Possibly multiple hugs.
A speech about ice cream.
Why had there been a speech about ice cream?
Why?
WHY?
She slowly lowered herself back onto the mattress and pulled the blanket over her face.
Maybe if she stayed there long enough she would cease to exist.
A moment later she felt movement beside her.
Logan.
Of course.
The worst possible witness.
He shifted and blinked awake.
Then he looked at her.
Then he immediately started smiling.
That smile alone told her everything she needed to know.
"No."
Logan's smile widened.
"No what?"
She dragged the blanket higher.
"No talking."
His shoulders started shaking.
"Sweetheart—"
"No."
"You don't even know what I was gonna say."
"I know enough."
At that point Logan lost the battle.
A laugh escaped him.
Then another.
Soon he was practically wheezing.
She wanted the earth to open beneath her.
She wanted a meteor.
An alien invasion.
Anything.
Anything except this.
The blanket suddenly disappeared as Logan pulled it away.
She immediately covered her face with both hands.
"No eye contact."
"Oh, we're definitely making eye contact."
"No."
"Absolutely yes."
She groaned.
Long and dramatic.
Logan looked completely delighted.
Which was honestly rude.
"You were adorable."
She made a sound somewhere between a scream and a dying whale.
"Stop."
"You called me pretty."
"Stop."
"You kissed my face approximately—"
"STOP."
"—forty-seven times."
She dropped backward onto the mattress.
Face first.
"I am never leaving this room."
Logan laughed harder.
A pillow hit him in the chest.
It did absolutely nothing.
"You also informed me that I was your favorite person."
The pillow hit him again.
This time harder.
"Go away."
"No."
"Please."
"Nope."
"Logan."
"No."
His grin was impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
The kind of grin that belonged on a man who had just witnessed the greatest event of his entire life.
Which, judging by his expression, he apparently had.
Then came the knock.
She froze.
Logan froze.
A voice sounded from outside.
"Rise and shine, Muffin Kisser."
Silence.
Pure silence.
Then her soul left her body.
Dean.
Dean was outside the door.
She closed her eyes.
Maybe if she didn't move, he would go away.
The door opened.
He did not go away.
"Morning."
She didn't look up.
"Leave."
Dean walked farther into the room.
"Can't."
"Why?"
"I came to relive one of the greatest moments of my life."
She pulled a pillow over her face.
Dean ignored her.
"Did you know I've never been kissed because of baked goods before?"
Logan immediately started laughing again.
"Dean."
"Yes?"
"Leave."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
She wanted to cry.
Dean sat on the edge of the desk chair.
Looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"You hugged me."
Silence.
"You called me nice."
More silence.
"You kissed my cheek."
Silence.
"You know what?"
She groaned.
"What?"
"I haven't washed that cheek."
The pillow flew across the room.
Dean barely dodged it.
Logan nearly fell off the bed laughing.
A second knock came.
Then Garrett appeared.
She immediately covered her face again.
"No."
Garrett looked amused.
Which somehow felt worse.
Much worse.
"Morning."
"Leave."
"Can't."
"Why are all of you here?"
Garrett shrugged.
"You hugged me."
She made a strangled noise.
"I know."
"You told me I was nice."
"I know."
"You thanked me for letting you drive my truck."
"I KNOW."
Garrett looked completely satisfied.
Dean looked equally pleased.
Logan looked like he was having the time of his life.
This was a nightmare.
A genuine nightmare.
Then Hannah appeared.
Followed by Allie.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes," Hannah said.
Allie was already laughing.
Her cheeks burned instantly.
"No."
Hannah sat beside her.
"You gave a very passionate speech about ice cream."
The room erupted.
She considered jumping out the window.
The fact that they were on the second floor suddenly seemed irrelevant.
"You also told us we were angels."
She buried her face in the mattress.
"I hate all of you."
"No you don't," Allie said.
"You're right."
A pause.
"I hate myself."
That only made everyone laugh harder.
The next hour was torture.
Pure torture.
Every single person seemed determined to recount a different embarrassing thing she'd done.
Every story was somehow worse than the last.
Apparently she had followed Logan around for half the party.
Apparently she had called him pretty at least twenty times.
Apparently she'd spent five straight minutes holding his face.
Apparently she'd hugged nearly everyone she liked.
Apparently she had become physically incapable of existing more than three feet away from Logan.
The horror never ended.
By the time everyone finally left the room, she was prepared to move to another country.
Possibly another planet.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
She remained face-down on the bed.
Motionless.
Defeated.
Logan sat beside her.
His hand gently rubbed her back.
For a few moments neither of them spoke.
Then she finally muttered into the pillow.
"I'm never drinking again."
He laughed softly.
"I believe you."
"I mean it."
"I know."
A pause.
Then she rolled onto her back.
Looking up at the ceiling.
"I kissed Dean."
"You kissed Dean."
"I hugged Garrett."
"You hugged Garrett."
"I gave an ice cream speech."
"You gave an ice cream speech."
She groaned again.
Longer this time.
Logan couldn't stop smiling.
Eventually she turned her head toward him.
His expression softened immediately.
The teasing faded.
Replaced by something warmer.
Something affectionate.
"You know," he said quietly, "I liked seeing that side of you."
She frowned.
"Seeing me embarrass myself?"
"No."
His fingers brushed through her hair.
"Seeing how much you love people."
Her expression softened slightly.
"You already know that."
"I do."
His smile became gentler.
"But they didn't."
She blinked.
Logan continued.
"They always see the intimidating version of you."
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm not intimidating."
Logan actually laughed out loud.
"Sweetheart."
"I'm not."
"You made Tucker apologize once by looking at him."
"That's different."
He shook his head.
"My point is everyone finally got to see how big your heart is."
The room fell quiet.
Because beneath all the teasing—
Beneath all the embarrassment—
There was truth in what he said.
She cared deeply.
She just wasn't always good at showing it.
Not the way Logan was.
Not the way sunshine people were.
Yet somehow one night and a little too much alcohol had stripped away every filter she'd ever had.
And apparently all that remained was affection.
An alarming amount of affection.
She sighed.
"I'm still mortified."
Logan grinned.
"I know."
"I'm going to think about this at three in the morning for the next ten years."
"I know."
"I might actually die."
He leaned forward.
Pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"You'll survive."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Easy for you to say."
"Why?"
"Because you weren't the one kissing people for muffins."
At that, Logan laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed again.
And despite herself—
Despite all the embarrassment—
Despite wanting to disappear into a hole and stay there forever—
A reluctant smile finally tugged at her lips.
Because unfortunately for her, everyone seemed to think drunk her was adorable.
Especially John Logan.
And judging by the way he was looking at her now, she suspected she'd never hear the end of it.
I’ve been posseessed by Tucker and cooked up this for you!!
The Fight
Summery: Logan finds out some douchebag from Eastwood was saying stuff about you in the guest team locker room.
Pairing: John Logan x fem!reader
Warning: Violence, swearing, douchebags from Eastwood.
John had just gotten out of the showers, dressed in his grey sweatpants and a plain white shirt, damp hair sticking to his forehead as he tied his shoes. He was already worked up after an intense game against Eastwood, barely winning by one goal.
“Logan! You gotta hurry man!” Birdie rushed in. “Those Eastwood pricks are talking shit about your girl in their locker room. I overheard them.”
John was on his feet in a flash, barging past Birdie as Garrett, Dean and Tucker looked at each other before following after Logan. They knew he was very capable of causing damage if he was pissed enough.
Logan shoved the locker room door open and heard four of the Eastwood players talking about his girlfriend. His vision narrowed to the Captain of Eastwood and he lunged before Garrett could stop him. Logan’s fist connected with the guys jaw, sending him to the ground. The other Eastwood players tried to get involved and Garrett got involved along with Tucker and Dean.
Coaches and players alike had to pull the chaos apart. Logan stormed out with bloody hands and a split. His shirt was more red than white at this point.
He went to find you, not caring about the state he was in or what consequences he’d get. He found you standing with Hannah, Jules and Allie. Jules noticed him first, shaking their head as they nudged you. You saw your boyfriend and took in the red covering him. You rushed over and took his hand, pressing your sleeve to his knuckles.
“Why would you do that?” You mumbled and he brushed some hair from your face. “They were talking shit about you and I was alone. The boys had my back.” He winched slightly when you gingerly touched his lip. “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.” You lead him to a quieter area and cleaned his knuckles, pressing a kiss to them when you finished. You cleaned his lip, kissing his cheek when you finished.
“You had me worried.” You admitted and he smiled. “That’s what I love about you.” He pulled you closer, resting his chin on your head. You two stayed like that for a while before heading back to his.
Logan, Garrett, Dean and Tucker were lectured but Coash Jensen couldn’t risk benching them all so they had a strict schedule after that.
A/N: holy notifs batman…i was not expecting that much love on part one, this is very much a dip back into writing after a good while of not. ty for all the love and saying it wasn’t garbage, as a gift i give you part two (and tbh probably a part 3 soon). if this part is garbage, my b. i was motivated and tbh im not sure i like what i wrote but we’re here and the word count is higher than anticipated. oops.
summary: in which you want to bury your feelings for john logan into your song for the pop showcase but he’s a lil dumb and you’re both emotionally constipated
pairing: john logan x bestfriend!reader
wc: ~5.1k (sorrynotsorry)
tw: descriptions of panic attack w/o saying what it is, some mentions of insecurity, doubt, a dash of angst
John Logan had been biting his nails again, you noticed the Friday you were supposed to have your movie night. You had sat next to him on the couch, legs laying in his lap in one of those rare moments where it felt like you were the person who mattered most to him in a room full of people. You had noticed when he was explaining a new hockey play idea he’d had to Tucker, who was staring at him intently as he gestured with his hands and spoke passionately about his ideas. His nail beds were shorter than usual, and he looked more tired every passing day, like something was keeping him up every night. He forced smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes and he noticeably stiffened every time Garrett walked in the room.
You weren’t stupid, you could guess why.
Hannah and Garrett were dating. Like for real, dating.
It was all over Fifth Line and Jules had even asked you for your opinion about it.
You knew better than to share any gossip, especially since you liked Hannah and she was so sweet. You wouldn’t want anyone speculating about you and your nonexistent relationship, but that didn’t stop you from internally wondering how the hell did Garrett “I-don’t-do-girlfriends” Graham ever end up in a relationship? You had even listened to Hannah offhandedly mention in your Music Comp class that he called her “Mona” for a good minute once he had decided to finally acknowledge her existence. She had also complained about how he was sort of annoying and persistent about needing a tutor but he was also “reasonably attractive and funny and nice” with a faraway look in her eyes.
You had felt like there was probably more she wanted to say, but you also kind of understood that maybe she didn’t fully understand where she was on her feelings towards Garrett yet. So much of their dating life had been whispered about and posted across social media, you had to imagine Hannah felt a little bit like she was under a microscope.
But, since they had started dating you had begun to notice small, almost impermeable cracks in your best friend’s façade that he maintained almost flawlessly most days. There had been warning signs over the last few weeks, the more he watched Hannah and Garrett get closer, but you were certain that he was on the verge of shutting everyone out again.
You had been working on your sheet music tonight before your movie night, a couple of the guys from the team lingering in the house as they made conversation and hogging the living room. Your melody was coming along and you were at least somewhat appeased with the progress you’d been making. Still, you were distracted tonight. How could you not be? Not while in the presence of the man that had been part of your source inspiration since your lunch study session at Malone’s earlier this week.
Things had been building up over time, for the both of you. There were moments that you genuinely weren’t sure how much longer things could last the way they were going between you two. Every reminder was a new pang in your heart of how you were twisting your stomach over and over again as someone else got the one thing you wanted.
Several times you found yourself wondering which time would be it? When would one of these moments be the last time you let the pain of watching Logan watch someone else affect you? You weren’t sure that that pain would ever go away, or that it would stop being such a routine part of life anymore. Over the last few days you had reflected a lot on everything, as you wrote your song. You reflected on your friendship and how things had gotten to where they were now.
—————
FLASHBACK 1- Dean and Beau’s birthday party.
You almost didn’t come to this party, you were close enough with the other guys to warrant your being there, but you had heard from Hannah that surprisingly, she was coming.
With Garrett.
You realized instantly that there was no way that Logan didn’t in some way get jealous or his feelings hurt when he saw their dynamic duo. Despite the preemptive tugging of your heart as you knew you’d have to watch Logan watch her, you decided on going to the party anyway. One of your friends from Music Comp wanted to go and you rarely if ever missed any of Logan’s games if you could make it. And since this party was a Dean-and-Beau-Extravaganza, it was pretty much guaranteed to be one of the highlight parties of the year. Therefore, you had concluded that you could grin and bear it for one night, having done it so many times before.
You would just do your best to ignore the frog in your throat and the butterflies in your stomach.
And if that failed,
you could always drown them in alcohol.
Logan had already been worn down by Tucker to be his dynamic counterpart, both settling to be the “birds and the bees” which Tucker had found so hilarious when he asked if you understood the reference, his eyebrows wiggling in a way you supposed he meant to be suggestive instead of silly.
“What are you going as, Y/N?” Tucker asked.
Logan had turned and watched you, also curious towards your answer.
“Ah well it’s a surprise, my friend helped with some of the music composition for the dance team so one of the girls is letting us borrow a couple outfits. I don’t even know yet,” you had shrugged off the question, glancing to see Logan still looking at you, a distant look on his face.
Upon walking into the party, you wish you could be surprised when you found Dean half naked and doing the ‘Zamboni’ as he licked up an unholy concoction of alcohol and god knows what else off of the counter, but honestly that was relatively tame when it came to Dean and his antics.
As if sensing your presence, Logan had looked up from his antics with his fellow players, his eyes finding you right away in the crowd. He had stopped and stared as he took you and your costume in.
Your friend had borrowed a pair of ballet costumes, sans the slippers, from the girl on the dance team. She had opted for the brighter of the two costumes, leaving you to dress as her more elusive companion.
The Black Swan.
You were held together by a black lace corset and feathers with dramatic makeup to match, far outside your realm of normalcy. And the way John Logan was staring at you, you were beginning to worry that maybe you looked so outside your normal that maybe you should’ve reconsidered letting your friend dress you up.
Logan walked over to you, never once breaking eye contact as he opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a rather loud blonde man whose voice carried over the music’s thumping bass.
“Shit, Y/N. You are smokin’ hot tonight!”
Blush immediately covered your face, turning even your ears a light shade of pink.
Dean was never one for subtlety. Quite the opposite, really. And he had so graciously just announced to this whole party that you had made your arrival. He was looking you up and down, taking in your whole costume as Logan stood rigid next to you.
“Thanks, Dean,” you let out exasperatedly, shifting closer to Logan almost unconsciously.
Logan’s hand found your back immediately, the feeling of his fingertips pressed against the laces holding you into this outfit left you breathless for a moment. It was as if you could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric and you wanted to keep it as close to you as possible.
Dean noticed right away, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
“Ohhh, I see. You have fun tonight, Y/N. And seriously, I dig the costume. Very fitting,” Dean winked as he gloated before he walked away.
You felt Logan’s hand twitch against your back before he pulled you the slightest bit closer, your eyes looking up to find him already staring at you again.
“Logan, are you okay? You seem a little weird.”
Logan swallowed, eyes flickering down to your corset and back up to yours again before he replied.
“You look good tonight, Y/N. We even kind of match a bit,” he said, letting go of your back and moving to find you a drink.
You mourned the loss of contact instantly, moving closer as he leaned against the counter across from you. His wings shifted behind him as he moved and now sat slightly lopsided.
You giggled, reaching up to adjust one of his wings that had moved out of place.
“Look at us, always in step,” Logan said, handing you the first drink of the night.
“And here when I walked in I thought maybe I looked ridiculous and like I was doing too much, the way you were looking at me,” you laughed as you took a drink of something vaguely tasting like alcohol disguised as juice.
Logan stood up straighter, turning so you were fully parallel to each other.
“Y/N, you don’t look ridiculous, you’re…” Logan paused, letting his gaze fall over you before continuing, “breathtaking, always. And you could never be too much,” Logan finished, never once breaking eye contact.
Your heart hammered in your chest.
“Log-“ it was your turn to be cut off.
“Yoooo, Logan! Garrett! Hockey shots!” Tucker’s voice interrupted whatever moment you and Logan were about to have.
Logan glanced over and immediately stiffened next to you. Over his shoulder you could see what caught his attention. Garrett and Hannah were there, dressed as a magician and bunny, holding hands. Out of the periphery of your eye you could see Logan’s jaw clench as he stared at where the dynamic duo held hands.
“I’ll be right back.”
And there it was. The butterflies were replaced with dread and you could feel your breath hitch as Logan excused himself from your side for hockey shots.
You could only watch as he said something to Hannah, her giggling and nodding as Logan pulled Garrett away for a team tradition, his grin lighting up the room around him. It felt almost too hard to breathe, as if when he left your side he took all the air with him. But that was what it always felt like next to the infamous John Logan. It was like once you got to know him you couldn’t hardly live without him. He had found his way under you skin and into every corner of your being, altering every fiber of your existence and lingering in every touch and sideways glance.
“He’s an idiot, Y/N.”
You were broken out of your stupor as a voice interrupted your melancholy and caused your spine to go still.
“What?”
Dean had found his way beside you again, having evaded the others’ call for hockey shots for brief moment. He produced a fresh cup of tonight’s poison in his hand as he passed you another, jerking his head towards where Logan stood with his other teammates and Hannah.
“I said your boy, John Logan, is an oblivious idiot,” Dean reiterated as he watched the scene unfolding behind him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Dean,” your voice quiet in it’s denial.
“I think you do, Y/N. His head is up his ass and we all keep hoping he pulls out to notice what’s in front of him,” Dean took a sip from his plastic cup.
You couldn’t answer, you just stared at him.
“Just don’t let him bring you down, Y/N. We all think you’re pretty great.”
“Thanks, Dean,” you offered half-heartedly.
“I’m needed for hockey shots, try and make the best of tonight yeah?” Dean gave you a sympathetic smile before he joined the others.
Unable to look away, you watched Logan for a second as he glanced behind him towards Hannah talking to his sibling, Jules.
