Kai ۶ৠshe/her. early 20s. sacrificial lamb. simon rileyâs baby. dean heyward-di laurentis' girl. writer. cat enthusiast. lover girl. diet coke connoisseur. probably reading in bed. multifandom; currently obsessed with off campus.
my masterlist (linked below) will always be updated with new and upcoming fics, in case you guys want a glimpse at whatâs coming up! i will also post updates with fics cued up for each week.
18+ only; mdni. all stories, drabbles, fics, and other works written here are for a strictly 18+ audience only. all works here are original. no part of any of my original works shall be reproduced, scraped, fed into, or used to train any ai systems. no ai tools were used in the creation of any works published here.
i'm new here, feel free to drop in with advice, tips, or simply to say hi! asks are always open <3
from kai, with love <3
۶ৠlittle pink bookmarks.
the desk drawer. terms of correspondence. fandom directory.
short summary: where dean is stressed about an upcoming game, and you, being the wonderful girlfriend that you are, offer to help him relax. inspired by THAT scene from off campus.
pairing: boyfriend!dean di laurentis x fem!reader
word count: 666 (dean would be proud)
warnings: porn with almost no plot, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), established relationship, dean being obsessed with reader, stress relief taken very literally, praise, excessive use of "baby", mild swearing, teasing, possessive language, body worship, dean di laurentis treating your orgasm like a personal achievement, lots of kissing, lots of touching, emotional intimacy disguised as horny behavior, let me know if i missed any!
all characters in this story are adults.
english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors.
a/n: i couldn't get this idea out of my head for days, dean has me so consumed. i don't make the rules. also, i firmly believe he would use the phrase "stress-eating" in this context and think he's the funniest person alive.
what's kai listening to: juno by sabrina carpenter.
18+; mdni.
You didn't think, when you walked into Hawks House an hour ago, that you'd end up in this position.
You were on Dean's desk chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, the other digging between his shoulder blades as he knelt between your legs. your panties had long since been tossed to some unknown cornerâanother one in the graveyard of underwear you'd lost in Dean's room.
There had been signs for daysâthe fact that he'd been hunched over game footage with Logan almost every night at Malone's, the way he'd been spending every free moment at the rink with Garrett. The lack of his usual Dean-ness. Your boyfriend, you knew, was stressed, and apparently, completely determined to shoulder all of it alone.
But not on your watch.
When you headed up to his room and found him hunched over his laptop, rewatching footage from the St. Anthony's game, you immediately offered to help in any way you could.
Which is how you ended up here, with Dean's fingers parting your folds once more, his mouth closing around your clit. Your back arched, thighs tightening around his head. He'd been at this for God knew how longâyou'd lost track after the third time you came.
You bit your lip, whimpering. "Dean, pleaseâ"
He lifted his head, flashing his dimples as he smiled. "You're makin' me feel so much better already, baby."
"This is notâ" You gasped as he groaned against your core, your hands instinctively tangling into his blonde hair. "Not exactly what I had in mind when I s-said I'd help you de-stress."
He pulled away for a second, large hands wrapping around your thighs, pulling them farther apart. "This is helping me, baby. Have you ever heard of a little thing called stress-eating?"
You let out a breathy laugh, which quickly morphed into a moan as Dean's tongue flicked against your clit again. You were sticky with sweat, sounds of absolute pleasure escaping your lips, the room filled with the scent of your arousal and Dean's cologne.
His hands snaked up your stomach, fingers toying with your nipples as he slid his tongue past your entrance, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
A needy, almost pornographic whine escaped you. "Dean."
"One more, baby," Dean begged, his brain foggy with the heady scent of you, the way you tasted making him forget all about the stress he'd been under for the past few days. His voice was low, wrecked. "Please. I need thisâneed you."
You nodded, your cunt clenching around air at the sound of him begging for you. Dean Di Laurentis, drunk on your pussy, pleading for more.
You could feel another orgasm building, blooming in the pit of your stomach as you reached up to grab one of his hands where he was still rolling your nipples between his fingers. He laced his fingers through yours immediately, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
You made the mistake of glancing downwards, and God. His blonde hair fell messily onto his forehead, and when you reached down to push it back out of his face, you nearly lost your mind then and there at the sight of him, his eyes closed, long blonde lashes resting against his cheeks. "You taste so fuckin' good baby. So fucking good for me."
Your stomach tensed, hips beginning to rock against his mouth almost involuntarily. "Fuck yeah, baby, use me. Take what you need."
You tugged him closer, thighs shaking, vision blurring as your hips bucked against his tongue, your orgasm washing over you, making your toes curl. Dean's muffled voice intercepted the desperate moans of pleasure parting your lips as he murmured from between your legs, "That's it, baby. That's my girl."
Dean finallyâfinallyâsat back, licking the remainder of your juices off his lips. He trailed slow, gentle kisses up your neck, your jaw, your forehead as you slumped back into the chair, spent and exhausted.
"Thank you," he muttered, kissing your lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue. "For always making me feel better, baby."
