Summary: Logan gets jealous when he sees his girlfriend spending more time with her engineering group partners.
Word Count: 1,137
Logan had never really cared what major Y/N was in.
Engineering.
Cool.
She liked it. That was enough for him.
Whenever she talked about classes, he’d smile, nod, pretend to understand words like “thermodynamics” and “finite element analysis,” then kiss her forehead and ask if she wanted dinner.
It wasn’t his world.
He didn’t need it to be.
At least that was what he thought.
—
The realization came completely by accident. Logan had just finished lifting when he spotted Y/N walking across campus.
He smiled automatically. Then he noticed she wasn’t alone.
Three guys.
Two girls.
Y/N in the middle.
One guy had his backpack hanging from one shoulder while animatedly explaining something. Another laughed so hard he nearly walked into a bike rack. The blonde girl shoved him. Y/N burst into laughter.
Logan stopped walking.
“…Huh.”
He watched them disappear into the engineering building.
Then continued toward hockey practice.
He didn’t think about it again.
Not really.
Until three days later. He picked her up after class. She climbed into his truck.
“Tired?” he asked.
“So tired.”
“Long day?”
“We were in the machine shop for five hours.”
“We?”
“My project group.”
“Oh.”
She smiled absentmindedly.
“Ben almost dropped the prototype on his foot.”
Logan chuckled.
“Sounds expensive.”
“It would’ve been.”
—
Then it kept happening.
Every story started with “we.”
We stayed late.
We finished coding.
We ordered pizza.
We were in the lab.
We.
We.
We.
Logan had never met “we.” But apparently they spent more waking hours with his girlfriend than he did.
He ignored it.
Mostly because he trusted her completely. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his mind. The problem wasn’t trust. The problem was that se suddenly realized he had absolutely no idea who these people were.
—
“So…”
He asked one night while they folded laundry together.
“Who’s Ben?”
Y/N looked up.
“My lab partner.”
“And?”
She laughed.
“And what?”
“What kind of guy is he?”
She shrugged.
“Funny.”
“…Anything else?”
“Really smart.”
Logan nodded slowly.
“What about Ethan?”
“He’s the one who keeps breaking things.”
“And Noah?”
“He practically lives in the engineering building.”
“You know a lot about Noah.”
She blinked.
“…Logan.”
“What?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Are you interviewing me?”
“No.” He looked away then mumbled, “…Maybe.”
—
A week later Y/N texted him.
“Running behind. Library with my project group.”
Normally he would’ve replied with a thumbs-up.
Instead he found himself sending a different text:
“Need me to bring you dinner?”
“That’d actually be amazing ❤️”
So he did.
Completely innocent. Totally not an excuse to meet these mysterious engineering people. Definitely not.
—
The study room was louder than he expected. Equations covered every whiteboard. Coffee cups everywhere. Laptops open. Half the group arguing over calculations. The other half laughing.
Y/N looked up immediately.
“Logan!”
She stood to hug him.
He kissed her forehead before looking around.
“So these are the famous engineers.”
Introductions happened quickly.
Ben.
Ethan.
Noah.
Sarah.
Mia.
Everyone seemed… Normal. Way too normal. Ben was charismatic. Ethan looked like he’d studied nonstop for the past 48 hours. Noah was somehow six-foot-three. Logan silently decided he disliked Noah. Not because Noah had done anything. Just because he existed while tall. Why did his height even bother him? Logan couldn’t tell, but it did, it really did.
—
He stayed for twenty minutes. Mostly listening. And that’s when he noticed it.
Not flirting.
Never flirting.
Comfort.
Ben stealing Y/N’s pencil without asking. Sarah fixing Y/N’s ponytail while she typed. Noah sliding a coffee toward her because he’d grabbed everyone’s order. They all moved around each other effortlessly. Like a team. Like… family.
Logan suddenly felt like the new guy.
—
On the drive home he was quieter than usual.
Y/N noticed.
“You okay?”
“Mhm.”
“Liar.”
He smiled. “A little.”
“What is it?”
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.
“I don’t think I realized…”
“What?”
“…that they spend so much time with you.”
She leaned back in her seat.