Somewhere in your heart longing turned to hurt, and you blinked away tears before raising the cup to your lips and downing the whole thing.
Butterflies be damned.
If only you had noticed the way Logan fixated his gaze on you across the room, something settling in his chest that he wasn’t sure he knew how to describe just yet.
———
Flashback 2 - Karaoke night at Malone’s.
Since the party, you had been in a funk. You ended up leaving early with your friend, opting to ride back with her instead of sitting on the party bus surrounded by people who loved to talk about the hockey boys.
And it wasn’t just your mood that had been off since the party, even your conversations with Logan had taken a turn for the weird. There were days that you talked like normal, he sent you his hockey highlights or made terrible jokes and he asked how your piece for the pop showcase was coming. And then there were days of radio silence. Like he had forgotten he had a best friend who he usually saw most days. Truthfully, some days you were grateful for the silence as you wrestled with your emotions. Logan had called you breathtaking at the party, and it seemed like maybe there was more he wanted to say before you guys were interrupted.
He hadn’t mentioned anything about the party since texting you to make sure you got home and were in bed safe. He didn’t mention Hannah, or her and Garrett’s relationship, or how when you said you weren’t going to stay the night you could’ve sworn he looked moments away from pouting.
John Logan. Pouting?
It didn’t seem possible. You had since decided you were definitely drunk that night and definitely remembering that incorrectly. But in the days since then, it felt like you and Logan were tiptoeing around something but neither one of you two were exactly sure what.
However, tonight was karaoke night at Malone’s, a beloved tradition between the two of you and highly anticipated by the hockey boys for you and Logan’s somewhat competitive nature. You weren’t even sure where it came from, it wasn’t like karaoke night was a competition or there was any prize. But music was your thing, and one night during sophomore year when you and Logan went out to karaoke at Malone’s, you discovered the rat himself was a decent singer.
That made you so incredibly, inexplicably mad.
You told him it was like if you picked up a hockey stick and did a hat trick on your first try, offensive and maddening that this man was just good at everything. He had laughed and threw his hands up saying he wasn’t coming for your career but he would humbly accept a position as your karaoke partner, if you’d have him.
You had giggled and acquiesced, giving in to his sweet, lazy grin and his pretty brown eyes.
An athlete, handyman, talented, and good-looking.
God he was annoying.
But a karaoke event meant that you two were guaranteed to try and show each other how it’s done, and tonight was no different.
Logan had picked you up in his truck, tapping along to the song playing on the radio.
“Damn, this song is kind of sad,” Logan had said.
“It’s got a great beat though,” you countered, leaning back in the passenger seat to get a better glimpse of him as he drove.
His hair was freshly washed after practice, loose dark brown curls falling over his forehead to his temples. He smelled like soap, leather and amber, warm and inviting against the chill of the autumn night. His fingers tapping against the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road as his smiled widened at your remark.
“Yeah? Is that going to be your thing for the pop showcase? Sad girl vibes with a catchy beat?” Logan smirked.
“Ugh that’s if I can even come up with anything that doesn’t sound like absolute garbage before then.”
“You’re going to figure it out, Y/N. I don’t think you’ve ever written a bad song and anyone who sees you perform can tell you’re made for this sort of thing,” Logan said, his eyes meeting yours briefly before turning back to the road.
You turned in your seat so you were fully facing him, eyebrows furrowed.
“What do you mean?”
Logan sighed.
“I just mean that watching you perform, even if you’re just sitting on the floor and playing whatever comes to mind, anyone can tell how much you love it just by watching you. It’s like you go to a completely different place, you transform and you look so happy. Like there’s nothing else in the world you’d rather be doing, like its so natural you don’t even have to think about it,” Logan finished.
You were stunned into silence.
Since when was Logan that observant, and since when did he notice those things about you? You were speechless, absolutely thrown off by his casual statement of how he saw you when you were in your element.
Logan sighed again.
“You’re talented, Y/N. Whatever you write is going to be good because you’re good at what you do,” Logan affirmed.
You gave him a small nod, lips pursed together in a small smile.
“Thanks, Logan.”
Logan pulled into a parking spot, having arrived at the destination. He put his truck in park and turned the volume dial of the radio down before looking at you again.
“I meant everything I said, Y/N.”
You paused, “I know.”
He returned your small smile, deciding to leave it at that for now.
“Good, let’s go knock ‘em dead, superstar.”
You didn’t get very far into the bar before you heard Tucker singing his heart out to ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’ and you could only cheer with the crowd as you watched him give it his all.
Jules met you and Logan near the entrance, a clipboard in their hands and mischief undoubtedly up their sleeves.
“Good, you guys are here. I’m going to put you and Garrett down for Summer Nights, John.”
You chuckled as Logan made his case for Sandy, a great performance in the making you were sure.
“And how ‘bout you, Y/N? A little ‘Grease’ action for you too? You could do ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ some more justice then the theatre kids tonight,” Jules said, giving you a knowing look.
You nervously laughed, desperately hoping to change the subject.
“Maybe a drink first before I make any musical decisions tonight, thanks Jules,” you quickly replied as Logan looked between you two, a question forming on his lips before you dragged him away to the bar.
You soon regretted that because you were met at the bar with Garrett and a very, very drunk Hannah.
“Y/N! You’re here! And you brought Logannnnn. He fixed my car.”
“You have a car?” Garrett asked, clearly confused.
“No.”
Oh Hannah was gone.
“Well, had a car,” Logan added.
“I’m buying you a special drink! And Y/N too! She’s so nice to me in class,” Hannah exclaimed as she leaned over to whisper her surprise to the bartender.
You weren’t sure how Hannah was still upright but you were pretty positive you had never seen her this drunk before, like ever. But you had to laugh as she talked about you to Garrett like you weren’t there, saying only the kindest things.
“Hannah has discovered the piña colada,” Garrett offered from behind Hannah, the evidence of several piña coladas next to him on the bar countertop.
“Oh wow,” you murmured.
“Is that the surprise drink?” Logan asked.
The bartender set before you two glasses of the most fluorescent blue liquid you had ever seen.
“It’s blue curaçao with MORE blue curaçao. I call it the bluebaru!”
You weren’t sure you could drink this if you tried.
“It looks like wiper fluid,” Logan looked not-so-thrilled.
“It might actually be wiper fluid,” Garrett replied.
Tucker’s song wrapped up in the background, with him singing the final note and hitting his pose as the cheers got louder around him.
“Hannah Wells, you’re up!”
You watched as Hannah walked up to the stage, flirting with Garrett as she took the mic off the stand. Rock music began to play as you and Logan found a table to stand at.
“She’s my cherry pie.”
Not the song you expected her to pick, but damn she was singing it well. Even when drunker than drunk.
You glanced over at Garrett as the song progressed, noticing the way that he was utterly transfixed by her. He couldn’t tear his eyes away or hide the grin that was plastered across his face as if he had found the greatest treasure there was.
And to be fair, he did.
There was a secret part of you that wanted to hate Hannah, but you knew you never could. She was a wonderful person, and the more you got to know her the more you liked her. She was so sweet and kind, so driven and talented. She was everything you wished you could be.
You risked a peek at Logan beside you, immediately devastated as you did. He was staring at Hannah, nodding along to the music with his eyes wide and fixed in focus as if he was witnessing a once in a lifetime performance. You watched as he looked over at Hannah singing directly to Garrett, his brow furrowing and the same look you wore washing over his face. You both wanted what you couldn’t have. Always in step, like Logan said.
Something deep inside you ached. It pulsed and stung to your core, like a fresh wound you’d poured salt into over and over and over again. You always did this to yourself. You tried to rationalize the pain and torture you felt from watching Logan and Hannah but to no avail. The rationalization of it all didn’t do a damn thing.
Every single time you were left like this.
Understanding the pain.
Ignoring the pain.
Rationalizing the pain.
Pretending it didn’t exist.
But tonight you couldn’t pretend. So much had been building up over the last couple weeks and it all crashed over you, you could feel the spiral fast approaching as every single memory hit you over and over again. Tears blurred the edges of your vision, your heart beating rapidly as though it was in a race with those damn butterflies that were kicking up a storm and making you sick.
It would never be you, you had realized.
Everything that had happened lately confirmed that.
The burden of proof.
You needed a walk and to get out of that bar, quickly. You set your radioactive blue drink on the table and went to step away. Logan’s arm reached out to gently grip yours, his focus back on you for the first time in a minute.
“Whoa whoa, Y/N what’s wrong?” Logan’s eyes scanned your face, searching for an answer you weren’t ready to give him.
“Nothing, I just don’t feel well. I was going to get some fresh air, don’t worry about me,” you had tried to reassure Logan and escape his grip.
“You are definitely not okay, do you want me to take you home? Or to the house? You can take my bed if you’re feeling sick.”
Goddamn it.
Why did Logan have to be so thoughtful all the time?
“No really, I think some fresh air will do me good, I swear.”
Logan stood there for a second, tuning out the crowd and music to analyze your face, not missing for even a second the redness creeping in around your eyes and the way you scratched at your neck. Something he frequently noticed you did before you were about to breakdown.
“No, I know you. And something is wrong, I’m not letting you walk out alone. Come with me, I won’t make you talk about it if you don’t want to but I am taking you home,” Logan had sounded so worried as he wrapped your jacket tighter around you, guiding you away from the bar.
Silently you had hopped back up into his truck, hands folded in your lap as tears streamed down your face. It wasn’t a dramatic, full blown cry where you feel everything all at once and let it out in one cathartic experience. Instead it was quiet, persistent; like a bruise that flared pain every time you poked it but settled into a dull ache when you left it alone. Logan didn’t say anything, he just reached across the dash and pulled your hand into his own. His thumb rubbed gentle circles into your skin. You still felt the warmth and the sparks from holding his hand. It was hard not to. You felt everything with John Logan so deeply.
And he had kept his word, he didn’t force you to talk about it on the ride back to your place. He didn’t ask questions as he walked you up to your apartment. He didn’t second guess your decision to leave the bar tonight as he gently pushed you towards the bathroom to take your make up off. But he did make sure you got changed out of your bar clothes and settled into bed, even refilling your water before asking if you wanted him to stay.
Emotionally exhausted, you wanted nothing more than to sleep and not think about your feelings, let alone feel them.
“Just until I fall asleep, please,” you had whispered.
Logan nodded, sitting beside where you lay on your bed. He reached out and gently gripped your hand before he started rubbing circles with his thumb again.
———
He watched as you slowly fell asleep, taking in the way your body caught it’s breath and found it’s rhythm again. He sat there awhile, longer than he probably should have. Just watching you.
Logan knew that to anyone else, this probably made him look like a creep just watching you sleep. But to him, that was the most peaceful you had looked in days. Every time he had seen you lately there seemed to be something weighing down heavily on you, as if something was tormenting you and you couldn’t talk to him about it. He wanted to ask but he didn’t want to pry. Tonight was confirmation that maybe he should start asking more questions.
Logan stood from where he sat, watching over your sleeping form one last time before he left. He’d briefly wondered if the stress from the pop showcase was getting to you, or if it was just reaching that point in the semester where there was high pressure to perform well. He knew how much these scholarships weighed on you and that you were hellbent to perform well. He just wasn’t sure if that was the only thing bothering you.
He’d decided he would let you tell him, when you were ready.
—————
There were certain things that felt hazy to you. Like how you got to bed and how long Logan stayed with you that night. You were certain, however. That you were going to do your best to not let it affect you, not anymore. Ever since that night that Logan took you home, you put your walls way up. You were trying so desperately to keep your heart guarded from everything that seemed to haunt you lately. And that included putting on your best show for your friend, to convince him that you were all good and he didn’t need to be worried.
Instead, you had been channeling a lot of those mixed feelings and insecurity into your writing. You had put the pen to paper and started pouring your soul into those lyrics. You had finished the melody rather quickly during that afternoon at Malone’s, the lyrics seemed to come naturally as you did what you did best. You couldn’t bare your heart to Logan, not without risking losing him from your life forever. But baring your heart to your composition book seemed to be helping alleviate some of that longing, if only a little.
“What you working on over here, superstar?” Logan scooted closer to you on your corner of the couch, having ended his impassioned discussion of hockey tactics with Tucker.
Most of the hockey guys who were lingering had since dissipated.
“Just something for the showcase, no big deal,” you replied, your eyes downward cast.
“Can I hear a bit? I know I’m not much help but it seems like you’ve made good progress and I always love what you create,” Logan leaned forward a bit as if to look at what you had written.
You closed your book and capped your pen and finally glanced back at him.
“Not yet, there’s things I want to work out before I play it for anyone,” you explained, sliding your notebook into your bag before he had the chance to catch any hint of what your lyrics were about.
Logan gave you a tight-lipped smile and nodded.
“Understood, creative genius. I can wait,” he said.
“You pick the movie, I’m going to go make popcorn,” you moved your legs off his lap, walking towards the kitchen to find Tucker’s stash of snacks.
“Hey do not burn the popcorn again this time please, it took me forever to install the new one after what happened last time,” Logan hollered at your retreating figure.
You laughed as you threw up a middle finger without looking back, thinking that maybe you could make this work.
Maybe you could pretend.
Maybe the pain and longing would dull.
Maybe.
———
Logan continued to watch as you walked into the kitchen, a feeling settling in his chest that something still wasn’t right and you weren’t as okay as you had been letting on since that afternoon at Malone’s.
He watched as you joked around with the Tucker, who pretended to make a fuss as you stole his popcorn. You had a relaxed smile on your face and Logan couldn’t help but grin as the soft echoes of your laugh drifted over to him, the sound warm and gently wrapping around him; comfort enveloped him completely. He was so deep in his reverie that he almost missed as your hand lingered for a second too long on Tucker’s as you two joked around the kitchen.
Except he didn’t miss it, and Logan’s eyes widened as he inexplicably felt a twinge of pain in his chest at the sight, his mind reeling at the sudden thought of someone other than him holding your hand. His stomach twisted into a knot. He didn’t like that idea.
He didn’t like that idea at all.
———
A/N: i’m just saying me personally i’m a big fan of the men who yearn are men who earn thing. lmk if you’re down for part 3 :)
tag list: @nihoshi17 @taivantaylor @solstice-333 @littlepippilongstocking @anyasthoughts @sisterslytherinog @dina2223
Summary: You should’ve known better to study at your boyfriend’s house if you wanted to be actually productive.
Warnings: Fluff! Established relationship
Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the positive response to the last post!!! Here’s another draft that’s been sitting around. Stay tuned for more!
“Can you come to bed now?” Logan whines pathetically from his bed.
Despite being the same size of a small bear, he gives me large puppy eyes when I glance over my shoulder. I bite my lip to hold back a snicker. What would his teammates think?
“I’m almost done with this section,” I say, turning back to my notes.
“That’s what you said half an hour ago.”
Even though I’m not looking, I know for a fact he has his lips in an adorable pout. One day I’ll sneak a photo of him begging and pouting and send it to the entire hockey team. Logan always acts like a tough guy for the rest of Briar U but when it’s just us, he turns into a softie. Normally I appreciate this side of him but right now I’m having serious beef with this gen chem textbook.
“Sorry if I don’t wanna fail my quiz. I have to finish this section by tonight or else my whole study schedule is messed up.”
“For a quiz that’s three weeks away,” he grumbles, to which I roll my eyes and try to understand the sentence I’ve been rereading for the past few minutes.
I don’t hear another complaint from Logan which makes me smirk in victory.
The quiet doesn’t last as a pair of arms warp around my shoulders and the smell of aftershave invades my nose. A shiver goes down my body when I feel Logan’s stumble scratch against my skin as he buries his face into my neck.
“Logan please,” I squeak out.
“How about you study in bed baby?” He murmurs, lips brushing my ear.
I turn my head slightly to raise my brow at him.
“No funny business, I just wanna hold you,” he assures, giving a peck to my temple.
I pretend to think about it even though the answer is yes. He gives me a grin, releasing me from his arms to grab my textbook and notes and saunters to the bed.
“Why don’t you teach it to me?” he says, patting his lap, “It might help.”
I let out another scoff but it has no real heat to it.
I settle in the space between his legs, letting him pull me flush against his hard chest. My cheeks grow warm at the proximity but I force myself to open back up my notebook
He lets me angle the textbook on his leg while one of arms snakes around my waist to hold me close, drawing circles with his thumb against his my hoodie.
“Ok so this is basically…” I begin to explain, pointing at the textbook image and then jotting down my notes into the book balanced in my own lap. It’s not the best surface for writing but I’m not complaining when I feel Logan press his lips into my hair.
He hums a response, giving me a squeeze which takes everything in me not to melt into him. I continue to ramble about the different molecules and sometimes he’ll press a kiss on my temple and mumble something along the lines of “smart girl” or “good job baby”. And every time I have to give myself at least ten seconds to slow my heart rate.
Even though we’ve been dating for a couple months, he still has this effect on me. Probably forever.
I wasn’t even expecting him to listen but he surprised me by asking a few follow-up questions which helped me solidify my confidence in the topic. Even though Logan lives a completely different life with insane expectations and priorities, he always manages to still make me feel like the most interesting and important thing in his life.
After a few minutes go by, I feel his lips brush against the shell of my ear.
“You’re distracting me,” I murmur.
“Well I just saw we finished the section but you haven’t closed the book yet.”
Damn him. I forget how observant he is.
“Come on baby,” he says, “It’s almost one in the morning. You know I need my full eight hours.”
I glance over at the clock on his nightstand to see that it was way past the time I had planned to stay up. I blame Allie and Dean taking forever to make dinner tonight. What do you mean you forget to preheat the oven?
But Logan’s right, I’m already feeling the tiredness creep into my bones. No use fighting it. Especially when Logan continues to stroke my sides which makes me feel all fuzzy.
I let out a sigh of defeat and began to tidy up my things. Logan loosens his grip to let me quickly shove all the material into my bag by the desk. He shuffles to lay down and outstretches his arms when I turn to face him. He has a stupid grin plastered on his face making you think he just won a hockey game.
Nope. The smile is just for me which makes my heart clench.
“You’re so clingy,” I chide but take my proper spot next to him.