‷ ădealer!dean teaching you how to roll a joint. ËËË
âyou sure you want me to teach you?â you watched as dean gently pinched the blunt, pulling it from his lips and exhaling a cloud of thick smoke. slowly, you nodded your head. you were sure you wanted him to be the one to teach you. i mean, what better person to teach you to a roll a joint than the man who rolls 20 a day? besides, it was his idea in the first place, he simply wanted to teach you how to roll one because he thought it would be hot. and, boy, was it.
deanâs lips curled into a smirk, his dimples prominent. he nodded his head, exhaling another cloud of smoke and leaned forward to stub out the roach in the ashtray. the smoke swirled around you, lingering in the air of the living room like glue. dean grabbed his personal stash from the coffee table, grabbing out some rolling paper, some bud and his grinder.
you watched curiously as dean grabbed a small nugget of marijuana from his baggie, placing it in the grinder before replacing the cap back on. his silver ring glistened in the dull light of the house, the led strip lights emitting a red hue over the room and the smell of his expensive cologne almost overpowering the smell of marijuana. almost.
âdo you want to grind it, or do you want me to?â he asked, looking over at you with a lazy gaze. you glanced at the grinder and then back to his eyes, shrugging your shoulders. âi wanna do it.â dean nodded, sliding the little green grinder over to you and letting you take control. he leaned back against the couch, laying his arm on the backrest, watching you closely. you picked up the circular metal grinder, carefully beginning to twist the cap to the right continuously.
âback and forth, mama.â you looked up, looking at dean slightly confused. he chuckled, nodding his head towards the device in your hands. âtwist the cap back and forth instead of one way or the other. does a better job.â he suggests. you looked down at the grinder before back up to dean with a smile, nodding your head. you start twisting the cap back and forth like he said, and within seconds, you feel less resistance and you know itâs working. you do the back and forth motion a few more times before the sound of the weed crushing inside changes slightly.
âthere you go. now open the cap and grab some of the weed between your fingers.â dean instructs, watching you in awe. you just looked so hot doing something simple like this, grinding and rolling his weed like such a good girl. he noticed himself starting at you for way to long, his eyes finally tearing away from you and glimpsing down as you take some of the bud between your pinched fingers and carefully sprinkle it in a line on the rolling paper. what he wouldnât give to be fucking your brains out right now. maybe thatâs exactly how heâll reward you later.
âgood girl.â he nods in approval and the praise makes your stomach flip. he knows it does, heâs got that cocky smirk on his face again. the one that shows his dimples. you blushed, your cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. âso what now?â you asked, looking down at the sprinkled weed laying on the paper. you had already grabbed a few more pinches of it, just to make it amount to something.
ânow pick it up, taking it between your fingers.â dean directs, watching as you do exactly as he says, picking the blunt up between your thumbs and index fingers. âgood. now starting with the end of the paper closest to you, carefully, with your thumbs, start rolling the end towards the the other end.â he explains. you look down, carefully pushing the end of the paper towards the other end. you feel the movements on the couch as dean starts to move, but youâre too busy attempting to roll the paper. suddenly, you feel deans presence behind you, his legs bracketing yours as he sits behind you. his body is so fucking big it makes you look so tiny in front of him.
dean leans forward slightly, his chin hovering above your shoulder so he can see better. his hands slide around you, purposefully cupping your ribs as he does so, just to touch you. âyouâre doinâ good. you wanna push the paper forward while also pushing it down and tucking it around the bud so that it basically hugs the marijuana.â deanâs much larger hands cover yours, his fingers splayed out over yours, his hands mimicking the same position as yours.
he watches pridefully as you successfully roll the paper, helping you tweak it to make sure itâs tight enough. âperfect. now you wanna lick the paper lightly and then stick it to seal the paper in place. like an envelope.â he murmurs in your ear, watching with heavy eyes. your tongue sticks out partially, gliding the paper along the surface, just enough to carefully wet the paper. you tuck the paper a bit more to ensure itâs tight before pressing the moistened edges to the rest of the roll, letting it stick together perfectly.
âgood. now what you want to do is twist the edge of the joint. just one. we will light from this end.â deanâs nose brushes against the sensitive skin of your neck, heâs barely paying attention to what youâre doing, but still guiding you on what to do. you lick your fingers before carefully twisting one end of the joint, exactly like he told you. your heart beats hard inside the confinement of your ribcage, the feeling of deanâs lips brushing your neck make your eyes flutter shut. âgod, youâre so fuckinâ perfect.â dean groaned agaisnt your neck. âyou fuck me so good⊠let me touch you whenever i want⊠and now youâre rolling my weed for me.â
âI want to write a fic about this but I donât think anybody will be interested in itâ ummm hello excuse me maâam what do you mean you donât think anybody will be interested in it??? YOU. YOU ARE INTERESTED IN IT???? write it because YOU are interested in it and YOU want to write about it. fanfic writing should always be first and foremost about YOUR enjoyment, not other peopleâs.
short summary: where john logan wants to propose. unfortunately, the engagement ring is expensive, your future apartment is expensive, life is expensive, and he's slowly losing his mind.
pairing: boyfriend!john logan x fem!reader
word count: 6.2k
warnings: angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort, secret engagement planning, financial insecurity, discussions of money, reader thinking logan is cheating, emotional repression, crying, proposal anxiety, mild swearing, mentions of grief/loss of a parent, lots of kissing, dean di laurentis being aggressively unhelpful, garrett and tucker being the voices of reason for once, paper ring proposal, excessive use of "babe", tooth-rotting fluff at the end, reader is referred to as a she & as a woman, let me know if i missed any!
all characters in this story are adults.
english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors.
a/n: full disclosure, i was bawling my eyes out writing this. i love logan so much. also, dean deserved at least three separate concussions for his behavior in this fic. also, i was very inspired by this.
what's kai listening to: paper rings by taylor swift.