“They do.”
“You know them.”
“I do.”
“They know you.”
“Mhm.”
“You have inside jokes.”
She smiled. “We’ve been building the same project for four months.”
Logan nodded. “I know.”
Silence filled the truck.
Finally he said it, “I think I’m jealous.”
She turned toward him.
“You think?”
He laughed.
“I know.”
“What are you jealous of?”
He thought about it. Then answered honestly.
“I know exactly what happens at hockey.”
She waited.
“I know the guys. I know the coaches. I know the environment. But engineering…” He shook his head. “I don’t know any of it.”
Y/n didn’t interrupt she simply listened and let Logan unravel his thoughts.
“I walk in there…” He smiled awkwardly. “…and I feel like the dumbest guy in the room.”
Y/N’s heart softened immediately. “Oh, Logan.”
“It’s weird.”
“What is?”
“I’m usually good at stuff.”
She laughed softly. “I’ve noticed.”
“But there…” He shrugged. “They start talking…” He imitated them. “‘The stress analysis failed because…’”
She giggled.
“And I just…” Logan spread his hands helplessly. “I have absolutely no idea what’s happening.”
She reached across the center console and took his hand.
“They don’t think you’re dumb.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you’re dumb.”
“I know.”
“They’re just engineers.”
He looked over.
“And you’re one of them.”
She smiled.
“I guess.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I’m proud of you.”
“You are?”
“So proud.”
A pause.
“I’m also a little jealous that they get to see you every day.”
She looked out the window, smiling to herself.
“You know…”
“Hm?”
“They’re all jealous of you.”
Logan frowned. “What?”
“They think you’re the cool one.”
He laughed.
“Seriously?”
“They think dating a hockey player is intimidating.”
Logan smiled. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“I think they’re wrong though,” Y/N chuckled.
“About what? The intimidating part? ‘Cause I can be pretty intimidat-“
“No” Y/n smiled and held Logan’s hand. “I mean the cool part.”
Logan rolled her eyes. “What?”
“I think building robots is cooler than hockey.”
He gasped dramatically.
“I’ve been replaced.”
“You have.”
“By engineers.”
“By engineers.”
He sighed.
“I guess I’ll just have to keep picking you up after lab so they remember you have a ridiculously handsome boyfriend.”
She smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
“I don’t think they’ll forget.”
“Good.”
“Mostly because every time you show up…” She grinned. “…the entire room suddenly sits up straighter.”
Logan couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe he would never understand engineering. Maybe he’d always be a little jealous of the people who got to spend twelve hours a week with her solving impossible equations.
But every afternoon, when she climbed into his truck with tired eyes and immediately reached for his hand before even buckling her seatbelt, he remembered something important. She always chose the passenger seat beside him.
summary: the four times your friend group tried to set you up with logan, and the one time they find out you’ve been dating the entire time
established relationship
warnings: just pure sappy fluff, usage of y/n
word count: 4.2k
a/n: based on this request! i hope you like it :))
john logan masterlist off campus masterlist
── ᵎᵎ ✦
the funny thing about keeping your relationship with logan a secret was that neither of you had ever actually decided to.
if someone had asked during those first few weeks, you probably would’ve told them. there wasn’t anything scandalous about it. no reason to hide. nobody in your friend group would’ve cared beyond teasing the two of you for a while before eventually moving on.
it just… never came up.
the relationship itself had arrived so quietly that, looking back, neither of you could really pinpoint where friendship had ended and something else had begun.
after hockey season, you’d simply started spending more time together. study sessions that always seemed to run too late to justify walking back to your own dorm straight away. dinners that lasted twice as long as either of you intended because conversation came so easily with him. evenings spent wandering across campus without much destination in mind, filling the silence with the sort of conversations that only happened when neither person felt any pressure to keep talking.
somewhere between spring arriving and final exams looming over campus, he’d walked you back to your dorm after one of your study sessions like he always did.
the conversation had drifted off several minutes earlier, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement and the distant buzz of students enjoying one of the first genuinely warm evenings of the year.
you’d stopped outside your building. he’d looked at you for a moment before kissing you.