His eyes are already half closed when I shuffle to face him. I feel bad keeping him awake knowing that he already had a long practice.
Not too bad about it though because he was the one blowing up my phone insisting I come over tonight.
“You love it,” he hums.
One of his arms wraps around my waist to pull me close and his legs tangle with mine. He gives me a kiss, cupping my face with his free hand. Before I can even react, Logan is pulling away to settle into his pillow. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the soft rhythm of his heartbeat. His breath tickles the top of my head while his fingers are warm against my back.
The rain had been drumming a steady, peaceful rhythm against the glass of Logan’s off-campus apartment for hours, blurring the campus lights into soft smudges of yellow and amber. Inside, the world was entirely quiet. The usual chaotic energy of the hockey house had cleared out for the weekend, leaving behind a rare, heavy stillness that felt almost sacred.
You were curled up on the oversized fabric sofa, wearing a worn-out Briar University sweatshirt that belonged to him, your knees pulled up to your chest. Logan was sitting right next to you, his long legs stretched out ahead of him, one arm draped casually over the back of the cushions behind your shoulders. His thumb was tracing slow, absentminded circles against the fabric of your sleeve, a gentle habit he always slipped into whenever he was completely relaxed.
Blending the sharp, quick-witted charm he carried on the ice with the softer, deeply protective warmth he usually kept hidden from the world, Logan looked entirely at peace. There was no pressure to perform, no game tape to analyze, and no campus rumors to dodge. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet comfort of a rainy Saturday night.
"My mom sent me a massive digital album this morning," you murmured, breaking the silence as you leaned your head back against his shoulder. "Just a huge dump of random childhood photos and old memories she found while cleaning out her old hard drives. I was scrolling through them earlier while you were at practice."
Logan let out a low, amused chuckle, the vibration rumbling pleasantly against your back. "Let me guess. You found some embarrassing middle school phase you tried to scrub from the internet?"
"Worse," you laughed, shifting slightly to look at him. "I found a photo from a random road trip when I was eleven years old. We got a flat tire on our way to Cape Cod, and our car got towed to a garage in a tiny town called Hastings. In the photo, I’m standing on the gravel lot, wearing neon green shorts, looking absolutely miserable because it was ninety degrees outside."
You paused, your voice softening as you looked at his profile in the dim light of the living room lamp. "Logan, I zoomed in on the background of the photo today. The sign on the building says Hampton & Sons Auto Services. And sitting right underneath it, on a faded wooden bench by the bay doors, is a skinny kid with dark hair, grease on his face, and a massive scowl, wearing a giant teal shirt."
Logan froze. His thumb stopped its movement against your shoulder as his dark eyes locked onto yours with sudden, intense focus. "Wait. You're kidding."
"I'm completely serious," you said, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips as the sheer impossibility of it washed over you. "I completely forgot that town even existed until I saw the photo today. I never put it together until this morning. Logan, that kid on the bench was you."
Logan stared at you, a look of pure wonder washing over his handsome features. A low, disbelieving laugh left his chest, and he shook his head slowly.
"I remember that summer," he whispered, his voice dropping into a quiet, reverent register. "I was eleven, which means my mom had just packed up and left. My dad was completely falling apart, drinking heavily in the back office, and he basically forced me to sit outside the bay doors all day just to watch the lot while he passed out. I spent that whole July wearing this horrific, oversized teal promotional shirt, absolutely hating the world."
He reached out, his large, warm hand sliding down to wrap around yours, his fingers tangling effortlessly with your own. The contrast of his rough, hockey-calloused palm against your skin felt grounding, a familiar anchor in the middle of a sudden, mystical realization.
"We were in the exact same gravel lot," you murmured, leaning your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring thud of his heart. "Six years before we ever met in the library at Briar. You were having the worst summer of your life, and I was just a random kid complaining about a flat tire."
"Time is a curious thing," Logan said softly, his chin resting gently on the top of your head as he began to stroke your hair. "It gives you absolutely no signs, no compasses, no clues. We were breathing the same air, completely oblivious to the fact that our lives were eventually going to crash right into each other when we grew up."
A comfortable silence settled over the room again, but it felt different now, charged with a beautiful, secret weight. The rain continued to slash against the windowpane, but inside the small apartment, the space felt infinitely warmer. Logan’s hold on you tightened, wrapping all of his heavy childhood memories, your old heartbreaks, and your collective doubts in something soft and protective. He was the golden thread that had pulled you out of all the wrong directions, straight into the quiet sanctuary of this room.
"Isn't it just so pretty to think," you whispered into the quiet, "that all along, there was some invisible string tying you to me?"
"Yeah," Logan breathed, his voice rich with an emotion he rarely let show, a perfect blend of his protective nature and total devotion. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the crown of your head. "It’s a really cool thought, baby. Hell was the journey for both of us back then, but it brought me right here. And I wouldn't trade where we landed for anything."
You closed your eyes, shifting your hand until your fingers were laced tightly with his, feeling the absolute truth of his words settle deep into your skin. The invisible string had done its work perfectly, pulling the two of you through the dark until the sky finally turned into a beautiful, permanent pink.
Notes - I thought I would start my first John fic with some fluff yall have earned with all my writing recently!
Picture Me in the Trees- Part 2 || John Logan x reader
Warnings: SMUT (Explicit dreams), childhood trauma, parental addiction, lots of yearning, basically angst, angst, and more angst.
Word Count: 2.7K
Note: English isn't my first language, but unfortunately angst still is. Please be KIND.
(Part 1)
Picture me in the trees- Part 2:
You see Logan everywhere.
He shows up with his friends at the bowling alley where you work part-time, and at Malone's, where you work the other half. He never talks to you, just gives you that polite nod. Whatever. Life goes on.
You got more proof that the people in your life are temporary, that there was never any real reason to let someone else into your mess. The second you let go, nobody's going to pull you back.
Your roommate is nice in a way that softens you whenever you're around her.
Her name is Bailey, and she talks a lot. Enough for both of you. She drags you to social events you don't have time for, never at the hockey house. That's one place you try not to go near.
You hear about Grace because it's unavoidable. You live in the same building.
Share a few basic classes.
You try not to compare yourself to her, but you can't help wondering why she's the one dating John Logan. After all, he doesn't date girls any longer than necessary to get into their pants. He doesn't post on Instagram, and he doesn't take girls on dates to water towers.
You hate that you know about the water tower.
You overheard her telling a friend about it in the common room on your floor.
He never took you there.
You wonder if that place means something to him.
You hate the fact that you care.
Benji sits down next to you in Modern Art.
At first, you don't think much of it, but over time his presence becomes part of your routine. He slips into your everyday life in a way that's almost impressive. Him and Bailey get along. They drag you out of your comfort zone more times than you'd like.
Benji's personality is contagious. He's restless and uninhibited. Always carrying a skateboard and wearing a beanie even when the weather doesn't justify it. Before long, the two of you are inseparable.
You keep seeing Logan in the hallways. He doesn't look at you anymore.
Not even to nod.
.
.
.
Grace is perfect.
Logan keeps telling himself she's everything he needs. He knows she's everything he needs.
He's been dating her for three months, and she's amazing.
She's funny and beautiful and never insults him or makes fun of his name. There are no silences that drag on too long, no memories of people he's trying to forget. No looks filled with pain and longing. There's only him and Grace, and they're happy.
He's so fucking happy.
He's getting laid a lot and winning hockey games and picking up plenty of handyman jobs during the day. He's thriving. John Logan is thriving.
So what if you gave up on him because of one mistake?
So what if you threw away seven years of soul-deep friendship over one sentence? Big fucking deal.
There's a limit to how much John Logan can beg and grovel and try to convince you that you matter.
He knows what you're doing. He knows you're erasing him because he reminds you of the place you're trying to forget.
He knows you need to cut yourself off from him to feel like you've cut yourself off from there.
It's not fucking fair.
Sometimes he wants to scream at you that it's so unfair you're punishing him for the place you both grew up in. It's so unfair that he has to carry the mistakes of everyone who raised you. But he's willing to do it. If it means you're starting over and breaking free from the chains of that bottomless pit? John Logan is willing to swallow the frog.
He's willing to be the villain in your story.
Or at least that's what he thought.
Because nothing prepares John Logan for the moment he sees you hanging out with a guy he doesn't know.
He sees you laughing, a real laugh, the kind he used to have to work so damn hard to get out of you, and now it looks like it's coming straight from your gut. Effortlessly. Because of a stranger.
Someone who didn't hold your hand when your dad came home high and your mom was having a psychotic episode. Someone who didn't watch you climb trees to escape reality for more than five minutes.
Whatever. He has Grace.
Grace is perfect, he reminds himself.
And if he happens to ask what the guy's name is, it doesn't mean anything. Benji Michelson.
An art student. Probably from one of your electives. Logan can't think of any other reason the two of you would know each other.
Benji Michelson. He looks like a stoner. It doesn't suit you, hanging around someone who seems so...not put together. Too carefree. Too loud. Too attention-seeking.
Logan refuses to give you attention. He's done enough of that in his life.
And Grace is perfect.
He wouldn't think about you at all if it were up to him.
If it wasn't for those dreams.
He doesn't know exactly when it started. Well, he does- a week after the big fight.
You stopped talking to him, and he was desperate, and then suddenly you started showing up at night. At first, it was innocent. He'd dream about you sitting across from him at Malone's, eating a burger and telling him about your day. About college. He'd dream about showing up to your shift at the bowling alley and finding the place empty, so the two of you let yourselves play a game.
He blamed it on the fact that you hadn't had any interaction in days, and it was new, so his brain was filling in the blanks. Normal. So far, everything was normal.
But one night, the bowling game became something else entirely. His hand slid to the small of your back while you bent down to throw the ball. The skirt you were wearing didn't match anything you owned, and the little victory dance you did afterward made him bite his lip. He woke up half-panicked and realized he was semi-hard. That was new.
From there, it only got worse.
The dreams became more frequent. Sometimes you were arguing with him until he shut you up with a kiss. Sometimes the two of you were curled up naked in bed. Sometimes his head was between your legs and your voice reached heights he'd never heard you use before as you whispered his name, over and over and over.
The first time he saw you naked in one of those dreams, it was so vivid that Logan scared himself.
He couldn't think about anything else.
When he saw you in the hallway that day, he couldn't look at you without thinking about your nipple under his teeth the way he'd seen it so vividly the night before.
He dropped his gaze and kept walking.
There were times he'd be with Grace and feel afraid to close his eyes and lose control at the thought that the second he did, he'd see your dark bangs. Your green eyes. At the thought of imagining flushed cheeks like the ones he'd seen in his dreams and a mouth parted with pleasure, just like he'd found himself desperate to discover in real life.
What kind of sound could he pull out of you with his fingers inside you? Would it sound the same as the heights you reached when he closed his eyes?
He doesn't want to know.
He wants to know.
He doesn't want to know.
He has to know.
He'll probably never know.
.
.
.
You don't mean to overhear Grace talking to someone from the dorms when she tells her that the charity event for the youth hockey club Logan volunteers at lost its main sponsor and, with it, the venue they were planning to use.
"I could ask at work," you mumble long before you have a chance to think it through. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything. I just work at the bowling alley, and I think my boss might li-" You try to recover from the fatal mistake that is starting a conversation with Grace.
Out of nowhere, she hugs you.
"You're a lifesaver." Her smile is so genuine that you understand why John likes her. Why is he with her.
"It's not even a sure thing. I need to check what she thinks first, but I'm sure she'd be happy to donate the place for one night for the kids' hockey club." You force a smile. You know how much that club means to Logan. It's the club that paid for his skates when his mom refused. The club that introduced him to sponsors and helped him become good enough to earn a scholarship to Briar U. You're willing to swallow your pride for that.
It has nothing to do with him.
Christy, your boss, is thrilled with the idea, exactly like you knew she'd be.
Her heart has always been in the right place. That was obvious from the moment she hired you.
You volunteer for that shift because it's the right thing to do. Nobody's happy about working for free.
The place fills up quickly. Students who heard about a party the hockey house is throwing at the bowling alley. Alcohol, good music, an auction. What could possibly go wrong?
Everything, apparently.
Halfway through the night, you're full of the neon punch one of the puck bunnies made with too much vodka and not enough fruit.
The floor is sticky most of the time, which is more dangerous in a bowling alley than in most places, so you spend most of the evening with a mop in your hands. Watching everything from the sidelines.
John's eyes are on you more than you'd ever be willing to admit. He's glued to Grace's side, but he did a lot behind the scenes to make this night happen.
"That's (Y/N), she's the one who got permission for us to have the event here." Grace introduces you to Logan, which is weird enough to earn an almost instinctive laugh from him.
"We know each other from back home, Gracie." He smiles without showing those perfect teeth of his. A smile so unfamiliar that you're considering going back to your room and crying for two months.
"Oh, then how have I never seen you before? I like you even more now. We have to be friends." Grace talks constantly and with a smile at all times. Everything about her looks effortless.
Logan wasn't wrong-
In another universe, you'd probably like her.
You find yourself smiling and excusing yourself so you can go clean a completely clean corner that's far enough away for you to start breathing again.
"Nice seeing you." You hear a familiar voice.
"You too." You smile at Garrett. Logan introduced you to him at the beginning of the year, back before everything fell apart between the two of you. Garrett has always been nice. Respectful.
"It's so weird," he says suddenly.
"What's weird?" you ask curiously, wondering if you've just walked into a trap.
"Last year, you didn't even go here yet, but I felt like I knew you because he never shut up about you. 'Rosie this, Rosie that.'" He doesn't take his eyes off you, studying your expressions like you're a particularly clever hockey opponent. "Then you finally get to Briar U, and we're all happy because it feels like the puzzle that is John Logan is finally complete, you know? Everything's where it's supposed to be." He takes a drag from his cigarette. "Then you disappear, you become a taboo subject at the house, and Logan gets a girlfriend." He shrugs with an almost mischievous smile. Like he's just let you in on a secret. "Weird, don't you think?" he adds, offering you the cigarette.
"People die from those." It's the only thing you can think to say as you nod toward the cigarette in his hand.
People die from those indeed.
.
.
.
At two in the morning, you find yourself cleaning the shoe counter, sticky with alcohol and snack residue.
The only thing Christy asked of you was that she'd be able to open the place as usual the next day without it affecting business. You could understand that.
"I got it," you mumble because honestly, you didn't want to be alone with Logan after the place emptied out.
He looks at you like you've lost whatever was left of your mind, without saying a word.
The silence is unsettling, but you can't come up with a single conversation topic that would feel natural.
Every time John looks at you, it feels like there's something loaded behind his stare, like he's seconds away from exploding. You know John Logan. You know what he looks like when he's holding himself back. It was never a look directed at you. Usually his parents. Yours. Kids you went to school with. Never you. He's never hated you.
You suspect he hates you now.
Maybe you won't make it back to your room before you start crying after all.
"You're doing all this and you still won't talk to me," he says suddenly after half an hour of the two of you circling around each other.
"What?" Your confusion is genuine because this outburst is so irrational. So unlike him.
"You basically made this whole night happen, worked for free, stayed here cleaning until three in the morning, but you won't say a single word to me?" He stresses every word. His voice rises with each one.
"I didn't realize that was part of the event requirements." The sarcasm drips from you the second he starts raising his voice.
"Don't bullshit me right now, (Y/N)." He leaves no room for the dismissive tone you've spent years perfecting.
"I did it for the kids." You shrug like it's no big deal.
"You're such a liar." He rolls his eyes, contempt dripping from his voice.
"Excuse me?"
"You did it for me. Just like I'd do anything for you. At least own it." He doesn't look at you when he says it, continuing to straighten cushions on armchairs.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" you ask, dropping the mop.
"Oh, there she is." His lips curl into a smirk you can't interpret as anything but mockery.
"My life doesn't revolve around you, John. You can just say thank you and move on." You hate the tremor in your voice.
"Move on? Do you hear yourself?" He's close. You have no idea how he got from where he was standing to where he is now.
"You're clearly doing a great job of that." Your voice still won't steady. That's not like you. It's infuriating.
"A great job," he repeats.
"You have new friends now, so you think none of this matters anymore?" He gestures between the two of you.
"You're the one who told me I needed new friends." Your voice sounds desperate. Because what does he even want? What's the point? He's surrounded by new people. He meets new people every day. Every hour. You have two. You're allowed to make two new friends.
"Not instead of me, Rosie. Never instead of me." You let yourself imagine a hint of desperation in his voice.
"They're just friends, Logan, not replacements for anyone. You have those too." You feel defeated. Like you've lost the longest chess match in the world.
"Yeah," he laughs without humor, “and none of them are you.” His gaze stays locked on yours, and suddenly you can't look away.
As quickly as he moves toward you, he's gone.
Leaving you alone in the silence.
For the first time in months, you almost wish he'd stayed.
.
.
.
When Logan gets back to his room, Grace is asleep.
Like she belongs there.
He hates that the thought doesn't comfort him anymore.
He can't wait to close his eyes and find a dozen new ways to make you forgive him.
In his dreams, you always do.
Tag List:
@lushfruit @divinelyderangedmommy @daffodil-darlings @idgasb @coldheartedmar @swiftstareclipse @mikaelii @littlepippilongstocking @fictional2person @abcdefghijklmopqrstuvwxyzz @emma-m-13
Soooo, thoughts???
How are we feeling so far? Talk to me 🩵
Warnings: childhood trauma, parental addiction, lots of yearning, basically angst, angst, and more angst.
Word Count: 2.9K
Note: English isn't my first language, but unfortunately angst is. Please be KIND.
Picture Me in the Trees
When you grow up in a trailer, you learn pretty damn fast what kind of person you don't want to be.
In your case, the list is short:
Don't be an alcoholic.
Don't be poor.
Don't treat service workers like shit.
Don't yell at your kids' teachers.
You spend a lot of time thinking about how not to be like them. Like the rest of the people in the trailer park who blame the entire world for their problems. Their violence. Their addictions. The way they treat the world and the way the world treats them. Ever since you can remember, your mantra has been simple: don't be white trash. Don't remind people you're white trash. That your mom is mentally ill and spends most of her time refusing to take her medication, and your dad is addicted to gambling or drugs or both, depending on the time of year. You learn how to be the responsible adult at six, you learn how to be the main breadwinner at sixteen. And most importantly, you learn how to be disappointed in people long before you learn how to read.