18+; mdni. likes, comments and reblogs are always and forever appreciated <3
The place was perfect.
You stood in the middle of the empty apartment, taking in the floor to ceiling windows, the marble of the breakfast bar, the pretty little notch in the kitchen island you couldn't wait to turn into a coffee bar. You could almost see it, almost smell the coffee brewing as the early morning sunlight filtered into room, caressing Logan's face with its golden fingers as he made breakfast. You could almost feel the way his mouth would curl against yours in a soft smile as you kissed him good morning, could almost hear his voiceâ
"Babe?" Logan's footsteps were soft against the hardwood floors as he rounded the corner with the realtor who was showing you the apartment. His dark hair was falling onto his forehead, blue eyes immediately finding you standing in the middle of the empty room. "What do you think?"
You meet his gaze, melting into him as he wraps an arm around your waistâcasual, sweet. You loved that about him, loved that he wasn't a grand gestures, in-your-face romantic. He was steady, calm, the harbor in a storm. "I love it, Logan. It's beautiful."
He smiles at you, squeezing your waist before turning back to the realtor, Anna, taking off to follow her as she continued with the tour of the house. The property was honestly lovelyâthe kind of apartment you could see yourself living in after the two of you graduated college in a few months.
Senior year had been blissful, to say the least. After you and John finallyâfinallyâbegan dating toward the end of your freshman year, life at Briar had transformed into something you never would've pictured for yourself. Weekends spent with the boys at the Hawks House, hanging out with Hannah and Allie on game days, parties that somehow always ended with you and Logan sneaking off to the firepit to sip beer and look at the stars. It was honestly hard to believe that you had been dating for only a couple of yearsâit felt like a lifetime.
And now, with finals, and graduation, and Logan being a shoo-in for the Bruins alongside Garret, you were excited to start the rest of your lives together. Most conversations these days between you and Logan were about apartments, where you guys would live after graduation. You were excited to move out of New Hastings and into Boston, where you'd been offered a job that was honestly, your dream since the day you walked into Briar U.
As Anna wrapped up the tour, you slipped your hand into Logan's, his palm rough, calloused against yours. Anna smiled as she handed you one of the brochures for the apartment. "So, the apartment would be around $3,900 a month. Utilities are not included, of course. I'll need the first and last month's rent if you decide to take the unit. The amount for the security deposit, as well as my fee is at the back of the brochure. If you have a few minutes, I'd recommend taking a walk around the block, familiarizing yourself with the neighborhood. I think you'd really like it."
You felt Logan's arm tense. Not too muchâslight enough that you were sure you'd imagined it at first. But then, as you slipped the brochure into your purse, walking down the stairs, you noticed the slight crease in his brow, looking down at his phone. "Is everything okay?"
His gaze snapped up to yours instantly, his face softening the way it always did when he looked at you. "Of course it is, babe. Wanna take a walk around the block, see what's around?"
The two of you stepped out into the evening sun, hand in hand. The apartment was located in Beacon Hill, in a charming old brownstone. The cobblestone streets were lined with little luxury boutiques, antique stores, and gorgeous art galleries.
You passed several such stores in blissful silence, glancing idly at the displays in the windows, untilâ
"Oh, my God."
Logan was nearly yanked off-balance as you stopped short in front of the window of a jewelry store, mouth agape, staring at a pair of gorgeous diamond earrings. You turned to Logan. "These are exactly like the ones my mom had when I was a kid!"
Logan's face softened immediately. "Yeah?"
You turned back to the window display, pressing closer to the glass, close enough that your breath began to fog up the pane. The earrings were beautifulâsimple diamond studs surrounded by a delicate halo of smaller stones. They were elegant, timeless.
"When I was little, my mom had a pair exactly like these. She wore them everywhere. To work, to date nights with my dad, even grocery shopping." A laugh escaped you, your gaze still fixed on the display, unable to tear your eyes away. "I used to sneak into her room and try them on when she wasn't looking."
Logan smiled faintly. You missed the way it didn't quite reach his eyes. "They're nice."
"Nice?" you repeated in mock offense. "John Logan, these are stunning."
"Right." Logan cleared his throat. "Stunning."
You finally dragged your attention away from the display to look at him properly. You couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was off. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but he hadn't been himself lately.
It had been happening more and more oftenâlittle moments where he seemed to disappear into his own head, where his smile seemed forced, where his eyes got this distant, faraway look in them, like he wasn't quite in the moment with you.
The crease between his brows was back.
Before you could even open your mouth to ask him about it, his phone buzzed, startling him. His hand immediately to his pocket, pulling out the lit up screen. Logan angled it away from you before you could even catch a glimpse of the caller ID, but you could see the look on his faceâsomething between panic and relief.
Logan cleared his throat. "Sorry babe, I gotta take this."
"Everything okay?" you asked, trying to ignore the sickening sinking feeling blooming in the pit of your stomach.
"Yeah." The words spilled out of his mouth a little too quickly. Almost as if he could see the wheels in your head turning, Logan curled the corner of his lips into a smileâthat familiar smile that usually settled every worry in your chest.