it hadn’t been particularly dramatic. there hadn’t been fireworks or declarations or some overwhelming certainty that everything had changed. it had simply felt… right.
afterward, logan had rubbed the back of his neck with the slightest hint of uncertainty before quietly asking if that had been okay. you’d kissed him again instead of answering.
that had been four months ago.
the next morning, you’d still met everyone for breakfast. logan had still sat beside you because he always did. you’d stolen fries from his plate because you always did. he’d walked you back to your dorm after classes because he always did.
the only real difference was that now, when nobody was looking, he’d steal a quick kiss before heading back across campus.
for a while, having something that belonged only to the two of you had been… nice.
your relationship existed outside everyone else’s opinions. there were no questions, no teasing, no constant interruptions every time one of you sat beside the other. it was just yours, tucked quietly into the spaces between lectures and late-night walks and evenings spent curled up together in your dorm.
eventually, though, the novelty faded.
more than once, one of you would look at the other and say, we should probably tell everyone.
the other would agree, but then someone would change the subject, or dinner would arrive, or you’d both forget. the conversation kept being postponed until it somehow became stranger to announce it than not to.
neither of you worried about it, because you assumed everyone would find out eventually. you just hadn’t anticipated it to take so long.
by the time coach finally called it, the sun had already started dipping behind the campus buildings, painting long shadows across the parking lot outside the arena. everyone was tired in that familiar, satisfying sort of way that followed a good skate. conversation came easier once helmets were off and sticks had been tossed carelessly into the back of trucks, the intensity of practice gradually giving way to the comfortable rhythm the team always seemed to settle into afterward.
logan adjusted the strap of his hockey bag higher on his shoulder as he stepped out of the rink. he’d texted you nearly an hour earlier.
logan: running late don’t wait if you’re hungry
you: too late already ordered enough fries for both of us x
he’d smiled to himself without really thinking about it.
logan: good
the parking lot had begun emptying by the time he started walking toward campus. several of the guys peeled off in different directions, climbing into cars or heading toward the hockey house, until eventually only garrett remained beside him since they had decided to carpool.
for a while, neither of them spoke. garrett, however, lasted about three more minutes until he felt the need to break the silence, “you know…”
logan glanced over. garrett shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, looking ahead as though the conversation wasn’t particularly important, “y/n’s cool.”
logan nodded once, “yeah.”
garrett continued walking, “i mean it.”
“i know.”
“she’s funny.”
another nod from logan, “she is.”he wasn’t entirely sure where the conversation was going yet.
people complimented their friends all the time. it didn’t seem especially noteworthy. garrett kept talking anyway, “she actually knows hockey.”
“yeah.”
“which is rare.”
logan thought about the number of times you’d sat through games you hadn’t understood at first, asking quiet questions until the rules gradually began making sense. now you caught missed penalties before half the people around you did. you’d been strangely pleased with yourself the first time that happened. he’d been pleased too, though.
“she’s easy to be around,” garrett said.
logan looked at him, “…she is.”
there wasn’t much point pretending otherwise; you were. conversation with you never felt forced, and silence didn’t either. most evenings, the two of you could spend hours together without either of you feeling the need to constantly fill the space between you. logan had never realised how rare that was until he’d found it.
garrett slowed slightly as they reached the crosswalk outside the arena and looked sideways at logan, “you should ask her out.”
the traffic light changed. logan waited for a car to pass before stepping off the curb, “oh, i already did.”
garrett laughed. not the polite sort of laugh people gave when they weren’t sure whether someone was joking. it was a genuine laugh, “yeah?”
logan frowned faintly, “yeah.”