You know kids your age who are just like you, and you can't stand them.
It's too much like looking in a mirror. Seeing the kid from class who hasn't showered in three days and whose mom never said a word because she didn't care enough. Or the girl who shows up with gum stuck in her hair. Or the kid whose sneakers are more worn out than any kid's sneakers should be. You don't want to get close to them. It feels contagious.
So at school, you eat alone, you let people mess with you until they get bored, you act like they're beneath you and you're beneath them, and nobody is important enough to distract you from not becoming one of them. Even though you already are, and they already are you.
Then, when you're thirteen, John Logan moves close enough to end up at your school.
He doesn't live in a trailer, but it doesn't take long for everyone to know who he is. Him and his brother. Their alcoholic mother. The garage he has to work at. People say he plays hockey. That he's got potential.
He's the first person in this godforsaken place anyone's ever said that about.
No one's ever said you have potential.
You kind of hate him for it.
"You don't like me." That's the first thing John Logan ever says to you.
"You have the kind of name people pick when they can't be bothered to come up with a real one," you say without looking up from your book during lunch.
It's been two months since he transferred into your class, and everyone loves him and his stupid potential. You hope he breaks a leg. Or an arm. Or some other body part he might need.
You hear him laugh as he sits down.
"You need something?" Your voice comes out sharp, like you're waiting for the punchline. Waiting for the reminder that you're somehow less than him. You always prepare yourself for it.
"Lunch." He shrugs like it's the most obvious answer in the world.
"Your friends don't want you sitting with them?" You raise an eyebrow and nod toward the loudest table in the cafeteria.
"You're my friend," he says, like it's common knowledge.
"We'll see about that." Because nobody's ever shown much interest in being around you before, so you've never really had to practice telling people you're not interested.
He eats beside you in silence while you keep reading your book.
You decide that maybe you don't hate him and his stupid potential quite as much as you thought.
.
.
.
By the time you're sixteen, you and John Logan are inseparable.
You know everything there is to know about hockey, and he knows all the characters from your favorite books. When nobody else is around, you talk about your dreams. Sometimes, hearing him talk about the NHL and Briar U makes you worry yours are too small. Most days, you're lucky if you can think as far ahead as next week.
When things get too hard at home, you sneak over to Logan's house without his mom knowing.
Most of the time, your parents don't even notice you're gone.
You lie on the floor together in silence. At first, it used to make you uncomfortable. Eventually, you learn that being quiet with Logan is almost as nice as talking to him.
"I wish they were dead," you whisper. It's something you've never said out loud before.
"Don't say that," he says, but there's no judgment in his voice. No pity, either.
"Sorry," you blurt out, like you'd wished him dead instead.
He just lays his hand over yours, and you feel his fingers moving in slow circles over your pulse.
You hate crying in front of people.
With Logan, it's okay.
.
.
.
At seventeen, Logan is hooking up with half your grade.
It feels like there isn't a girl who hasn't been with him or wants to be with him. Your lunch breaks in the cafeteria have become crowded with girls popping bubble gum and reapplying lipstick. Talking about hockey games to impress him and describing, in far more detail than your ears would ever like, all the things they'd love to do to him.
Sometimes you eat in the bathroom, like you used to before he started going here.
You spend your days juggling school and three jobs.
Logan spends his days juggling school, hockey practice, and girls.
It's like he discovered a whole new world and can't get enough of it.
He drags you to parties where you don't drink, begs you to come to his games even though he barely pays attention to you once you're there, and acts like the biggest douchebag you've ever met.
"What are you mad about this time?" The question has been a joke between the two of you for as long as you've known each other. He asks, you roll your eyes, and tell him about whatever stupid thing happened that day.
"I found out my best friend is an asshole and forgot my birthday," you say with a forced smile, and the smile immediately falls from his face.
"Shit, (Y/N), I'm so sorry," he mumbles. You recognize the panic instantly and almost feel sorry for him.
"It's okay, Log. It's not like there's anything to celebrate anyway. I start work in twenty minutes," you say with a shrug. No big deal.
He doesn't like that answer. You can tell by the way his brows pull together.
"It really is okay," you say, trying to make your smile look more genuine, because you've learned that making Logan worry makes you feel bad about yourself.
"Can you give me a ride?" you ask, because Logan already has his license and his mom's old pickup truck.
"Sure," he mumbles.
When you get home exhausted from your shift at the grocery store in town, you find a box sitting on your bed with a small beaded bracelet inside.
Saw this and thought of you. Happy birthday, Rosie.
He's using the nickname he gave you a few years ago when he decided you were prickly.
The bracelet reminds you of the ocean because of the tiny seashells.
You decide it's the prettiest gift you've ever received.
.
.
.
At eighteen, your life goes to hell.
Which is saying something, because it wasn't exactly great to begin with.
"I've been looking everywhere for you. I thought something happened when you didn't show up today," you hear Logan call from beneath the tree you're sitting in.
You don't answer. Fuck. You were hoping he wouldn't find you. You don't want to say it out loud.
You hear him climbing up. You've done this dozens, maybe hundreds of times. Part of you wants him to fall. Even though you don't want him to fall. You never want him to fall.
"What happened?" he asks as he settles beside you on the familiar branch you're still surprised can hold both of you so easily.
You still don't answer.
"(Y/N), I need you to tell me what happened so I can fix it," he says with complete seriousness, as if your life is something that can be fixed. As if any of it matters anymore.
"He found my money, Log. The money I saved. He found the box." Your voice sounds weaker than you're used to. You fight back another wave of tears, even though you're pretty sure there aren't enough tears in the world for the kind of sadness you're feeling.
"What?" he murmurs, and you watch understanding dawn across his face. "Fuck, (Y/N), I can come with you and make him gi-"
He starts a speech you don't want to hear.
"What are you talking about, John?" you cut him off. "He gambled it away or drank it away. Who knows where that money is now? It's gone."
You hate how broken you are.
Years of work. Most of it went toward keeping the trailer running, but a small part of it went into a little box meant for college. For the dream of going to Briar U together.
"That's not okay," he mutters.
"Call social services," you nearly roll your eyes.
"I'm serious, (Y/N). You can't just keep eating this shit," he says, sounding frustrated, which only makes you angrier.
"Okay, I'll remember that next time he steals my entire savings. Seriously, Log, what exactly do you want me to do?" You look him in the eye for the first time since he climbed onto your branch. You have a sudden urge to shove him off it, and an equally strong urge to hug him because you know he's worried about you.
You don't want him to worry.
You never want him to worry.
He always worries.
"I can't go to Briar U." It's barely above a whisper.
"Of course you can. We'll figure it out," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Logan, the scholarship doesn't mean anything without the money I saved. I can't. You know I can't. The numbers don't work." You can feel the tears coming again.
He climbs down from the tree, and you follow after him.
"I wish they were dead," you say, voicing that horrible thought to him for the second time.
He doesn't correct you this time.
.
.
.
At twenty, you start your first year at Briar U.
Logan starts his second.
You didn't have a choice but to wait. To save up all over again. To work even harder that year.
What you didn't account for was John Logan's new life. This new version of him you don't quite recognize anymore.
He's always been popular. Always been surrounded by people. But he used to be yours first and theirs second.
Now he's found his people. The ones he doesn't look at and see the life he could have. The ones who help him dream.
You were never a part of his dreams. You could only ever smile when he told you about them.
"I wish you weren't so afraid all the time." He says it at the end of a party he dragged you to, half drunk, half sober, while the two of you sit out on the porch of the hockey house.
"Afraid of what, exactly?" You try to smile, but he's too serious. Too deliberate. You haven't had a casual conversation in months. Maybe years.
"Life, Rosie," he sighs.
You stay quiet.
"I'm not afraid of life," you say after a few seconds, trying to convince him. Maybe yourself.
"You're afraid to drink. You're afraid of parties. You're afraid of people," he says. "You're afraid to dream because you're scared it won't come true, and you're scared you'll end up like them." He means your parents and for what feels like the first time, he's saying what he really thinks of you.
"Wow, John. Tell me what you really think." You feel your jaw tighten as you glance down at your watch.
"See? You can't even hear it. And I'm scared to tell you because I'm scared you'll fall apart." His voice is almost desperate.
"And who died and made you my therapist?" you ask, furious that he thinks he gets to talk to you like that.
"You never listen. It's impossible to talk to you." He drops down into one of the porch chairs.
"One year at college, surrounded by people who wouldn't look at you twice if you weren't carrying a hockey stick, and now you think you're better than me? Wow." You can feel the tears coming, but you hold them back.
"Better than you? What the hell are you talking about, (Y/N)?" His voice rises.
"You clearly don't think my lifestyle is up to your standards anymore."
"You're fucking crazy," he mutters.
And both of you freeze the second the words leave his mouth. Because you can see the immediate regret on his face. He knows that's a sensitive spot.
Because of your mom.
Because he knows how terrified you are of ending up like her.
"I didn't mean-"
"Yes you did. I'll see you around, John." Your voice is firm enough to keep him rooted in place instead of following after you as you walk away.
People have said a lot of cruel things to you in your life.
You never expected to cry over something John Logan said.
.
.
.
You miss him.
All the fucking time.
Cutting John Logan out of your life sometimes feels like losing a limb. Not something minor, like an appendix. More like waking up one day with only one arm after spending your whole life with two. The truth is, life goes on. You study and work and even become friends with your roommate. You smile and laugh and sometimes think about all the things you would've told Logan. Because even now, when something happens, he's still the first person you want to tell.
It's been two months.
Two months without a word, without a joke, without a sarcastic comment.
Even during the year you weren't at Briar U, Logan made sure to text every day and call at least once a week. He made sure to remind you that the year would pass and you'd be in the same place again and everything would go back to normal.
But nothing is normal.
Because Logan is finally in a good place.
And you're probably crazy.
You see him in the hallway sometimes, and he nods at you the way people nod at an acquaintance they don't really want to talk to.
John Logan, the guy who used to climb trees after you and try to convince you to go to parties. Now he's just another guy you used to know.
The bracelet he gave you years ago is still on your wrist, worn down but better taken care of than most of your belongings. You play with it sometimes. Turn it back and forth between your fingers, carefully, because you're afraid it'll break.
You try to remember if you've ever given Logan a gift.
If he has something that reminds him of you enough to make him want to cry.
The next time you talk, he's pacing back and forth outside your dorm building, not noticing you're there.
You can't help smiling.
"Need something?" you ask, and the amusement in your voice disappears when he stops and looks at you like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.
"Oh, (Y/N)," he mutters. "I didn't think you'd be here."
"I live here," you say with a shrug.
"So does Grace," he says quietly.
You realize he isn't pacing because he's trying to work up the nerve to talk to you.
He's pacing because he's trying to work up the nerve to talk to someone else.
You nod once and start walking away.
"What do you want from me?" he asks, sounding lost as he reaches out to stop you.
"Nothing, John. I was on my way to the library," you say, looking him in the eye and trying not to let him see how much this hurts.
"She's my girlfriend. Grace." His voice is quiet. His eyes aren't on you anymore.
You can spend your whole life waiting for heartbreak and still be blindsided when it comes. John Logan manages to catch you by surprise.
"Congratulations," you hear yourself say, but your voice sounds strange, and the smile you're wearing is really just there to ease his guilt.
"She's really nice. You'd like her," he mumbles.
"I'm sure I would. I'm late for a study group," you mumble back, glancing at your watch.
You're never late. The two of you both know that.
You're always early because you're terrified of being rude.
You're always early because the people who raised you were always late.
"I'll see you around?" he asks, sounding almost desperate.
"Sure, Logan," you say with a nod and keep walking.
.
.
.
By the time tears start running down your face on the way to the goddamn library,
you know you're late.
Hey guys,
Thank you so much for reading!
I honestly didn't expect to get this attached to these two, but somewhere along the way they completely took over my brain. I'm already thinking about a part 2, which is probably a terrible sign for my productivity but a great sign for Logan and (Y/N) 😭I'd love to hear what you thought 💙
summary logan and hannah accidentally walk in on dean making out with his tutor.
contains suggestive content, making out, dean really likes reader's boobs, they get caught (shocker...), down bad dean, mutual pining wc 4k
a/n ive been too busy to sit down and write but this was so fun and silly to write!! likes and reblogs are appreciated :)!!
"I'm just tutoring him."
"That's what Hannah said," Allie states, tone laced with sarcasm. "Now look where she is."
You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the assumption, more so annoyed by the fact that she may be right, even if you don't want to admit it.
You've been tutoring Dean for the past two months, and what starts off as a horrible agreement that you regretted with your entire being turned into an anticipated two hours study that you now look forward to.
Ironic.
At first, you did it for the extra cash. It's easy money, you couldn't refuse the tempting offer when you were already struggling to get by with a part time job. Not only did it pay better, but it consumed less of your time.
It's a good deal, you couldn't pass it down when Dean was practically begging on his knees for you to accept it. He once sent over his hockey teammates just to cozy you up into accepting his offer, causing a whole humiliation ritual in the cafeteria while he watched from the side with puppy eyes and a pout formed across his lips.
It was a ridiculous sight, made you fume for days before finally calming down and eventually agreeing to help him. You regretted it in an instant, watching as a cocky, taunting smile smears all over his face, screaming at you to get away and avoid trouble.
But you didn't. Instead, you showed up, even if you dreaded it, and considered it the worst part of your day. In your defense, Dean is very annoying, and wouldn't take you seriously unless you flashed him a life-threatening glare that would end him in the spot.
He'd pretend not to understand things just to rile you up and make you scold him, almost as if he enjoyed it, amused by the way your face twists into a sour expression. Then comes apologizing, where his voice lowers into a whisper, and you'd fight the urge not to fold over the hushed apologies he mutters to you while tracing soothing patterns to your hand.
You don't know when, or how it starts, but the dreaded sessions suddenly turn into something you look forward to. Two hours oscillate into three then eventually four, until you both lose track of time, and forget the entire reason to you being there.
You hate it, how easy going he is, and how his dimples form when he flashes you a smile, or chuckles at a stupid joke you make just to earn a reaction out of him. Or how your stomach flutters with butterflies when he sits too close, or teases you with that taunting tone that makes you melt.
You hate how easy it is for him to be near you, when you're short of breath half of the time he's around. It's absurd how the compliments he gives you roll off the tongue, like it's natural for him, like he doesn't flirt with half of the girls on campus.
He probably thinks it's some joke, something that started and now you can't seem to get away from it. You know you shouldn't, this is Dean Di Laurentis, everyone knows he's trouble, and you shouldn't have let him cross your boundaries, or get to you with a few flirtatious comments, but somehow he did, and now you're in too deep to end things.
So the least you can do right now is deny it. Deny anything even happened, even though your friends can see right through your lies.
"Like I said," you start, "Nothing's going on between us, I'm simply tutoring him."
"Oh, for fuck' sake." Allie shoots back, "The whole campus thinks you're dating. You know how serious that is for Dean Di Laurentis?"
"It's just rumors, nothing more. People thinking we're together doesn't mean that we are." You mumble, rolling your eyes with offense. "You wouldn't catch me with Dean Di Laurentis even if my life depends on it."
"I call bullshit." Hannah chants from the side, shifting the attention to her.
"Hannah!" You shout, as Allie perks from her seat in agreement. "You're supposed to take my side, why are you feeding into her delusion?!"
"It's not delusion if everyone sees it," Hannah shrugs her shoulders, approaching your bed. "C'mon, I'm dating his best friend, that man never stops talking about you."
"You're lying," Allie gasps, scooting close to Hannah as she throws herself next to her. Her gaze shifts back to you, eyebrows pinching with frustration. "She never tells me stuff!"
"That's because nothing happens." You reason, exhaling with fake annoyance. "We're barely even friends, I doubt he thinks of me like that."
"Calling bullshit again," Hannah's head tilts towards you, not believing a word you muttered. "Have you seen the way that man speaks about you?"
"Stop it!" Allie slaps Hannah's side, excitment visible on her face. "Tell me about it! he mentioned her often?"
"She's all he talks about," Hannah turns back to Allie, ignoring your presence and pretending you're not even there. "Once he stayed by my side for an entire party just to ask about her interests."
"He did that?" You mutter, feigning oblivion to the teasing smile Hannah flashes you. "Okay, why are you talking as if I'm not even here?"
"Oh, come on you have to admit, he likes you." Allie chimes in, "I've never not seen Dean Di Laurentis not have sex at a party. What do you mean he gave that up just to talk about you?"
"Okay," you mumble, slightly convinced. You settle for shaking off that feeling, "That doesn't mean anything, he can, not have sex if he wants, how does that involve me?"
"I need to knock some sense into her," Allie huffs, falling back into the bed. "Do something, Hannah."
"I tried," Hannah pouts, joining Allie's side with disappointment. "She's such an idiot."
"Hey!" Your brows pinch with annoyance, as you sling your backpack over your shoulder. "Anyways, I'm leaving. Do you guys need anything?"
"Where are you going?" Hannah questions, sitting up along with Allie.
"I have a tutoring session with Dean." You reply.
"Oh my God." Allie says under her breath.
"Wait, I'm coming with." Hannah gets up, heading towards her room to grab her stuff.
"Are you going in that?" Allie questions, gaze flickering to the baggy shirt covering all your curves.
"What's wrong with it?" You ask, glancing down as you grab into the hems of it.
"Dress up a little, will you?" Allie groans, grabbing into you as she walks towards her closet.
"You're acting as if I'm going to a party." You mumble, face scrunching with confusion when she throws a pink, spaghetti strapped top over to you.
"Wear this." She orders, observing you with anticipation.
You don't argue, because doing so will only lead to more arguing, and Allie won't give up unless you admit defeat. Instead, you sigh, taking off your shirt and throw the soft material over your head.
It... complements you. Definitely not appropriate for a tutoring session, but you know exactly what Allie intents when she handed it over to you. It scrunches around your chest, showing a bit of cleavage, and it displays all your curves, curling at your waist, and showing the sliver of skin around your stomach.