This time, it didn't.
Logan didn't seem to notice. "I'll be right back," he said, stepping away before you could say anything else, already lifting the phone to his ear.
You watched him retreat down the sidewalk, broad shoulders tensing underneath his jacket. You watched as his free hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing the spot at the top of spine like he always did when he was stressed.
Your stomach knotted itself further. Maybe it was hockey, maybe graduation, maybe apartment hunting. God knew the two of you had enough going on lately to make anyone lose their mind.
But somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else.
You forced yourself to let it go, instead you turned back toward the jewelry store window. The earrings sparkled underneath the warm display lightsâand before you could talk yourself out of it, you were reaching for the door handle.
A small bell jingled overhead as you stepped inside. The store was lovely. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting soft light over glass display cases. You felt like a kid in a candy store.
A saleswoman was by your side almost immediately. She looked to be in her fifties, dressed impeccably in black. "Welcome, dear. Can I help you with anything?"
You smiled, pointing toward the window. "Could I see those diamond earrings, please?"
"Excellent choice," the woman said, her face brightening.
A few moments later, she was placing them carefully on a velvet tray. Up close, they were even more beautiful. Gently, delicately, you lifted one. The diamond caught the light, scattering a million tiny rainbows across the glass.
Your mother's face flashed through your memoryâhelping you zip up your prom dress, teaching you how to curl your hair, laughing so hard tears rolled down her cheeks at Thanksgiving dinner. A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest, but it had nothing to do with the earrings and everything to do with the woman who raised you.
"Would you like to try them on?" the saleswoman asked.
You swallowed the lump of emotions in your throat as you nodded, lifting the stud to your ear. The woman stepped forward, helping you fasten them.
Slowly, you turned your head to the side, glancing in the mirror. Your face immediately cracked into a smile. "Oh."
"I take it that's a yes?" the saleswoman laughed.
You turned your head to the other side, watching them sparkle. They really were almost identicalâclose enough that your mom would've loved them. Without thinking too hard about it, you asked, "How much are they?"
The saleswoman named the price.
They were expensiveâdefinitely expensive. But not impossible.
You'd been saving aggressively ever since accepting your job offer in Boston. Between that and the graduation gifts from family, you could afford them quite easily.
You looked at yourself one more time, thinking about your mother, about all the milestones waiting just around the cornerâgraduation, moving to a new city, a new life. "Can I give them gift wrapped?"
The saleswoman smiled knowingly. "Of course."
Twenty minutes later, you stepped back onto the sidewalk carrying a small, cream-colored shopping bag tied with a pink satin ribbon.
The evening sun was beginning to dip lower between the brownstone buildings. Down the block, you could see Logan, still on the phone. His back was turned you, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans, the other pressed tightly to his forehead.
Your smile faded. The call had clearly lasted longer than expected.
As if sensing your gaze, Logan looked up, his entire expression changing the moment he saw you. The tension vanished, the crease on his forehead smoothening out. His smile returned, easy, warm, and familiar.
But this time, you were almost certain it wasn't real.
His gaze dropped to the shopping bag in your hand. Something flashed across this face so quickly you nearly missed it. It wasn't annoyance, wasn't surpriseâit was something heavier.
Before you could figure out what it was, it was gone, and Logan was walking toward you. "Ready to keep walking?"
You slipped your hand into his, the shopping back swinging lightly from your wrist. "Yep."
Logan squeezed your handâone, two, three times.
Together, you continued down the cobblestone street, neither of you noticing that the things you weren't saying were beginning to pile up between you.
At first, you told yourself you were imagining things.
Logan had a lot on his plateâhe really did. Graduation was only a few months away now, and the Bruins had practically been circling him for over a year now. Between practice, games, classes, apartment hunting, and preparing for an entirely new chapter of your lives, it would've been strange if he wasn't stressed.
That was what you told yourself, anyway.
It was becoming a lot harder to believe, now that three weeks had passed and nothing had changed. In fact, if anything, you were afraid they'd gotten worse.
The first thing you noticed were the late nights. Logan had always been the kind of person who could fall asleep practically anywhereâon the couch, during movies, in the passenger seat of your of your car on the trips home for Thanksgiving.
But now? You woke up at two in the morning to find his bed empty.
The first time it happened, you found him sitting at the table in the Hawks House' kitchen, his tired face bathed in the blue light of his open laptop.
When he noticed you, he slammed it shut so quickly that you jumped. "Jesus, Logan."
"What're you doing awake at this hour?" he asked, his eyes widening.
"I could ask you the same thing."
You could've sworn he looked almost guilty as he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just couldn't sleep."
At the time, you'd accepted the explanation... until it happened again. The second time, he was sitting on the balcony, the third time, in the living room. The fourth time he was on the living room couch, claiming he was reviewing paperwork for the Bruins.
Every answer felt reasonable, but every answer somehow made you feel worseâbecause none of them explained why he looked so nervous, so guilty every time you caught him, or why he hid whatever was on his laptop, or why his phone suddenly never left his side.
You noticed the last part one Thursday afternoon, when the two of you were sprawled across the couch, your head in his lap, his fingers twisted in the ends of your hair as he watched a hockey game.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and Logan lunged for it so quickly you were nearly thrown off his lap. The movement was so abrupt that both of you froze.