Then, before you can argue, she throws a denim skirt in your direction, lips pressing into a a thin line as she waits for you to take off your pants.
You do. It's not like you really have a choice.
Your pants slide off your legs easily, soon replaced by the skirt she handed you, which complements the top well. It rests comfortably around your hips, the length of it reaching just below your inner thighs, covering enough for you to not pick a fight.
"I still don't think this is appropriate for a tutoring session." You start, admiring yourself in the mirror.
"Oh, shut it." She huffs, grabbing a necklace and a few bracelets for you to wear. "Here, put these on, I'll find you a pair of sneakers that match with your outfit."
"That's not needed!" You shout, but she ignores it as she digs deep into her closet, only coming back up when she pulls out a white pair of shoes, decorated with a bit of pink.
"Here." She offers them to you, waiting for you to put them on.
"What's taking you so–" Hannah's sentence cuts short as she stills in her spot, taking a moment to admire your outfit. "Oh."
"It's too much, isn't it?" You complain, ready to slide off your top.
But before you can proceed with your action, Hannah perks up again. "No wait!" she says, approaching you. "You look amazing."
"Hannah." Your lips form into a pout, shoulders relaxing with defeat.
"I'm not sure Dean can handle all that." Allie murmurs, checking you out with an amused expression spread all over her face. "You look so sexy, holy shit."
"You did your big one, Al." Hannah shoots back, fist bumping Allie with her attention still glued to you.
"So dramatic," you roll your eyes, failing to hide the smile smothered across your lips. "Should we leave?"
"Oh, yeah." Hannah nods, "We definitely should."
"Is it too late to go back home?" You anxiously look back at Hannah, who's a moment away from knocking on the door.
"Probably," Hannah shrugs her shoulders, glimpsing between you and the door. "Dean's expecting you any second now, Garrett said he's camping by the door for you."
"But–" You start, cutting your sentence short when Hannah sends you a death glare.
With no hesitation, Hannah knocks on the door, barely giving you time to process the gesture before the door's wide open.
Your eyes widen with shock at how quickly the door unlatches, gaze instantly shifting to Dean, whos eyes land on Hannah with a tight-lipped smile that displays his dimples.
"Wellsy!" He leans against the door, feighning surprise, as if he hasn't been waiting for your arrival for the past hour. His attention lands on you, breath cutting short when his eyes lock with yours. He mutters your name, deliberate, quiet, if you weren't paying such close attention, you would've missed it. "Hi."
"Hey."
Tension seeps into the air, and you're sure it's obvious in the way your body tenses, stilling in your spot as Dean's eyes travel from your head, all the way down your legs, then back up again. You fight the urge to come up with an excuse as to why you're dressed up today, but settled on silence when Dean huffs out a ragged breath, one he didn't know he was holding.
"I was waiting for you." He doesn't think when he speaks, mouth moving faster than his brain could process. He clears his throat, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red as he realizes what he said, quickly correcting himself. "Since you're tutoring me. I wasn't sure if you wanted it to take place here, or maybe in the library, since–"
"You don't have to explain yourself," You nervously scratch the back of your neck, an awkward chuckle tumbling past your lips. "I'll make up for it, since I'm a bit late today, sorry."
"Oh, it's totally fine." He emphasizes the 'totally', nodding his head with comprehension. "Should we..." he trails off, stepping to the side. "Come on in."
"About time," Hannah rolls her eyes, walking past Dean into the house. He almost chuckles, face growing serious when you follow behind your friend, nervously fidgeting with yours fingers.
Logan perks up from the couch at the sight of you, tilting his head back as a sigh of relief escapes his throat. "Ugh, finally."
"Hi," you wave, chuckling even though you're confused. Dean closes the door, following behind you as you step up the stairs.
"I'm glad you're here." Logan states before you can disappear, continuing when your eyebrows pinch with confusion. "I've never seen someone this excited to study, he's mentioned you like a million times in the past hour alone."
"John Logan." Dean's tone laces with embarrassment, the threat barely heard through his gritted teeth.
"Oh, be nice to him," you joke, glancing towards Dean from over your shoulder, who's far too busy observing the way your hips sway back and forth to pay your gaze the attention.
The walk up the stairs feels like an eternity, but you eventually get to Dean's room, door instantly clicking shut once you're both inside.
Dean leans against the door, taking a moment to admire as you throw yourself on the bed, making yourself comfortable as you grab out your school stuff. Your head shoots up with confusion once you take notice, lips jutting into a slight pout as you utter your next words.
"Are you not sitting down?"
You ignore the tension cutting through when he flashes you a lazy smile, taunting, yet teasing, tugging at the strings of your heart and making your stomach flutter with butterflies. Your gaze flickers back to your supplies, taking a deep breath to get a hold of yourself.
Why's it so difficult to control yourself?
Dean doesn't say a word, simply walking over to you before he positions himself next to you. He sits close, too close you can smell his musky cologne that impales all your senses, and feel his breath as it lightly fans over your exposed arms.
You cut to the chase, starting your tutoring session like you normally do. Everything's going smoothly, and you're nearing the end of it, but something else is weighing down your chest.
You can clearly feel Dean's gaze on you, burning holes through your skin and flustering you into a mess. Your words stammer past your lips, and a deep breath drags out before you're fed up, finally looking up from the textbook. Your eyes shift to Dean, who's propped against his elbows, too comfortable to move, or take his eyes off of you.
"Someone's paying close attention." You tilt your head, tone filling with sarcasm. Dean laughs at the abrupt change of atmosphere, head leaning back for a moment before his eyes are on you again.
"For sure." He goes along with the 'joke', entertained by the sassiness laced in your voice.
"What did I just say?" You question, your words more of a challenge.
"Don't put me in the spot." He cooes, and if not for how annoyed you are, you would've folded in the spot.
"You're not paying attention!" You state, causing the boy to scrunch his nose with defeat.
"Alright, I'm sorry." He admits, barely earning a smile out of you. "I'll try to pay attention."
"And what's got your attention, Di Laurentis?"
"Something." He says, as he fidgets with the sheets covering the bed.
"And what would that something be?"
His gaze flickers to your cleavage, and it's swift, you would've missed it if you aren't paying such close attention. It's not on purpose. his face turns pale as soon as it happens, and he fight the urge to come up with an excuse as to why he looked, and why he did it right as you asked.
But you know. Deep down you know what's distracting him, and keeping him from paying attention.
"Oh." You mumble. It's barely coherent, but Dean still hears it, cursing under his breath in reaction.
"I'm..." His eyes force shut, head dipping with shame. "I'm trying really hard not to look."
"Wow," you chuckle, entertained by how guilty he seems. "Aren't you the gentleman?"
At that, Dean laughs, tension off his shoulder as his eyes travel back to you. "Trying to be," he reasons, voice lowering into a whisper. "But it's really hard when you look this pretty."
Your breath gets caught in your throat, and it's difficult to control the corners of your lips, tugging into a smile, barely visible, but it's there, enough for Dean to take it as a sign.
He inches close to you, leaning his head down as he traces small circles to your hand, ticklish, and making goosebumps breakout across your arms. You take his action as a challenge, leaning forward so there's barely any distance separating you.
He whispers your name, exhaling through his nose. Like your mere presence is tempting him, pulling at his strings. His gaze flickers down to your lips, keeping contact for a brief second before his eyes lock with yours again.
"You should probably tell me to stop." He states, forehead brushing against yours. His fingers trail up your arms, deliberate, yet casual, halting around the spaghetti strings of your top. He toys with the material, breath shuddering when his knuckles make contact with your bare skin.
"Probably," you repeat, fingers finding the curve of Dean's jaw. Your tone drops to match his, breath shaking as you mutter your next words. "But what if I don't want you to?"
That's the only sign Dean needs.
Dean ceases the distance separating you, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss, needy, and so desperate, it knocks a breath out of you. Your hands move to the back of his neck, grasping onto his hair as he kisses you numb, tugging and nibbling at your lips.
He bites down hard enough, the pressure of the action making you whimper, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. His tongue meets yours halfway, the warmness of his mouth engulfing the inside of yours in an instant.
Dean's hands trail wherever he can get them, traveling from your waist to your stomach, to your back, and back on your hips when you moan into the kiss. His fingernails dig into the skin, applying enough pressure for it to leave a mark, and the mere thought of that turns you on.
Your body leans into the touch, back arching as he rolls your hips against his knee. The fraction makes you feel funny, tingly all over, he doesn't give you a chance to process it before he does it again, entertained by the mess he creates out of you.
You mewl into the kiss, crying out in pleasure when he disconnects the kiss, not giving you a chance to complain before his lips are back on your skin again. Only this time, he kisses down your throat, licking and nipping at the curve of your jaw, then slowly kissing his way down your neck, where his teeth graze the delicate skin with so much want, you can feel the desperation in his action.
Dean groans against your skin, pressing slick, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones, while one of his hands messages the exposed flesh of your cleavage. He kisses his way down, taking a mouthful of your chest the moment he has the chance to.
The kisses he litters to your chest are soft, the sensation like feathers on your skin. He presses another kiss, grazing his teeth over the flesh, licking the same spot to soothe any pain away.
"Dean," You whimper, head falling back as you press his face into your chest, chasing after the pleasure he's making you feel. "Please."
"Please what?" He mumbles, kissing your chest once more before he straightens again, sitting up as one of his knees separate your legs, giving him enough space to stand in between.
His hand caresses soft circles to your cheek, now hovering over you, with his legs dipping into the mattress. Then, with a thumb to your chin, he forces your mouth open, pressing a kiss to your lips, licking a stripe of your mouth before he repeats it again.
"God, you know how much I wanted this?" He says in between kisses, gaze growing hazy. "Wanted," another kiss, "you."
You don't say anything, simply letting him tilt your head as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your lips, licking into your mouth and savoring every bit you're offering him. He kisses you like a starved man, like he's never done this before, like he's been dying to feel your lips on his.
"So fucking pretty for me." He says, slowly kissing down your jaw, this time lingering when he sucks on the skin, to mark you for everyone else to see. "You dress up for me, darling? Dolled up all for me."
You whine out in embarrassment, but that doesn't stop the pleasure surging through your body, traveling to in between your legs when Dean's hands reach under your top, massaging the plush skin and pressing you closer than you already are.
He kisses you again, this time deepening it to savor the taste on his tongue. He tilts his head to the side, taking your upper lip between his, fingers occupied with the clip of your bra.
And just as he's about to unclip it the door clicks open.
"Tucker told me to bring over some–" in front of the door stands Logan, with a bunch of snacks scattered on a tray. He almost drops the stuff in his hold, mouth gaping to speak, but falling into utter silence instead.
Your attention shifts to Logan in an instant, and you have to process the situation for a second before realization takes over.
Fuck.
You don't think as you push Dean off of you, causing the boy to lose his balance and fall off the bed. You try to grab onto his shirt, but it happens too fast, he lands on the ground with a thud.
A gasp escapes your throat, attention shifting from Logan to the now stretched out shirt in your grasp, with Dean, a mess on the ground.
Dean's eyes follow yours, flashing his friend a guilty look that tells Logan all he needs to know.
As for Logan, he's awkwardly standing by the door, gaze flickering from Dean to you. His head tilts, and he's contemplating whether right now is a good time to speak, maybe confront you both?
And just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, they do.
Hannah's giggles bounce off the walls as she approaches Dean's room with a plate Logan seemingly forgot.
"You forgot the–" Hannah starts, words dying in her throat when she's met with the awkward position you and Dean are in. "Cashews."
"Fuck." You mumble under your breath, falling into the bed with defeat.
"Are we..." Logan trails off, pointing between you two. "Are we interrupting something?"
"Huh?" Dean starts, too hazed by what just happened to answer. "I–"
"No," you beat him to replying, violently shaking your head. "We were just studying."
"Mhm, just studying." Dean agrees, reaching for the hand you offered him earlier, for the mere purpose of balancing. It doesn't help your situation, causing you to instantly pull back your arm when both Hannah and Logan glance down. "I'll just, stay on the floor."
"Yeah, right." Hannah says, not convinced whatsoever.
"We should probably leave," Logan turns to Hannah, nudging her side as he continue. "We'll leave you to it."
"You are explaining yourself as soon as we're home." Hannah whisper-yells to you, as if the two boys aren't still listening.
"Explain what?" You whisper back.
"This." Hannah points to you, eyes traveling down to your chest, and Dean on the floor, a total mess, he can't even pick himself back up.
You fix your shirt, covering Dean's face with your palm. "Don't look at him."
Hannah's lips tug into a smile, amused by how much you're trying to prove a point.
"He's all yours." Hannah's eyebrows raise with intrigue, giving Logan the signal to leave.
"It's not what it looks like!" You shout, but they don't give you a chance to justify yourself, shutting the door before you can continue.
And through the walls, you can hear Hannah yelling "Guess what we just fucking saw?"
Right, so now everyone will know that happened, no matter how hard you try to deny it.
Isn't this great?
"They left without giving us the snacks." Dean's lips jut into a pout, growing serious when you flash him a death glare.
"Dean Di Laurentis."
"That would be me." He scratches his chin, avoiding your gaze.
Garrett Graham should have known better than to leave the bathroom door unlocked.
Not because he was careless, exactly. More because he lived in a hockey house full of idiots, and privacy was a concept that existed only in theory. Still, he was in the shower, the water running, steam curling through the bathroom, and he had at least assumed he was safe for another five minutes.
He was wrong.
You pushed the bathroom door open without knocking, calling his name as you stepped inside. “Garrett, have you seen my,”
The words died in your throat.
Because Garrett was there. Very much there. In the shower. Water slicking down his shoulders, his hair dark and damp, one hand braced against the tile while he turned toward the sound of your voice.
And you saw everything.
Your brain stopped working immediately.
So did your feet.
Garrett, for his part, froze with the soap still in his hand and one brow lifting in slow, horrified realization.
Neither of you moved for a full second.
Then he blinked. “Well,” he said, voice low and rough over the sound of the water, “this is embarrassing.”
You stared, absolutely incapable of pretending you had not just walked into the most distracting view in the history of the world. “I,” Your voice cracked. You cleared your throat. “I did not mean to,”
“No kidding.”
You dragged one hand over your face, still standing just inside the bathroom door like a complete idiot. “You did not lock it.”
“I’m in a house with three guys.”
“I knocked.”
He gave you a flat look. “You walked in anyway.”
You opened your mouth, then shut it again because, unfortunately, he had a point. A very unfair point. A point that looked annoyingly good with water running down his chest.
Garrett watched you take in the sight of him,because he absolutely knew you were,and the corner of his mouth twitched.
Oh, he was enjoying this.
That made your embarrassment burn hotter, which only made you stare harder, which only made him grin wider.
“You’re staring,” he said.
You snapped your eyes to his face. “I am not.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “Sweetheart.”
The way he said it,lazy, amused, knowing,made your stomach flip.
You crossed your arms over your chest as if that would help. It did not. “You are standing there naked.”
His grin went sharp at the edges. “You did not seem to mind.”
You made a noise that was somewhere between outrage and a laugh. “Garrett.”
“What?”
“That is not a fair thing to say when you are literally in the shower.”
He tipped his head back under the water for a second, then looked at you again through wet lashes. “You came into the bathroom.”
“I was looking for my shampoo.”
He glanced at the bottle sitting on the sink. “That one?”
You looked over, then scowled. “Yes.”
“Uh-huh.”
You could feel heat crawling up your neck, and the worst part was that you were not even sorry for looking. You were very, very sorry for getting caught looking.
Garrett set the soap down and folded his arms loosely over his chest, water running in thin lines down his skin. “Are you planning to keep standing there and ogle me, or are you going to hand me a towel and be normal?”
You stared at him. “You are impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, “you still came in.”
That should have been illegal. The smugness. The tone. The fact that he looked like that and knew exactly what he was doing to you.
You reached blindly for the towel hanging on the hook by the sink and tossed it at him. “Here.”
He caught it easily, still smiling. “Thanks.”
You stayed where you were, though now you were very aware of the fact that your heartbeat had gone from normal to a full-on sprint.
Garrett shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, toweling off his hair with one hand. He was still wet, still warm, still devastatingly distracting, and the sight of him made your brain short-circuit all over again.
He caught you looking for the second time.
This time he didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “You’re doing it again.”
You lifted your chin. “Doing what?”
“That thing with your eyes.”
“What thing?”
“The one where you look like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.”
You made a strangled sound and reached for the counter to steady yourself, mostly because you had suddenly forgotten how your own legs worked. Garrett noticed immediately, of course. Garrett noticed everything when it came to you.
His expression softened just a fraction.
“Hey,” he said, quieter now. “You okay?”
You looked up at him and immediately regretted having eyes at all. “No.”
A slow smile spread across his face.
Not smug this time. More pleased. More dangerous.
“Yeah?” he asked.
You should have said something clever. Something sharp. Something that sounded like you still had the upper hand.
Instead, you just stared at him and said, honestly, “You are very distracting.”
That made him laugh.
It was low and warm and impossible not to love. He stepped closer, stopping just in front of you, his towel slung loose around his waist, water still dripping from his hair. He smelled like soap and steam and Garrett, and you hated how much you wanted to lean into him.
“You walked into the bathroom,” he said. “And I’m the distracting one?”
“Absolutely.”
His eyes dropped to your mouth for a second before returning to your face. “You sure about that?”
Your stomach dropped.
“Garrett,” you warned, but it came out weaker than you wanted.
He tilted his head. “What?”
“You are being smug on purpose.”
“I’m always smug.”
“No, you’re being extra smug.”
“I think this situation calls for it.”
You stared at him, trying very hard not to melt into the tile floor.
He reached out, slow enough that you could have stopped him if you wanted to, and brushed his knuckles lightly along your jaw. His touch was warm and careful, a ridiculous contrast to the teasing in his voice.
“You really were checking me out,” he said quietly.
You went red instantly. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
He smiled like he knew better. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m aware.”
“And standing very close.”
“You’re the one who came over here.”
His hand slid to your waist, not pushing, just resting there, as if he wanted you to know he was there and had no intention of moving unless you wanted him to. “That’s not what I meant.”
Your breath caught.
The air in the bathroom felt different now, tighter somehow, the steam wrapped around both of you like a secret.
You looked up at him. “Then what did you mean?”
His thumb moved once against your side, small and absent and completely unfair. “I mean,” he said, voice lower now, “you walked in, saw something you weren’t supposed to see, and now you can’t stop looking at me.”
Your heart thudded hard.
“Garrett.”
“What?”
“You are so full of yourself.”
He bent just slightly, enough that his mouth was near your ear, and said, “And you’re still here.”
Your face went warm all over.
You should have stepped back.
Instead, you stayed exactly where you were, looking up at him like he was a bad decision you had already made twice.
His hand tightened briefly at your waist, then relaxed again. “You want me to stop teasing you?”
You swallowed.
The answer should have been yes. It should have been obvious. But the truth sat right on the edge of your tongue, heavy and electric.
“No,” you admitted.
Garrett’s expression shifted.
Not by much. Just enough.
The flirtatious edge in his face softened into something deeper, something that made your pulse race for a very different reason. “Yeah?” he murmured.
You nodded once.
He looked at you for a long second, like he was deciding something.
Then he leaned down and kissed you.
It was not rushed. Not messy. Not anything like the kind of reckless thing that could have happened if one of you had been less careful. It was slow and warm and deliberate, his hand steady at your waist while your own fingers curled into the towel at his side.
The kiss made your knees weak instantly.
Garrett noticed, because of course he did, and made a quiet sound against your mouth that felt far too pleased with itself.
When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead rested lightly against yours. “Still think I’m distracting?”
You let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. “You know the answer.”
He smiled. “Good.”
You looked at him, stunned by how quickly the teasing had melted into something softer, heavier, more real. “That is not fair,” you whispered.
“What isn’t?”
“Looking like that and kissing me like that and then acting like I’m the one causing problems.”
His grin came back, slower this time. “You did walk into the bathroom.”
“You were naked.”
“And you survived.”
You put a hand against his chest and pushed lightly, though not enough to actually move him. “You are the worst.”
“I’m the worst?” He sounded offended. “You came in, stared at me like I was a snack, and now you’re blaming me?”
You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension just enough to make the whole room feel warm again.
Garrett dipped his head and kissed the corner of your mouth this time. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
“I am not cute.”
He looked at you, dead serious. “You absolutely are.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave you away. “You are so annoying.”
“And yet you’re still standing here.”
That time, you had no comeback.
Garrett’s expression softened when he noticed. He nudged your chin gently with his fingers, making you look at him. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
His voice dropped into something quieter, more intimate. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to stop being nice.”
Your breath caught again, and this time there was no pretending you did not like the sound of that.
You swallowed. “Maybe I want that.”
Garrett went still.
Then his mouth curved slowly, all confidence and heat and trouble. “Yeah?” he said again, and this time the word sounded entirely different.
You stared at him, your pulse hammering.
He moved in closer, his forehead brushing yours again. “Then maybe you should stop pretending you came in here for shampoo.”
You glanced at the bottle on the counter, then back at him, and he laughed when he saw the look on your face.
“Fine,” you muttered. “I did not come in here for shampoo.”
“I knew it.”
You huffed and looked away, only for Garrett to catch your chin and turn your face back toward his. “Stay,” he said quietly.
The word was simple.
The way he said it was not.
Your breath caught, and all the teasing faded into something that felt more dangerous than anything you had walked in on. More intimate. More real.
So you stayed.
And Garrett, still damp and warm and smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, kissed you again like he had no intention of letting the moment end anytime soon.
SUMMARY: A frustrated figure skater who transferred from Illinois has only one goal: keeping her athletic scholarship this season, and she’ll do anything to change the way people on campus see her — especially if it means improving her image for pairs skating. Even if it costs her a fake relationship with the same person who spread the nickname that turned her into “Ice Heart.”
WARNING: SMUT AHEAD CONTENT RELATED TO SEX, RELATIONSHIPS, AND DISORDERS CONTENT CONTAINS FACTS, BUT REMEMBER THIS IS FANFICTION, IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, LEAVE!
MASTERLIST
1.2 Fucked
My legs parted instinctively. I hooked my heels against his back, pulling him closer, and tipped my head back as he trailed kisses and gentle nips along my neck. A shiver ran through me as his hands wandered over every curve of my body.
“We need to keep quiet.”
A low moan slipped from my lips, but he didn’t seem to care. In one firm motion, he lifted me onto the counter and started unbuttoning my jeans, sliding them down my legs.
Logan’s gaze met mine as he knelt in front of me. His lips brushed against my thighs without breaking eye contact. Caressing me over the delicate lace of my panties, he let a dangerously beautiful smile appear.
“So wet for me...” The words came out in a husky whisper as he pressed another kiss to my skin. “Always so good for me.”
When I felt his touch grow more insistent, a shiver shot through me, drawing an involuntary whimper from my lips. My head fell back.
“Johnny...”
“Want me to taste you, gorgeous? I really want to know what you taste like.” His voice reached my ears, and all I could manage in response was a hurried, embarrassed “Mhm,” which made a low laugh escape his lips. “I’m going to give you everything you want, beautiful.”
His tongue then brushed against my clit before licking a stripe through my wetness. Just as I started nearing my climax, a knock at the door made me open my eyes and huff in frustration at not having gotten to come.
“Yes?”
I shouted, still lying down, and heard Hannah say:
“Can you come deal with whatever is wrong with Logan? Because he’s been standing outside our door for fifteen minutes saying he needs to see you, and not even Garrett can make him leave.”
I frowned and looked down at my fingers, which now seemed dirtier than they had five minutes ago because the guy starring in my sexual fantasies was standing at my door.
What a fucking pervert.
“Are you listening to me?” Hannah asked from the other side of the door.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Great. Then come deal with this.”
I closed my eyes.
Took a deep breath.
Opened them again.
I got out of bed and ran my hands through my hair. Trying to rearrange the face of someone who had been seconds away from coming.
Trying to forget the last five minutes. Trying to forget that the man at my door had just starred in an extremely inconvenient fantasy.
“Did he say what he wants?”
“You.”
Great.
Fantastic.
Wonderful.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“That’s it?”
“Basically.” Hannah paused. “But he looks nervous.”
That caught my attention immediately. So I walked to the bedroom door. When I opened it, Hannah was leaning against the hallway wall with her arms crossed. The amused smile that appeared on her face made me instantly suspicious.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hannah.”
“Nothing.”
She was definitely lying. I rolled my eyes. Then walked past her. Across the hallway. Across the living room.
Every step seemed to make my heart beat a little faster.
When I reached the apartment entrance, I could hear muffled voices on the other side of the door.
When we entered the living room, Hannah immediately walked over to Garrett. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his arm.
“Good luck,” she said, trying to hide her amused smile.
I rolled my eyes, and Garrett chuckled.
“Don’t kill each other.”
“We already raised the white flag. Relax.”
They said goodbye to Logan and headed down the hallway. A few seconds later, Hannah’s bedroom door closed. Silence settled over the apartment.
When I turned my attention back to Logan, I found him standing near the entrance, his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. He shifted his weight between his heels and the balls of his feet.
Nervous.
Restless.
And, for some reason, it was adorable.
A snort of laughter escaped me before I could stop it.
Logan immediately narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s rude.”
One corner of his mouth lifted, but the tension was still there.
I crossed my arms.
“What are you doing here, Logan?”
Instead of answering, he blurted:
“Did you sleep with him?”
I blinked several times.
“Who?”
“The guy who was at your door when I dropped you off. Who was he?”
“My ex.”
The answer seemed to hit him square in the chest.
“Your ex?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“Funny. For someone nicknamed Ice Heart, a lot of men have passed through your life.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
And that clearly caught him off guard.
“Definitely.”
His eyes swept across my face.
“Did you sleep with him?”
I frowned.
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, I...” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”
I watched him for a moment.
The restlessness. The tension. The way he seemed to be fighting against his own thoughts.
“What are you doing here, John?” My voice came out softer this time. “It’s really late.” I paused. “Like, really late.”
He let out a breath through his nose, as if only then realizing the time. His gaze faltered for a second.
Then returned to me.
Steady.
Determined.
“I needed to talk to you. I told myself I'd text you, but I'm still blocked.”
Logan let out a frustrated laugh and dragged a hand down his face.
“And when you didn't answer my messages, I just... freaked out.”
He shook his head, staring through the windshield for a second before looking back at me.
“Because all I could think was, fuck. She's fucking with him. She's actually with him.” His jaw tightened. “And the worst part was knowing I had no right to be angry about it. Because I was the asshole first. I was the idiot who couldn't get his shit together long enough to tell you the truth.”
The room fell silent. Logan swallowed hard.
“Couldn't tell you that I was in love with you too.” My breath caught. He laughed once, humorlessly. “Do you know how pathetic that sounds? I spent an entire week trying to convince myself I was fine. That this was fine.”
His eyes finally met mine.
“I couldn't sleep.” The confession came out almost as a whisper. “I kept thinking about you. Thinking about us. Thinking about all the ways I'd screwed this up.”
He looked away for a moment before continuing.
“And I wanted to tell you in the car.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I wanted to tell you that not answering you that day was one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made.”
The air inside the truck felt impossibly small.
“Because I'm falling in love with you too.”
The words settled between us.
Raw. Unavoidable.
“And fuck, it's terrifying.”
He let out a shaky breath.
“I don't know what to do with it. I don't know how to do this.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Because what if I get everything I've ever wanted... and it's you?”
For a second, I was sure I’d heard him wrong. The entire apartment seemed to fall silent. The clock on the wall. The refrigerator. My own breathing. Everything disappeared. Only those words remained.
Because I’m falling in love with you too.
Logan looked just as surprised to have said them as I was to hear them. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
His shoulders tense. His eyes locked on mine as if waiting for the impact. As if waiting for me to laugh. Or throw him out.
Or tell him he’d lost his mind.
But I did none of those things.
I just stared at him.
Because suddenly my brain had forgotten how to function.
The tension on his face grew with every second I remained silent.
“Okay.”
He nodded once. Without humor.
“Yeah, this silence is definitely not a good sign.”
That pulled a small laugh from me. Small. But enough. His shoulders relaxed almost instantly. Almost imperceptibly.
“Well, now you know exactly how I felt when I told you.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry. This is awful.”
“Logan, I don’t... I don’t know what to do. Are you doing this out of pity?”
He spread his arms.
“I’m standing here looking ridiculous in front of you and you’re asking if I’m telling you I’m falling in love with you out of pity?”
My laugh escaped before I could stop it. And for a moment, the tension eased. Just a little. Just enough for me to breathe.
Logan watched me silently. The smile faded slowly. Giving way to something more serious. More vulnerable.
“I didn’t come here expecting an answer.”
My eyes met his.
“No?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
His voice was steady.
“I just needed you to know.”
My heart tightened.
“Because you deserved to know.”
Silence settled between us again.
But it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was different. Like we were standing at the edge of something important, without knowing exactly how to cross it.
“Did you really stay awake thinking about it?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it. A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Are you talking about the confession or the part where I was spiraling because your ex showed up again?”
“Both.”
“Then yes.”
I rolled my eyes. But I couldn’t hide the warmth spreading through my chest. Logan watched me for a few more seconds.
Then took a step toward me.
Small.
Careful.
As if giving me space to back away if I wanted to.
“I’m not asking anything from you right now.”
My breath caught.
“I’m not asking you to decide anything today...”
But I wasn’t listening anymore. Because something inside me had simply broken. Or maybe finally clicked into place. Before I could think better of it, I took two long strides toward him. I saw surprise appear on his face.
Saw his eyes widen. And then I pressed my lips to his. For a second, Logan froze. As if he couldn’t believe it was really happening.
As if he’d spent so much time imagining that moment that he needed a second to understand it was real. Then his hands found my waist. And he kissed me back.
For a few seconds, there was nothing else but the feeling of finally stopping the fight against what we felt.
He pulled me closer, as if he were still trying to believe that this was real. My hands moved up to his neck, my fingers getting lost in his curls as I smiled against his lips.
When we pulled away, it was just enough to catch our breath. His eyes found mine immediately.
Gentle.
Almost incredulous.
As if they were waiting for me to change my mind at any moment. "I'm tired of pretending that I don't care about you. I had enough time to think if I hated you."
"So..."
His voice came out hoarse.
"Was that a yes?"
I couldn't contain my laughter.
"You're a college hockey player and you still need confirmation?"
"I need to."
His smile widened.
"Lots of confirmation."
I nodded my head, still smiling.
Then I touched his face with the tips of my fingers and he looked at me and held my face between his hands and kissed me again. Not with urgency. But with the certainty of someone who had spent too much time wanting to do it. My heart raced.
And, for the first time in weeks, it didn't seem scary.
It felt right.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled against his lips.
Logan let out a low laugh.
"You're smiling."
"Maybe."
"I can feel it."
"Stop complaining."
"Never."
I rolled my eyes.
So I held his hand.
Intertwining our fingers.
And I started pulling him down the hallway.
His eyes followed my every move. As if he were still trying to process that it was real. When we reached the door of my room, I stopped.
For a moment, we just stood there. Staring at each other.
His smile was so ridiculously happy that I couldn't help but laugh again.
"What?"
He asked.
"Nothing."
"Lies."
"You seem like you won something."
"I actually did."
My heart stumbled. Because he answered without hesitation. No joking.
No sarcasm.
Just looking at me.
As if that were the most obvious thing in the world.
And, suddenly, I couldn't look away. Nor did I want to.
Because after so many misunderstandings, so many interrupted conversations, and so many missed opportunities, we were finally in the same place.
"What were you doing before I arrived?"
The question caught me completely off guard. I felt the heat rise immediately up my neck. Up my cheeks. And the reaction was so obvious that a laugh escaped my lips as they curved into an involuntary smile.
Logan noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His smile grew at that very moment.
Slow.
Too funny for my taste.
"Oh my. What were you doing? "
"Shh, stay quiet."
I pushed lightly against his chest, and he fell back onto the bed with a laugh. The sound filled the room.
That warm, carefree laugh I'd missed more than I cared to admit.
"Are you trying to silence me?"
"I am."
"It's not going to work."
"It's worth a try."
I shook my head, unable to hide the smile. Logan raised an eyebrow.
"So this is how it's going to be now?"
"How?"
"You smiling at me."
My heart stumbled.
Because he seemed so happy with something so simple.nSo genuinely happy.
"It was kind of difficult, to be honest."
I commented, settling into his lap.
"What?"
"Not smiling at you. Your face is very annoying, it makes me want to laugh at her all the time."
"Oh, for sure. That's why you're looking at me with so much disgust now. "
"Uh-huh."
I grumbled and went back to kissing him slowly. I slid my lips along his jawline covered by stubble and continued to his neck, teasing him near his ear. A low moan escaped him before his hands found my neck, guiding my face back so I could look at him.
"If you keep doing that, I'm going to come in my pants."
The statement made me burst out laughing. I hid my face in the curve of his neck, still laughing.
"Well, you should come somewhere else then..."
I murmured near his ear. Slowly, I got off his lap and stood in front of him. Then I took off the shirt I had put on just to answer the door and Logan's gaze immediately swept over my body.
His breath caught.
For a moment, he just watched me.
"Do you really want this?"
The voice came out quieter than usual.
Weaker.
More sincere.
I took a few short steps to position myself between his legs, allowing his hands to find my waist.
"I think you can imagine where my fingers were when you arrived and interrupted me."
The effect of my words was immediate. His eyes darkened and, for a second, John simply stared at me.
"Tell me what you were imagining before I got here, gorgeous," he whispered, pressing soft kisses and lingering touches down the center of my body.
"You were... um..." I stammered, my cheeks burning. "You were going down on me."
His eyes lifted to mine, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.
"Was I?" he asked softly. "What was I saying to you?"
I closed my eyes, breathing unevenly as I felt his breath ghosting over my skin.
"You said..." I swallowed hard. "Fuck, Johnny. You said you loved the way I tasted. That you..." I broke off, heat rushing to my face. "That you wanted to taste me."
"I do want you. I have since the very first time I had to pretend I was fucking you when this fake relationship started."
As if he were trying to decide whether it was real or just another one of the fantasies he had been having about me. Then, in a swift motion, he leaned in to kiss the valley between my breasts once again, slowly moving up and making the friction of his beard against my skin send shivers down my spine.
"Uhum..."
I moaned, my fingers already tangled in his hair.
"God, I love your mouth."
He lifted his head just enough to look at me, a smug smile tugging at his lips.
"So tell me, gorgeous. Is this better than what you imagined?"
His arms wrapped around my thighs, opening me even more for him, and when his mouth focused exactly on the right spot,exploring my wet pussy, sucking, drawing with a pressure that bordered on obscenity, a loud moan escaped from me before I could stop it.
´´Fuck yeah.´´
"Shh," he murmured against me, and the vibration of his voice made my entire body tremble. "You're going to wake up our friends."
"I don't care. Hannah and Garrett are loud as fuck too."
He laughed, a low and dirty laugh, and shoved his tongue inside me. My jaw dropped back. My hands gripped his hair so tightly that he moaned, and that sound, the sensation of his tongue fucking me while I writhed, was almost too much.
"Logan," I gasped. "Fuck, Logan."
He stepped out just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his gaze fixed on mine. "Do you have any idea how good you taste?" he said, his voice hoarse.
"So sweet."
My response was a shameful whimper, what made him smile, dangerously, and returned to me as if he were starving. This time, he wasn't playing around. Two fingers entered me along with his tongue, and the air escaped my lungs in a gasp. He fucked me with his fingers while sucking me, rhythmic, cruel, perfect. Each thrust made a wet and obscene sound that filled the room along with my muffled moans.
"Come on, cum on my face," he ordered against me, his eyes raised to mine. That was what broke me.
My body arched violently, a scream caught in my throat as the contractions overwhelmed me. Logan didn't back away an inch, he licked me thru it all, drooling and dirty, licking every drop as if it were precious.
When I finally stopped trembling, he slowly climbed up my body. The wet lips. The chin shining. The smile of someone who had just won a prize.
"Look at what you've done," he murmured, running his fingers over his own lips and then bringing them to his mouth. "I messed up my whole face."