A tense silence settled over the room. You had that feeling againâthat strange, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach like the day he got that phone call outside the jewelry store. It was stronger now, more potent, almost tangible.
Logan stared at you, forcing a laugh. "Sorry, babe."
Nothingâno explanation. You tried not to think about it, but once the thought entered your head, it became impossible to ignore, because there other things, too. Tiny, insignificant things that probably meant nothing... except they didn't feel like nothing.
You started noticing how often he stepped away to answer incoming calls, how frequently he angled his phone away from you. How many texts arrived late at night. How distracted he became whenever you asked him if everything was okay.
One evening, you were brushing your teeth in his bathroom when his phone lit up on the counter.
You weren't trying to snoopâgenuinely. Your eyes simply caught the notification as his phone screen lip up with an incoming text. Your chest tightenedâno name, just an unsaved phone number.
The screen darkened before you could read the message. Your fingers itched to reach out and hit the power button, to see what the text was, but no. You trusted Loganâyou trusted him with your life.
A moment later, Logan entered the bathroom, almost as if he heard the distinct ding of the incoming text from where he lay on his bed. His gaze immediately found the phone, then you.
The tension in his shoulders materialized instantly. "What?"
You flinched at how sharp the word came out. "Nothing."
His face softened immediately. He stepped inside, reaching around you to pick up the phone, planting a soft, gentle kiss on your temple. "I'm sorry, babe."
You gave him a tight-lipped smile, but the damage was already done. That night you lay in bed next to him, staring at the ceiling. Try as you might, you couldn't fall asleep.
It was ridiculous. Logan loved you, you knew that. You'd never doubted it for a second, not once in almost three years.
John Logan wasn't a cheater. He wasn't.
So why did it suddenly feel like he was hiding something? The question followed you everywhereâto class, to work, to lunch with Hannah and Allie.
Which, unfortunately, spending time with Hannah and Allie only made things worse, because apparently, you were terrible at hiding your emotions.
"You okay?" Hannah asked, setting her coffee down.
You looked up from the drink you'd absentmindedly been stirring. "What?"
"You haven't heard a single thing we've said for the last ten minutes," Allie frowned. "Is everything okay with you and Logan?"
You immediately forced a smile, even as the concern in her voice made your stomach twist. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's okay."
The silence stretched as neither of them looked convinced. Then, Hannah's eyes narrowed. "Oh, my God."
"Hannah, noâ"
"You think Logan's cheating on you."
The words came too fast out of your mouth. 'I do not."
Allie and Hannah exchanged a look that you could read all too well. It was a look you knew meant they didn't believe you.
"Oh, my God," Allie echoed.
You groaned. "I don't think he's cheating."
"Okay," Hannah said slowly. "Then why do you look like you're about to throw up every time somebody says his name?"
You opened your mouth, then closed it. Nothing came outâbecause saying it out loud would somehow make it real. It would make the the late nights, the secretive phone calls, the hidden laptop screens, the weird tension, the distance, the uncertaintyâall of it would become far too real.
Suddenly, your coffee tasted like battery acid. Allie's face softened. "Oh, honey."
"I know how this sounds," you whispered, wrapping both hands around your cup. "I know Logan would neverâ"
The words caught in your throat. Would he?
The awful little voice in your head whispered something uglyâyou'd trusted people before, you'd been wrong before. And lately, every time you looked at Logan, it felt like he was standing just a little bit farther away than he used to. Not physically, but emotionally, like there was an entire conversation happening inside his head that you weren't allowed to hear.
The thought made your chest ache, because the worst part wasn't the possibility that he was cheating.
The worst part was that for the first time since you'd fallen in love with John Logan, you weren't completely sure what was going on inside his heart.
John Logan had never thought buying an engagement ring would make him feel like he was losing his mind.
And yet, somehow, here he wasâthree P.M. on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded by his teammates, staring at a spreadsheet. A fucking spreadsheet. He stared at the screen, already able to feel a headache building as he fiddled with an old receipt from Malone's.
"You know," Dean said from where he was sprawled across the couch, "most people use computers for porn."
Logan didn't even look up. "Shut up."
"No, seriously. Every time I see you lately, you're glaring at that thing like it personally offended your family."
Across the room, Tucker glanced over from his phone. "What's on it?"
"Nothing."
"That's a lie," Garrett said immediately.
Logan finally looked up only to see that all three of them were staring at him, judging him. And honestly, fair. He'd been acting like an asshole for weeks. He knew that, but the worst part, he couldn't seem to stop.
Every time he thought he had things under control, something happened that sent him spiraling all over againâlike the earrings.
Jesus Christ, the earrings.
He'd watched you walk into that jewelry store and nearly had a heart attackânot because you'd bought something, but because you'd looked so happy, so excited. He couldn't forget the way your entire face had lit up, and
all he'd been able to think was that the earrings probably cost more than the ring he could currently afford. The thought had followed him home, into bed, into practice the next day, into every waking moment since then.
Logan rubbed a hand across his face. "I need a drink."
"It's three o'clock," Tucker pointed out.
"I need several drinks."
Dean sat up. "Okay, that's it."
Logan frowned, his fingers folding and unfolding the scrap of paper he was still holding on to. "What?"
Dean pointed at him. "You've been weird for a month. Like, you look like you're about to be executed."
"Pretty fucking accurate," Garrett snorted.