"You are disgusting," I managed to say, breathless.
"And you love it."
He leaned in and kissed me, and I felt my taste on his lips. I felt his saliva mixed with mine. I felt his tongue sliding against mine as if he were showing me exactly what he had just done. When we separated, we were both breathless.
"My turn," I said.
Before he could react, I pushed his chest. John fell back onto the bed, surprised, and I was already climbing on top of him. My body slid against his, and I felt his underwear wet, not just from me, but from him, because damn, he was leaking just from sucking me.
"Look at that," I whispered, running my hand over the fabric. He moaned, his hips pushing against my palm. "You're as dirty as I am."
"That's your fault," he managed to say, his voice faltering.
"I know."
I slowly pulled the elastic of his underwear down, feeling every inch of warm skin appearing, and when he was finally naked in front of me, my mouth watered as I watched every inch of his hard cock.
Hard. Wet. Throbbing.
I ran my tongue from the base to the tip in a slow motion, and the moan that escaped him was so loud that I was sure Hannah heard it.
"Quiet," I teased, using his words against him. "You're going to wake everyone up."
"Fuck it," he gasped and i smiled.
So I stuffed it whole into my mouth faster than he expected it to happen.
Logan's body arched entirely on the bed, his hands flying to my hair with a desperate urgency. Not to push me away, to hold on.
"Fuck," he hissed, his voice coming out in a whisper. "Fuck, gorgeous."
I kept it deep in my throat for a second, and two. And that was enough time to feel him pulsing against my tongue, enough time to hear the strangled moan that escaped his lips.
When I slowly went up, sucking hard along the way, Logan let out a sound that was almost a sob.
"You are going to kill me," he managed to say.
I looked at him thru my eyelashes, the mouth still around the head, the lips slippery with saliva. His gaze was fixed on me, his dark eyes and jaw slack.
"That's the idea," I murmured, and the vibration of my voice made his hips rise from the bed. I laughed, a low and satisfied sound, and returned to him eagerly.
This time there was no delicacy. I sucked him as if I were starving, as if the only thing that mattered in the world was that salty and masculine taste on my tongue. My hand wrapped around what didn't fit in my mouth, twisting on the way up, squeezing on the way down, and the sound I made was obscene, wet, greedy, erotic.
Logan was lost. His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling hard every time I got too close to the edge. His moans were constant now, guttural, uncontrollable.
"Stop," he gasped suddenly, pulling my hair harder. "Stop, stop, stop, if you keep going, I'm going to come in your mouth."
I raised my eyes to him.
And I didn't stop.
"Y/n!" he warned, his voice faltering.
I continued. Faster. Deeper. My hand and my mouth work
He laughed, a low, satisfied laugh, and pressed my hips against him.
"Shit, I'm screwed, totally fucked."
John Logan said, both hands on his head, and glancing down at me.
"Literally."
"Literally."
"Literally!"
English isn't my first language, so pls go easy on me.
This chapter wasn't written very well, and I want to apologize for that in advance. When they actually fuck, I promise I'll be able to write a proper smut scene for you guys, just like I always do with my other smuts.
I think that from now on, you can either be happy... or sad. Because the story is finally heading in a happier direction, which means we're also getting close to the end. Stick around, though. We still have more chapters coming throughout the week.
SUMMARY: A frustrated figure skater who transferred from Illinois has only one goal: keeping her athletic scholarship this season, and she’ll do anything to change the way people on campus see her — especially if it means improving her image for pairs skating. Even if it costs her a fake relationship with the same person who spread the nickname that turned her into “Ice Heart.”
WARNING: SMUT AHEAD CONTENT RELATED TO SEX, RELATIONSHIPS, AND DISORDERS CONTENT CONTAINS FACTS, BUT REMEMBER THIS IS FANFICTION, IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, LEAVE!
MASTERLIST
1.1 Bringing Back
When we returned to Briar U and life went back to normal, I honestly wished it hadn't.
My head was still just as much of a mess as it had been over the weekend. Will's and my program was finished. The competition started the following week, and my nerves were completely on edge. My costume was ready, every step had been rehearsed to exhaustion, and our sequence was perfectly synchronized: a Side-by-Side Triple Toe Loop, Triple Twist, Lift, Throw Triple Loop, Backward Outside Death Spiral, Combination Spin, and a Step Sequence that stretched across the entire rink. We were ready. At least on the ice. Because off of it, I was a disaster.
Maybe it wasn't even because of the competition. Maybe it was because I was trapped in a car with Alicia Ivens, on our way to an evaluation recommended by one of her acquaintances after weeks of her insisting that I go. The silence between us had already lasted several minutes when she finally spoke.
"When we get back to campus, I have a surprise for you."
"I'm thrilled."
The sarcasm was obvious, and my mother snorted, rolling her eyes. Something both of us did far too often.
"I noticed you spent the beginning of the summer away. Is that why you weren't answering my messages?"
I kept my eyes on the window.
"I went to visit my dad."
The car fell silent. I didn't need to look at her to know she'd been left speechless. A few seconds later, she changed the subject.
"And what about you and that hockey player? Did you break up?"
I let out a humorless laugh.
"We never had anything to break up."
"Good."
I slowly turned toward her.
"Excuse me?"
"I did some research on him."
Of course you did.
"Alicia..."
"And I found out he's probably not even going to pursue hockey as a career."
My entire body tensed instantly.
"What?"
"From what I found, he'll most likely take over his father's garage in the next few years. That practically eliminates any chance of playing professionally."
"You don't know that. Logan is a great player."
"Maybe he is. But talent isn't always enough."
I felt irritation rise in my chest.
"You don't even know him."
"I don't need to."
"Oh, yes, you do."
She sighed as if she were explaining something obvious to a child.
"I'm just saying he doesn't seem like someone who would add much to your future."
I stared at her for several seconds, unable to believe what I was hearing.
"God..." I crossed my arms tightly. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm being realistic."
"No. You're being mean."
For the first time since I'd gotten into that car, Alicia fell silent. And I was grateful for it. The rest of the drive passed in silence. I kept my eyes fixed on the window as Alicia drove.
The closer we got to the rink, the more my stomach twisted. I already spent hours on the ice every day. I already competed. I already performed in front of judges. But this was different. Because it wasn't a competition.
It was an evaluation.
And evaluations had an irritating way of making you feel completely inadequate. The training complex was enormous. Two Olympic-sized rinks, empty stands, and a constant flow of athletes moving in and out of the locker rooms. Three coaches and a technical evaluator sat near the boards, studying clipboards filled with notes. My nerves immediately worsened. A gray-haired woman approached me.
"You can start with some basic elements. We want to observe your movement first."
I nodded then pushed forward and began gliding across the ice. First, the simpler sequences. Then edges. Transitions. Steps. Changes of direction. My speed increased naturally as my body settled into the rhythm it had known since childhood. Then came the jumps. The spins. The choreographic sequences. The pair elements I could demonstrate individually.
When I finished, my chest rose and fell rapidly from lack of breath. The evaluators exchanged glances. They wrote something down. Spoke quietly among themselves. And that was worse than any criticism. Because I couldn't tell what they were thinking. Finally, the woman closed her folder.
"How long have you been skating?"
"Since I was little."
She nodded. "That explains a lot."
I couldn't tell whether that was good or bad.
"What did you think?"
One of the coaches rested his arms on the boards.
"You have very good movement quality."
Another nodded in agreement.
"Your edge control is excellent."
My heart sped up, though I wasn't even sure why I cared so much about their opinion. In the end, this wasn't what I wanted. It was what my mother wanted. Or maybe it had once been my dream too, and I simply no longer knew where her ambitions ended and mine began. The coaches continued reviewing their notes.
"You have a very strong technical foundation," the gray-haired woman said. "It's obvious you've received high-level training from a very young age."
Another evaluator nodded.
"Your body control is excellent. Your jump entries are clean, your edges are consistent, and you have a natural presence on the ice."
Outside the rink, Alicia smiled with satisfaction. I didn't. I kept waiting for the rest. Because there is always a rest. There's always the part that still isn't enough. The third coach closed his clipboard.
"It would be great to have you in our team, but you're skating while holding yourself back."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You're executing everything correctly. Almost perfectly, actually." He leaned against the boards. "But it feels like you're thinking about every movement before you do it." I looked at him, confused. "You have the technique to compete at a very high level," he continued. "But you're carrying something with you onto the ice."
My stomach dropped. Because it was true and I hated that someone had noticed.
"Skaters often believe improvement only means learning more difficult jumps. That's not always the case." She gestured toward the empty rink. "Sometimes the next level is trusting yourself enough to stop thinking and simply skate."
I swallowed hard. For a moment, I thought about Logan. About the competition. About my father. About the conversation I still couldn't get out of my head. I thought about everything at once.
"The potential is there," another coach said. "Very clearly."
"You have the potential to reach larger training programs."
"Even international ones," the woman added.
My chest tightened. Anyone else probably would have been happy. Proud. Excited. But all I felt was a strange exhaustion. Because they were talking about what I could become.
And I wasn't sure anymore if that was what I wanted to be.
Alicia looked ready to celebrate outside the rink because, in the end, she had been right when she said I was overthinking. I simply stood there on the ice, staring at the marks left by the blades beneath my feet. For the first time in a very long time, the question running through my head wasn't, am I good enough? It was another one. A much worse one. Do I still love this as much as I used to?
As soon as we got into the car to head back to campus, I bit the inside of my cheek and rested my head against the seat. A headache was beginning to form behind my eyes.
"I told you."
Alicia kept her eyes on the road.
"You need to stop skating like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."
I let out a dry laugh.
"Maybe I am."
I turned toward her.
Alicia sighed through her nose. The kind of sigh she gave when she thought she was dealing with someone irrational.
"Oh, are you?" Her voice hardened. "Then tell me. What exactly are you carrying?" I closed my eyes. I didn't answer. But she kept going. "You don't work. You don't pay your own bills. You're not supporting anyone." My jaw locked. "And honestly, I'm getting tired of this rebellious attitude."
I pressed my fingers into my thigh.
“I don't know if you know this, but I'm at Briar U because I earned my place there. I was good enough for them to want me during the transfer process, to help rebuild the university's figure skating program. And I carry the pressure of having to stay on the podium because that's part of the agreement. I may not have to pay for all of my college expenses, but half of them are covered because of my talent. And yet you keep acting like you're always doing me a favor. I'm tired of your rudeness.”
She gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"And you should start thinking more carefully about the way you speak to me."
I slowly opened my eyes.
“I paid for you to come here. I paid for your skating outfits. So maybe you should remember your place.”
The words hit exactly where she intended them to. I slowly turned my head.
"No."
My voice came out low.
"My father's money pays for this, because you don't do anything for a long time."
The silence inside the car was immediate. Heavy. Dangerous. Alicia braked a little harder than necessary before turning a corner.
"And that money is mine now."
She practically spat the words. My heart jumped. I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. The car continued down the road. And I stared out the window, trying to ignore the feeling that something inside me had just broken.Then I took a deep breath.
"Do you know the difference between you and him?"
Alicia went still.
"What?"
I swallowed hard.
"My father never made me feel like an investment."
Her grip tightened on the wheel.
"Don't do this."
Aqui está uma versão um pouco mais fluida e emocional, mantendo o sentido original:
“No, I'm going to.”
My voice cracked halfway through the sentence, but I forced myself to continue.
“Because every time you talk about money, training, or my career, it feels like I'm a project.”
My eyes burned.
“A spreadsheet. An investment.”
The silence returned.
“But I'm your daughter.”
My voice came out softer this time.
“Do you know that? Do you even remember that?”
I looked at her.
"Do you know I'm still your daughter?"
Alicia didn't answer.
And somehow, that hurt more than any argument ever could.
Because for the first time, I had the horrible feeling that she genuinely didn't know what to say. And that answer should have been easy. She should have known. She should have been able to look at me and say, of course you're my daughter. But instead, there was only silence. And that silence told me more than any cruel words ever could. The headlights illuminated the dark road as the car moved forward in silence.
But I knew that silence.
I knew it far too well.
It was the kind of silence that came seconds before she said something cruel.
"You think your father was perfect." I let out a disbelieving laugh.
Here we go.
"I literally never said that."
"But you act like you do."
I turned toward her.
"No. I just think he loved me without turning everything into an obligation."
Her jaw tightened.
"You make it sound like I'm the villain."
"You do that all by yourself."
"Your father never had to deal with you."
That hit me like a punch. My chest tightened instantly.
"What?"
"He didn't have to go through the last few years." Her voice turned colder. "He didn't have to deal with your breakdowns, your mood swings, your existential crises every week."
I swallowed hard.
"You have no idea how unfair that is."
"No?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Then explain it to me."
My breathing became heavier.
"You really want to do this?"
"I do."
I looked directly at her. Without looking away.
“You want to know why I’m so lost?”
Alicia didn’t answer.
“Because my father died.”
The silence inside the car became brutal.
“Because I spent years trying to be exactly what you wanted. Trying to be loved. Trying to earn your love.”
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head as I stared out the window.
“And then he died.”
My throat tightened.
“The one person who loved me without conditions, without contracts, without expectations... died.”
I swallowed hard.
“And after that, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore.”
My eyes burned, but I refused to look at her.
“Because everything I did was always for someone else. For skating. For sponsors. For you.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“I spent so much time trying to become the daughter you wanted that I never figured out how to be myself.”
I stared straight ahead, my vision blurring.
“Because I don't know anymore if I love skating... or if I've just gotten too good at it to stop.”
The words hung in the air between us.
“I don't know if I'm doing it because it makes me happy, or because it's the only thing I've ever been praised for.”
My throat tightened.
“And that's terrifying.”
I laughed quietly, without any humor.
“To wake up one day and realize your entire life might have been built around earning love instead of finding joy.”
Alicia finally looked at me. Only for a second. But it was enough. For the first time, something in her expression faltered. And that was exactly when it happened. A shadow darted across the road. Fast. Low to the ground. Alicia cursed.
"What the…"
She jerked the steering wheel instinctively. The car veered slightly off the road. I heard the impact. A heavy thud beneath the vehicle. Then another metallic sound. Something dragging.
"Shit!"
The whole car shook. Alicia slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt yanked me forward. The engine made a horrible noise. A crack. And died. The silence that followed felt heavy. Unreal. We both sat frozen for a few seconds.
"What was that?" I asked.
"No idea."
Alicia turned the car completely off and tried starting it again. Nothing. Just a strange noise. My stomach dropped.
"What the hell?"
I stepped out of the car and looked at the bumper. There was blood on it, but no sign of an animal anywhere. The sun was setting, and the car wouldn't start no matter what. My mother was already on the phone with someone inside the car while I covered my face with my hands, wanting to scream.
Fifteen minutes later, we were towed to a nearby repair shop. And honestly? I was surprised to find the one person who had been haunting my dreams lately.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
Logan asked the man who had helped us get off the side of the road. Looking at him now, I could clearly tell he wasn't Logan's father but probably his older brother, Jeff i guess. He pointed toward us without taking his eyes off me.
"We were the closest shop. Extra cash never hurts, bro. I think they hit something and the car gave up."
He said, patting John's chest.
"Great. The nearest repair shop just had to be your boyfriend's."
My mother muttered like a sulking teenager. I turned toward her so fast I almost heard my neck crack.
"Can you go five minutes without being unbearable?"
"I'm just stating facts."
"No, you're being annoying on purpose."
She raised an eyebrow. And I had to count to three to stop myself from starting another argument in the middle of the parking lot. Logan watched the exchange for a second before turning his attention back to the car.
"I can take a look."
He ran a hand along the side of the hood.
"What happened?"
The question was directed at me. And for some reason, that made me even more embarrassed. I immediately looked away from him and stared at the dented bumper.
"Apparently she ran something over."
"Because you were yelling at me," Alicia corrected.
"Can you not do this? It's so childish."
"I'm telling the truth!"
"So you hit something?"
Logan asked and we answered at the same time. He let out a quiet laugh through his nose. That stupid laugh. Small. Subtle. Far too familiar.
"Yes."
"Okay." Logan walked to the front of the vehicle and crouched down. "Then you probably hit something underneath the car."
"Oh, you two are not okay..."
My mother whispered to me and i didn't even look at her. I just crossed my arms and huffed. A few seconds later, Logan whistled.
"Yep."
I walked closer.
"What?"
"The oil pan is completely wrecked."
"Shit."
John pointed at a twisted piece of metal.
"And now you've got an oil leak."
Alicia closed her eyes.
"Of course we do."
"Did you keep driving after the impact?"
"For a few seconds."
The brothers made exactly the same expression. The exact same one. It was almost scary.
"Then that definitely didn't help," Logan concluded.
I would've laughed if I weren't too exhausted. Logan stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. Only then did his eyes truly meet mine. Without the chaos. Without distractions. Without a crowd around us. My heart did that irritating thing it always insisted on doing whenever he looked at me like that.
"How much is this going to cost me?"
My mom asked me brutally.
"That depends on how much you like this car."
"John Logan."
Alicia answered flatly. He raised his hands.
"I'm serious."
Logan was already looking back at the engine. Focused. Working. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. The shop was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. The smell of oil, metal, and gasoline filled the air. For a moment, watching Logan there with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a wrench sticking out of his back pocket, I remembered the conversation I'd had with Alicia earlier. He would probably never compete in the Olympics. Maybe he'd never sign a professional contract. Maybe he really would spend the next few years working here. Jeff crossed his arms as he examined the damage one more time.
"We can fix it in a day. Maybe less if we can get the part today. But we're already closing."
Alicia glanced at the vehicle and then at the two brothers. That look. The one I knew. Evaluating. Cold. Calculating. And I already knew I wasn't going to like what came next.
"I imagine this is a perfect opportunity for you."
Her smile was polite, her voice wasn't and that made Jeff frowned.
"What do you mean, ma'am?"
"Well..." She shrugged. "A luxury car just happens to show up here. A desperate customer. I imagine the estimate might go up a little."
Silence fell over the shop. Logan froze. John simply stared at my mother. And I felt my blood boil instantly.
"Jesus."
Alicia didn't even look at me.
"What?"
"Did you hear what you just said?"
"I'm being careful."
"No. You're being offensive."