Logan glared at both of them in vainâneither of them seemed even remotely intimidated.
Eventually, Garrett sighed. "Dude."
The single word carried enough weight that Logan meet his watchful eyes, studying him carefully. "You gonna tell us what's going on?"
The silence stretched out between them. Logan looked away first, and that, unfortunately, that answered the question.
Three seconds later, Dean practically launched himself off the couch. "Holy shit."
Tucker sat up straighter, meeting Dean's widened eyes. "Holy shit."
Garrett groaned. "Oh, for fuck's sake., what?"
Dean pointed toward Logan. "He's proposing."
Logan froze as the room fell silent, Garret's jaw dropping, Tucker's eyes widening. Thenâ
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT."
"Keep your voice down, Di Laurentis!" Logan snapped, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face.
Dean looked personally offended. "No."
"Tucker?"
"Nah, dude."
Logan looked over at Garret, who was already laughing. "Come on man, you too?" he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. This was a mistakeâa massive mistake.
"I don't even have a ring yet." The words slipped out before he could stop them. Immediately, all three guys went quiet.
Garret frowned. "What do you mean?"
Logan let out a slow breath. If he was already talking, he might as well finish. "The ring I want is too expensive, and every cheaper option feels wrong." Neither of them seemed particularly impressed, but Logan pushed forward anyway. "She deserves something nice."
"She deserves you," Tucker said.
Logan ignored him. "She loves jewelry." The memory of the earrings flashed through his head againâthe way your eyes had lit up, the excitement in your voice, the sheer joy.
Dean groaned. "Oh my God." He was looking at Logan like he was an idiotâall three of them were. That annoyed him, because he was already very well aware of the fact that he was being an irrational idiot. "You think she cares about how much the ring costs?"
Logan opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. Before he could force his brain to string the words together, Garret beat him to it, staring pointedly at the piece of paper Logan was still messing around with. "She'd say yes if you propose with a Ring Pop."
"That's not the point," Logan sighed.
"That's exactly the point."
The front door opened before Logan could argue, the sound instantly drawing everyone's attention. A second later, a lilting, beautiful laugh floated into the houseâa sound Logan would recognize anywhere. Your laugh.
His stomach tightened, eyes immediately looking for you as Hannah and Allie entered the house. You followed close behind, and immediately, every ounce of progress he'd made disappeared. Because thereâshopping bags. Everywhere.
Bright little logos, gold embossing of luxury brands, of little boutiques, of department stores. Logan could feel his pulse spike. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean tensing, muttering under his breath, "Oh, for the love of God."
Logan shot him a warning look. Dean rolled his eyes so hard Logan was almost genuinely impressed.
He saw your sift through the room, landing on Logan, and for a moment, a flash of emotions flickered across your faceârelief, followed by uncertainty, then settling into something colder, emptier, something that made his stomach drop.
"Hey." Your voice was soft, polite and distant.
Logan hated it with every ounce of his being. "Hey, babe."
You smiled, the look never reaching your eyes. A moment of tense silence enveloped the living room. Logan could feel every single pair of eyes zeroed in on the two of you, and apparently, you could too, because you shifted uncomfortably. "I think I'm gonna put my stuff away."
Before Logan could respond, you disappeared up the stairs. The silence that followed was deafening, everyone's eyes trained on Logan until Dean let out an exasperated sigh, smacking the back of his head.
"Ow!" Logan groaned. "What the fuck?"
"Go."
Logan was up on his feet immediately, slipping the folded paper object into his back pocket before Hannah and Allie could get a good look at it.
And for once, nobody argued. Nobody joked about him being whipped, nobody teased him for being wrapped around your fingerâbecause even they could feel the tension, the distance, the way something had shifted between the two of you.
Logan found you in your bedroom, the shopping bags sitting on the floor next to the bed. You stood on the far end, unpacking them carefully, methodically, like you were trying really hard not to think about something.
The look on your face made his chest hurt. "Babe?"
You glanced up, eyes sliding over his face before going right back to what you were doing. "Hi."
The polite distance in your voice was killing him. Logan stepped closer, words tangling in his throat. He needed to explain, needed to tell you. Except, as it always did in any important moment, his words failed him.
You stared at him expectantly for a moment, then sighed. "I got you something."
"What?" Logan blinked, confusion clear on his face as he accepted the small box you were holding out to him. His emotions knotted tight in his throat as he opened it, because something made you think of him.
Inside, on a delicate velvet cushion, sat a Bruins keychainâa simple, unremarkable trinket that brought him to the forefront of your mind while shopping. Undeniable proof that you were thinking of him, even when you were out with Hannah and Allie, even when you were clearly vexed with him.
His throat tightened. "Babeâ"
"I thought you'd like it," you said softly. The smile that accompanied the words was small, sad.
Logan hated it, but more than that, he hated the realization that he'd brought that expression on your face. Because the weeks of stress, of secrecy, of acting like a complete asshole had clearly taken a toll on your relationship, and nowânow you were looking at him like you weren't sure what to do with him anymore.
Logan cleared his throat. "I think I owe you an explanation."
You met his eyes, and for the first time all day, he saw something other than distanceâhope. It was tiny, fragile, almost undetectable, but it was there.
"Okay," you whispered. The word had barely left your mouth when his phone rang. Logan froze. No. No, no, no.