She let out a short laugh.
"You really think repair shops don't do that?"
Jeff took a step back.
"Ma'am, if you'd rather take the car somewhere else..."
"That's not what she meant." My voice came out sharp. "And you know it."
Alicia finally looked at me.
"I'm just protecting my investment."
"Your investment?"
My chest rose and fell rapidly.
"You just implied they're dishonest."
"I didn't use that word."
"You don't have to. Everything that comes out of your mouth sounds shallow."
I muttered, crossing my arms. My chest was still rising and falling from anger. I avoided looking directly at Logan. And Jeff too because the embarrassment was starting to mix with the frustration and i looked at the brothers.
"Do whatever needs to be done." I pointed at the car. "Seriously."
Jeff raised an eyebrow. But before he could answer, Alicia let out a dry laugh.
"You know you can't make things easier just because you like someone, right?"
The silence was so sudden it felt physical and my face instantly burned.
"Uhm. I'm done with you." I whispered then I turned my back on her and walked out of the shop without another word. I let out a cynical laugh. "Spend whatever the hell you need to. Use all her money, boys."
I swallowed hard. The familiar burning sensation returned to my throat. Again. Always the same thing. I really needed to stop wanting to cry every time I felt pressured.
Or cornered.
Or emotionally overwhelmed.
It was ridiculous. I blinked several times and kept walking. Fast. As if speed could solve anything. As if I knew exactly where I was going. Which I definitely didn't. The shop disappeared behind me as I followed the side of the road. The sky was growing darker. Streetlights flickered on one by one. And I kept my eyes fixed ahead, pretending I had a plan. Pretending I wasn't simply running away. I heard footsteps behind me. Ignored them.The footsteps sped up. I kept ignoring them. Then a huge shadow appeared beside me.
"You don't even know where you're going."
I rolled my eyes. Of course. Logan. Who else would it be?
"Go away."
"That didn't answer my question."
"Because you didn't ask one."
"Fair."
I kept walking. He kept walking beside me. Naturally. As if he had all the time in the world. Which was incredibly annoying.
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Which direction?"
"This one."
I pointed randomly ahead. Logan looked at the road. Then at me.Then at the road again.
"And what scientific method did you use to reach that conclusion?"
"Instinct."
"Your instinct sucks."
"Thank you, Mr.arrogant."
"You're literally walking in the opposite direction."
I stopped for half a second. Just half. Then I kept walking.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"Stop following me."
"No."
"Logan."
"No."
The answer came so quickly I almost wanted to shove him. The problem was that he probably wouldn't even feel it.
"I'm fine."
"You walked out of a repair shop in the middle of nowhere."
"This isn't the middle of nowhere."
"You don't even know the name of the streat you're in." My silence answered for me. Logan laughed. "Exactly." I crossed my arms.
"You're unbearable."
"Seems hereditary today."
I shot him a deadly glare. He had the audacity to smile.
"Seriously?"
"You know I'm right."
"Go away."
"No."
"Why?"
The question came out more tired than angry. Logan shoved his hands into his pockets. Because apparently chasing emotionally wrecked girls was a casual hobby for him.
"Because you're upset."
"Brilliant observation. But i´m not"
"And you're lying again. I thought we'd already gotten past the whole honesty issue." His eyes followed me as I kept walking. "You're wandering around aimlessly."
"Another excellent observation."
"And because in ten minutes you're going to realize you have absolutely no idea where you are."
I sighed heavily.
"I don't want to talk."
"Great."
"Great."
"Then let me take you home."
I stopped.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Logan!"
"Get in the truck."
I shook my head.
"I'd rather walk."
"You'd rather be stubborn."
"That too." He laughed. The idiot actually laughed. I was practically running from an emotional breakdown and he was enjoying himself. "That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"It's not."
"It is."
I kept walking. Or at least I tried to. Because Logan simply matched my pace without any effort. Which was annoying. Very annoying. Especially because he didn't even seem to be walking fast. His ridiculously long legs were doing half the work.
"Go away."
"No."
"Logan! "
"No."
I let out an exasperated sigh. He watched me for a few seconds. Then something changed in his expression. The teasing smile disappeared. And when it returned, it was different. Softer. More genuine. More dangerous. Because that kind of smile was exactly what ruined every attempt I made to stay angry.
"Please." My heart did something incredibly stupid. The kind of thing I hated. Blinking. Forgetting how to breathe. Existing in the most embarrassing way possible. Logan tilted his head slightly. Brown eyes fixed on mine. An open smile. Full of teeth. Full of that infuriating calm that seemed to say he already knew he'd won.
"Please," he repeated. "Just get in the truck."
I immediately rolled my eyes. Pure survival instinct. Because if I looked at him for too long, I'd give in.
"You're using unfair weapons. Knowing exactly what they do." I stopped walking long enough to look at him. "You know exactly what to say to get under my skin, and you do it anyway." My jaw tightened. "So don't stand there and talk to me about honesty." I shook my head. "I'm not the dishonest one here."
“Please, gorgeous. What weapons?” His voice softened. “I'm not trying to fight with you. I'm just trying to get you home.”
“Your face, you asshole.”
Logan burst out laughing. A real laugh this time.
"That doesn't even make sense."
"Yes, it does."
"So my face is a weapon?"
"Apparently."
"Interesting."
"Not even a little."
He crossed his arms. Still smiling. That damn smile.
"So you're admitting you want to get in the truck."
"No."
"You admitted it."
"I did not."
"You literally just said I'm using my face to convince you."
I pointed a finger at him.
"Don't twist my words."
"You're smiling."
Instantly, I tried to stop. Which only made it worse. Because Logan noticed.
"My God."
He looked absurdly pleased with himself.
"You're smiling."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I literally hate you."
"That's a lie."
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my own brain.
But the truth was that the pressure in my chest had eased.
Just a little.
Enough for me to breathe without feeling like crying.
And I hated that he'd managed to do that.
Hated it. Logan pointed toward the truck parked a few yards behind us.
"Last offer."
I crossed my arms.
"What is it?"
"You get in."
"Hmm."
"I drive."
"Interesting."
"You stay quiet."
"Getting better."
"I don't ask questions."
That made me hesitate. Really hesitate. Because at that moment, questions were the last thing I wanted and Logan noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
I looked at him. At those damn brown eyes. At that damn small smile. At that damn impossible patience. Then I let out a long, defeated sigh.
"You're incredibly annoying."
"I know."
"Unbearable."
"I know that too."
I shook my head. Defeated. Completely defeated.
"Fine."
His smile instantly widened.
"Fine?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
"Fine."
"Logan."
"Yeah?”
"If you look that happy about winning, I'm getting out of the truck."
His laugh echoed down the road. And despite all my intentions, the corner of my mouth threatened to lift too.
"Just so you know, you can't do that. Act like we're friends."
I said as I opened the passenger door and climbed into the truck. My voice came out quieter than I intended. More tired. More honest. Because the truth was, all of this was confusing me.
A lot.
The door shut with a solid thud and immediately, i was hit by his scent. Something that was simply Logan. I closed my eyes for a second. Just one second. But it was enough for the dizziness to return. Not physical but emotional. Because it had been a week. An entire week avoiding him. An entire week taking different routes through the hallways. Ignoring messages. Ignoring the ridiculous urge to look for him. And now I was sitting in his damn truck. Alone. With him. Logan took a few seconds before getting in.
When he finally closed the driver's door, silence filled the space between us. He started the engine. But he didn't drive away. The low rumble of the truck filled the silence. For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Then Logan rested one hand on the steering wheel.
"I thought we were friends."
The words came out simple. Without accusation. Without anger. And maybe that was why they hit harder.
I turned toward him.
Logan was already looking at me. Those brown eyes fixed on mine. My stomach did a ridiculous flip. I felt my cheeks heat instantly. Damn it.
"Not anymore. You made your own choices."
I looked away for a second. One of his eyebrows lifted.
"I don't usually drink anything out of people's belly buttons unless they're my friends."
"Really? Considering how many girls you've slept with, I figured you'd done that a million times."
I said, looking away uncomfortably as he started driving.
"No. You were my first."
"Surprising."
I tried to sound indifferent. Failed miserably.
Logan let out a low laugh, the kind he kept buried deep in his throat.
"You sound disappointed."
I immediately turned toward him.
"I sound what?"
"Disappointed."
"You're delusional."
"Maybe. But maybe you're right. I'm still blocked. Friends don't get blocked."
"They do when they're being assholes."
I rolled my eyes. The scenery moved past the window as the truck continued down the road, but I was far too aware of his presence to pay attention to anything else. We spent most of the drive in silence. Not because there was nothing to say. Maybe exactly the opposite. There were too many things.
Too many words.
Too many questions.
So we simply let the sound of the engine fill the space between us. Every now and then, I'd feel Logan looking at me. And inevitably, I'd glance back. Only to immediately look away again.
Like an idiot.
Like we were fifteen-year-olds. Which was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Even so, the tension remained. Palpable. The kind of tension that made the air feel heavier.
When the campus lights finally appeared in the distance, I felt a strange sense of relief. And an equally strange disappointment. Because it meant the drive was ending. And I still had absolutely no idea what to do with any of this. Logan slowed down as he drove through the gates of Briar U. The familiar buildings appeared around us. The dorms. The sidewalks. Students walking between buildings.
Everything looked exactly the same. Which was irritating. Because I definitely didn't feel the same. The truck stopped in front of my building. The engine kept running. For a few seconds, neither of us moved. I looked out the window. Then at my hands. Then anywhere that wasn't Logan.
"Thanks for the ride."
My voice came out quietly.
He nodded.
"You're welcome."
Another silence.
Then another.
My heart began to race. Because there was something in the way he was looking at me. Like he was thinking. Deciding. Choosing his words. When I finally found the courage to look up, I met his eyes immediately. Mistake. A serious mistake. Because that look made my stomach flip all over again.
Logan ran a hand over the back of his neck. A gesture I already knew. Nervousness.
´´What's on your mind? ´´
I asked before I could stop myself. He let out a slow breath.
"I was thinking that i ruine..."
But he didn't finish the sentence. His gaze shifted over my shoulder. And then a knock on the window made me jump.I immediately turned my head. And found the last person I expected to see. My brain simply stopped working. For an entire second.
"What the fuck?"
I murmured as I rolled down the window. Outside, he smiled as if showing up after months of disappearing was the most normal thing in the world.
"Surprise."
I stared at his face trying to process it. Trying to figure out whether I was simply too exhausted and had started hallucinating.
Because it made absolutely no sense. None If I could stop people from reappearing in my life at the worst possible moments, I would do it immediately. Because Thomas Aiken should not have been there. Not that night. Not after months of disappearing. And definitely not after the conversation I'd just had with Logan. But for some cruel reason, the universe seemed to enjoy watching me suffer.
"Uhm...no."
The word escaped before I could even process the shock. I slowly shook my head. As if that would somehow make him disappear. Thomas tilted his head. His pale eyes moved from me to the truck. Then to Logan. Then back to me. Curiosity appeared on his face almost instantly. He was putting the puzzle together. And I hated that.
"I thought I'd get a better welcome." His smile widened. That arrogant smile that used to work on practically everyone. "Maybe you'd run into my arms."
"Not even in your dreams."
"Maybe wearing a sexy maid outfit."
The comment earned him a murderous glare. On any other day, I might've rolled my eyes and played along. But not that day. Not after the evaluation. Not after my mother. Not after almost crying on the side of a road.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
His smile faltered. Just for a second.
"Your mother called me."
My stomach dropped. Of course. Of course it had been Alicia. Who else would've done it? Thomas shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
"She said you needed me."
A disbelieving laugh escaped my lips. Quiet. Humorless.
"Well, then you should leave."
The smile disappeared completely this time. The night breeze passed between us, stirring strands of my hair. A throat clearing. When I turned my head, I found Logan watching the scene. And something strange happened inside my chest. Because he was looking at me.
Not Thomas.
Me.
His fingers still resting on the steering wheel.
His shoulders tense.
His lips slightly parted. As if something was stuck in his throat. As if he was about to say something. Or had just decided not to. My stomach tightened. For a moment, the entire parking lot seemed to disappear. The students crossing the courtyard. The streetlights. The night wind. Everything. Only those brown eyes remained. And the uncomfortable feeling that something between us had been left unfinished. I looked away first. Because it was easier. It always was.
"Thanks for the ride again, Logan."
My voice came out softer than I intended. More intimate too. And that irritated me. Logan blinked once. As if I'd pulled him back to reality.
"Of course. "
Just that. One word. But there was something in it. Something that made my heart stumble. I closed the truck door. The sound echoed through the quiet parking lot. Thomas was watching everything. Absolutely everything. With far too much attention. Like an audience member watching a play without fully understanding the plot, but realizing he'd missed several important chapters. I started walking away. One step then another. Then I heard my name.
"Hey."
I stopped immediately.
My body reacted before my brain could. I turned around. Logan was leaning across the passenger seat, bracing himself against the center console so he could see me through the open window. The yellow glow of the parking lot lights cast soft shadows across his face.
And for the first time that night, he looked nervous. Genuinely nervous. The thought caught me completely off guard.
"Can I talk to you later?" The question lingered between us. Simple. Small. But my heart reacted as if it were so much more.
"Sure."
His eyes softened immediately. Almost imperceptibly. As if that answer had eased a concern he'd been carrying ever since I'd gotten into the truck.
He nodded.
Slowly.
"I'll text you then."
"Yeah..."
Neither of us moved.
And it would've been awkward if it hadn't felt so natural. As if we were both waiting for something. One more sentence. A few more seconds. One more excuse to stay there. Logan's smile returned. Small. Almost shy. An expression I didn't see very often. Then he nodded one last time.
"Goodnight, gorgeous."
My heart stumbled. Because it had been weeks since I'd heard him call me that. Because I hated the effect that nickname had on me. And because, for one ridiculous moment, I wanted to ask him to stay. But the truck began to move. Slowly. The red taillights disappeared across the parking lot until they vanished around the curve leading to the men's dorms. And I watched the truck for far too long. Long enough to feel Thomas's stare burning into the side of my face.
"Who was your friend?"
The question came with a lazy gesture toward the truck disappearing in the distance.
I immediately looked down. As if that could hide anything. As if hiding things had ever worked with Thomas.
"No one."
I heard him laugh behind me. That low, disbelieving laugh I knew far too well.
"That's a lie." I kept walking. Without looking at him. Without slowing down. "You're practically dripping with lust around him."
The words hit me so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet.
"Go fuck yourself."
Thomas laughed loudly. The sound echoed through the entrance hallway. And I hated the fact that I still recognized it instantly.
"It hurts me to know we spent so much time training together and you still think you can lie to me, sweetheart."
I stopped so abruptly he almost walked into my back. I slowly turned around.
"You were much better at lying, Thomas. You cheated on me while we were on the ice together."
I kept walking before he could answer. Climbed the stairs. Crossed the hallway to my floor. Searched through my bag for my keys. And tried to ignore the fact that Thomas was still following me. When I finally reached my apartment door, I shoved the key into the lock and stepped inside. The relief lasted approximately two seconds. Because I heard his footsteps right behind me. I immediately turned around before he could cross the threshold. And blocked the entrance. One hand on the door. My body filling the doorway. The message was clear and Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Sweetheart..."
"Don't call me that. It's been more than eight months, Thomas. Stop." My voice came out tired. "I'm fine."
He let out a humorless laugh. The kind that never reached his eyes.
"You look like anything but fine."
I ignored him. Because if I let that conversation continue, I'd probably end up crying. And I'd already cried enough that week.
"My life started again." The words came out quiet. But firm. ´´So I suggest you leave."
Thomas watched me in silence.
"Your mother..."
"She can go to hell too. Who does she think she is, wanting one of the people who hurt me the most back in my life? It just proves she doesn't know me, and neither do you." My throat tightened. Because it was true. Or at least I was desperately trying to make it true. I lifted my chin. Trying to look stronger than I felt. "There's nothing here for you, Thomas."
The silence that followed lasted so long it hurt. His eyes never left mine. And for the first time since he'd appeared, there was no teasing in them. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
"Is that what you really believe?"
"That's what I really know. And maybe that's why my heart has gone cold."
Thomas held my gaze for so long that breathing became difficult. As if the entire world was waiting to see which one of us would give in first. But I didn't. I remained standing in the doorway, my hand resting against the door, blocking his path. A simple barrier. A ridiculous one, even. But it was the only thing I had at that moment.
"Okay."
The word came out quietly.
"If that's what you want..." The sentence died halfway through. His jaw tightened. "Then I'll leave."
Thomas looked away, staring at the floor for a moment. As if finding the strength to leave was harder than finding the strength to show up. When he looked back at me, a small smile appeared. The shadow of the smile I used to know. "You're still terrible when you're hurt." I rolled my eyes immediately and that made the corner of his mouth lift a little higher. "See?" His voice came out softer. More like the Thomas who existed before everything went wrong.
"The same murderous look."
Responding meant stepping back into territory I'd spent eight months trying to leave behind. The smile slowly faded. Taken away by the silence. Thomas took a deep breath. Then stepped back. And another step. His eyes traveled over my face one last time. As if he were trying to save something. Memorize something.
I hated that I knew exactly what that felt like. Then he spoke. Quietly. Almost a whisper.
"I never wanted to hurt you." I closed my eyes for a second. Because those words came too late. Months too late. When I looked at him again, my throat tightened. But I kept my voice steady.
"But you did."
Thomas nodded. Without arguing. Because it meant he knew. Knew exactly what he'd done. Knew exactly what he'd destroyed. We were long past pretending otherwise. Silence returned. And this time, neither of us tried to fill it. Finally, Thomas shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. His shoulders slumped. His expression tired. Looking older than I remembered.
"Goodnight." My heart didn't waver, because the only person it beat for had already left.
"Goodnight, Thomas."
I watched him walk away until he disappeared completely. Only then did I realize I was still standing in the doorway. Staring at an empty hallway. And for the first time in eight months… Thomas Aiken had left when I asked him to.
English isn't my first language, so pls go easy on me.
germansingergirl
vaporwave
baratheonpilled
stormborns
jbbartram-illu
areudirty
yousharknotpass