He glanced down at the caller ID, his heart sinking, and sure enough, it was the jewelerâthe custom jeweler he'd been working with for weeks, the one he'd been desperately waiting to hear from.
Before his very eyes, your expression changed. The hope vanished, replaced by the same cold indifference as before. Logan's pulse quickened. "Babeâ"
"It's fine."
"I just need a minute."
You waved your hand dismissively, stepping back to create physical space between the two of you. "It's fine, Logan."
His phone continued to ring as he realized this was all his doing. All this distance between the two of you was his creation. The realization hit him like a punch in the ribs, gutting him almost as thoroughly as you brushing past him with the words, "I'll see you downstairs."
And just like that, the conversation was over.
His phone rang again, demanding his attention once more. Logan stared at the screen, then out the bedroom room at the empty hallway you'd disappeared into, and for the first time in weeks, a terrifying thought entered his mind: maybe the ring wasn't the thing he should've been worried about losing.
The call lasted several minutesâseveral long, agonizing minutes.
Logan barely heard half of what the jeweler was saying, his mind barely registering the words. Custom setting. Center stone.
Any other day, it would've been exactly the conversation he'd been waiting for, but instead, all he could think about was the look on your face when you walked out of the room.
By the time he hung up and headed downstairs, he felt sick.
The house was louder downstairs, Dean arguing with Garrett about something while Hannah laughed. A hockey game was playing on the television like background noise.
Life was continuing exactly as normal, which somehow made everything worseâbecause nothing felt normal.
Logan found you sitting alone in the lawn chairs by the firepit in the backyard. The sun was beginning to set, painting the yard pink and gold.
You were curled up on the chair, knees tucked against your chest. For a minute, he stood there, just outside your line of sight, wondering how he'd managed to screw up so fucking royally.
The floorboard of the back stoop creaked beneath his weight as he took a step toward you. You lifted your head, your face closing off the second you saw himâand that was the moment Logan truly knew that whatever was happening between the two of you wasn't something he could smooth over with a kiss and an apology. "Can we talk?"
You stared at him for several seconds, then nodded slowly. "Sure."
He lowered himself into the chair next to you, a heavy, uncomfortable silence settling between the two of youâthe kind that hadn't ever existed before.
Finally, you spoke. "Are you cheating on me?"
The question hit him so hard he physically recoiled. "What?"
Your laugh was humorless, boken. "I asked if you're cheating on me."
"Babeâ"
"Because I don't know what else I'm supposed to think anymore." The words were spilling out faster now, like they'd been trapped inside you for weeks. "You won't talk to me. You leave the room to answer phone calls. You hide your laptop every time I walk in."
Logan's stomach dropped. He opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going.
"You barely look at me lately." Your voice crackedâjust slightly, just enough that the sound tore straight through him. "And every time I ask what's wrong, you tell me you're fine."
And suddenly, Logan could see it, could see the weeks of secrecy, of distance, of unexplained behavior through your eyes. God.
Of course you'd think that.
Your eyes were shining now. "You know the worst part?" you whispered, looking away. "I would've rather had you tell me the truth."
The sentence shattered something inside him, because you genuinely believed it. You genuinely thought there was another woman. That after everythingâafter three years, after every promise, every late night conversation making plans for your future together, you thought he was capable of hurting you like that.
And it wasn't because you didn't trust him, but because he'd given you every reason to question him, to harbor these thoughts.
The realization hit him like a freight train.
"Baby, no," he whispered, his voice cracking. "No."
You blinked. "What?"
"No." The words stumbled out of his mouth broken, desperate. "I'm not cheating on you. God, no."
You stared at him, hurt and uncertainty written all over your tear stained face. He'd done that. He'd put that doubt there. The realization made Logan drop his head into his hands.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then everything he'd been carrying for months finally spilled out, summed up in eight simple words. "I was trying to buy you a ring."
Complete silence. Logan turned his head toward you to see your brows furrowed. "What're you talking about?"
Logan laughed, a miserable, exhausted sound. "The phone calls, the laptop, all of it. I wanted it to be perfect. The proposal, the dream, everything."
He could see your mouth parting slightly in surprise, but he couldn't stop the words from tumbling out anymore, couldn't stop the tears blurring his vision as he continued in messy, unfiltered sentences. "You love beautiful things,"
"Loganâ"
"No, listen. You do." A helpless smile tugged at his mouth. "You stop at every jewelry store window."
You laughed softly despite yourself. "I do not."
"You absolutely do."
A tiny ember of warmth flickered between the two of you, then disappeared. Logan swallowed hard. "The earrings."
Your smile vanished. "The earrings?"
"That day in Boston. Babe, you were so happy."
You stared at him, completely lost, and suddenly Logan felt absolutely ridiculous, but he continued anyway, pushing through the discomfort of laying his heart bare, because where else would he be safe if not with you? "I couldn't stop thinking about how much you loved them."
"Because they reminded me of my mom."
"I know," Logan's voice dropped. "I know, babe. That's what made it worse. Because all I could think about was that if those earring made you so happy, your engagement ring should make you even happier."
He laughed shakily. "And every ring I could afford felt wrong. I kept looking at our apartment options, at budgets, at our future."
His eyes met yours, voice choking as a single tear finally escaped the confines of his long lashes. "I want to give you everything, my love. I want you to have the life you deserve."
"John."
"And it'sâit's killing me that I can't do it. It was killing me that I couldn't afford the ring I wanted for you."
You hand flew to your mouth, the tears in your eyes mirroring his.
"And then I started thinking maybe I should wait." Logan shook his head. "But I don't want to wait."
A tear slid down your cheek. "John."
He barely noticed. "I want to marry you."
The words landed heavily between youâsimple, honest, terrified.
Logan looked away, unable to hold your gaze anymore. "I know its stupid. I know how insane I sound." Silence, for a moment. Then, quietly: "But you deserve so much better than what I can give you right now."
The sound of your chair scraping as you stood up made Logan finally lift his eyes up off the floor. You crossed the space between the two of you without hesitation. Your hands found his faceâwarm and familiar and feeling like coming home.
"So let me get this straight." Your thumbs brushed beneath his eyes. "You thought I cared more about a ring than I care about you?"
Logan winced. "When you put it that wayâ"
"John Logan." The fondness in your voice made his heart stutter. "I like jewelry. I like sparkly necklaces and expensive dress. I like shiny thingsâbut none of those things are you."
His breath caught in his throat as you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. "I don't care about a large sparkly diamond."
"You don't mean that."
"I do."
'You dâ"
"I'd marry you with paper rings, John Logan," you whispered, as his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you to him like you'd disappear if he let go. "I'd marry you with a twist tie. I'd marry you with nothing at all. You're the one I want, and nothing's ever gonna change that."
Logan's vision blurred again, because suddenly, all those nights, all those spreadsheets, all the fearsâthey all felt so small compared to this, compared to what he had with you. Compared to the certainty in your eyesâthe certainty he'd been too stupid to trust.
Something in Logan's chest stuttered, because suddenly, he remembered the folded receipt, still sitting in his pocket. He'd been folding and refolding it between his fingers while Garrett and Dean gave him hell earlier, creasing the paper absentmindedly, and before he could think, his hand was moving.
You frowned as he dug into his back pocket. "What're you doing?"
Logan looked down, letting out a watery laugh.
"Jesus." Carefully, he pulled out the crumpled strip of paper. The receipt had been folded and twisted so many times that it barely resembled what it once was.
Except somehow, he'd managed to fold it into a ring.
A crooked, terrible ringâthe saddest excuse for jewelry in human history.
You stared. "Oh my God."
Heat flooded Logan's face. "I was nervous."
A laugh escaped you. "What does that have to do withâ"
"I don't know." He was laughing now, too, half-hysterical, half-relieved. "I just kept folding the damn thing."
The ring sat trapped between his fingers, somehow more important than any diamond he'd spent months obsessing over. There was no diamond, no grand romantic gesture. Just youâjust the love of his life.
Logan knelt, and despite all the words spilling out of him only moments before, the only word that parted his lips was, "Please."
"Are you serious?"
Logan's voice shook. "I don't have the ring yet. I don't have the proposal I wanted to give you. I don't have it all figured out right now. But I know I want forever, and I don't want it with anyone but you."
A tear tracked it's way down your cheek. "John."
"I know it's not much, butâ"
"It's perfect."
"It's literally made out of a receipt."
You laughed through your tears. "So?" The sound nearly stopped his heart. "So was our first grocery list."
Logan laughedâa real laugh this time, the first one in weeks. "Please, babe? Will you marry me?"
"Yes. Yes, you big idiot, of course I'll marry you."
You stared the paper ring from his hand as though it were made of diamonds, holding out your hand for him to slide the ring onto your finger.
It fit terribly. You loved it.
And just like that, every spreadsheet, every budget, every sleepless night, every fear he'd carried for months disappeared.
Because standing in front of him was the woman he'd been trying so desperately to impress, the woman who loved sparkly things, who deserved the world.
The woman wearing a paper ring like it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she'd ever owned.
thinking about them tonight sooo, here's part 3/3 of GUNPOINT - part 1 | part 2
The third time Ghost holds you at gunpoint, you donât even see him.Â
Youâre working an op, climbing onto the roof to get a better shot when a red sight laser hits your chest. All it takes is one glance down at the dot circling your breast, watching it zero in on your nipple hidden beneath your black bodysuit with impressive marksman skills, for you to instantly know who it is.Â
You raise your eyes to the rooftop across from yours. There he is, bone mask glinting in the moonlight, sprawled on his belly with his barrel aimed straight at you.Â
With a sigh, you crouch at the edge of the brick building and peer through your scope into the alleyway below.Â
Itâs still empty. No sign of your target yet.Â
âHowâs the leg?â you call without looking up from your sights, remembering the little bullet wound you gave him to remember you by. âSlowing you down?â
âHardly,â he grunts.
Heat pools in your belly, sharp and instant. Suddenly, you realize youâve never actually heard the man they call âGhostâ speak before.Â
Your gun lowers just a fraction. âWait. Say something else.â
âTalk again and I shoot you.â
âYouâre British?â Your lashes brush the scope as you blink heavily. âGod, Iâm a sucker for an accent.â
âQuiet,â he warns.
âNo, really, you shouldâve told me that!â A smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth as you glimpse your target coming out of the alley, your finger hovering over the trigger. âWe couldâve ended this game of cat and mouse a long time ago.â
You end up with a bullet in your shoulder, but Simon makes up for it eventually by putting a ring on your finger.Â