“good one,” garrett laughed again.
for a second, logan wondered whether he’d said something wrong. then he realised garrett thought he was kidding, but before he could explain, garrett was already talking again, “seriously, though, i think you’d really like her.”
you discovered hannah’s theory by the middle of the semester over afternoon coffee.
the two of you had escaped campus between lectures, ducking into della’s diner. it had become something of an unspoken tradition over the past year. whenever your schedules lined up, you’d spend an hour there together before heading back to class, talking about everything and absolutely nothing until one of you inevitably glanced at the time and realised you were already running late.
that afternoon was no different. hannah was halfway through describing one of garrett’s increasingly questionable cooking experiments when she paused.
her expression shifted ever so slightly. not dramatically, just enough that you’d learned to recognise she was about to say something she’d clearly been thinking about for a while.
she stirred her coffee absentmindedly before looking up, “can i ask you something?”
you nodded, “always.”
her spoon clinked softly against the side of her mug, “have you ever thought about logan?”
thankfully, your coffee was already back on the table, otherwise, you suspected you might’ve dropped it. you blinked as you did your best to keep your expression neutral, “in what way?”
hannah shrugged one shoulder, “in a dating way.”
you hummed thoughtfully, lowering your eyes to your drink before she could read your face too closely, “why are you asking?”
she smiled to herself, “i don’t know.” which, coming from hannah, almost certainly meant she knew exactly why. she tucked one leg beneath herself in the booth before continuing, “i’ve just been watching you two.”
your heart gave the smallest, traitorous little skip. not because you thought she’d figured it out, but because she was far more observant than most people gave her credit for.
you’d spent the last four months being careful. never sitting too close when everyone else was around. never holding hands unless nobody could see. keeping kisses to empty hallways, quiet walks back to your dorm, and the brief moments before one of you inevitably headed home for the night.
you’d convinced yourself nobody had noticed and, for the first time, you wondered if maybe someone had.
hannah rested both hands around her mug, “he always ends up sitting beside you.”
you smiled faintly, “there’s usually a free seat.”
“maybe.” she shrugged, but she looked unconvinced, “but he always notices when you leave the room.”
you hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed that. it happened almost unconsciously; whether you were getting another drink, answering your phone, or stepping away to use the bathroom, his eyes almost always followed you for a second before returning to whatever conversation he’d been having.
he didn’t seem aware he was doing it and neither had you. until now.
hannah continued, counting quietly on her fingers, “he remembers everything you tell him.”
you opened your mouth to answer, but immediately closed it again. she wasn’t wrong.
logan remembered things. all sorts of things. the name of your favourite author after you’d mentioned it once in passing. which professor insisted on surprise quizzes every friday. how you always ordered extra fries but never ate the last one. the way you preferred your coffee. the fact that you hated walking across campus with wet socks after it rained.
he carried little pieces of information about you as though remembering them required no effort at all.
“and,” hannah added, smiling into her coffee now, “he always makes sure someone walks you home after group nights.”
this time, you couldn’t help smiling. not because she was wrong, but because she thought it was someone. she had no idea that, more often than not, the someone was logan himself.
you looked back at her, “you’ve thought about this a lot.”
she laughed softly, “a little.”
“a little?”
“okay.”she grinned, “more than a little.”
you shook your head, laughing under your breath, “so…”
hannah leaned forward just enough to rest her elbows on the table, “i think he likes you.”
you let the silence linger for a second. eventually, you took another sip of your coffee, “you think?”
she nodded immediately, “i’m almost certain.”
you traced absentminded circles around the rim of your mug, “i’ll keep that in mind.”
hannah smiled, clearly satisfied she’d done her part.
malone’s was busier than it had been when you’d first arrived; conversations overlapping beneath the steady hum of music drifting through the speakers. pool balls cracked together somewhere behind you every few minutes, punctuated by the occasional cheer whenever someone managed an unexpectedly good shot. every booth seemed occupied, and the warm scent of fried food lingered in the air long after the plates had been cleared away.
the eight of you had claimed the same corner booth you always seemed to end up in.
tucker and dean were arguing over something that had happened during practice earlier that afternoon. allie was attempting to convince hannah that dean had, in fact, exaggerated the entire story. garrett kept interrupting to make things objectively less accurate, while beau looked increasingly entertained the longer the argument continued.
logan sat quietly beside you, only contributing every now and then with the sort of dry comment that somehow made everyone laugh harder than the original story had.
the first round of drinks disappeared into a second. someone ordered fries for the table, garrett immediately claiming most of them.
eventually, dean pushed himself upright, “pool.”
nobody seemed particularly invested one way or the other, but everyone followed him toward the tables anyway.
there was a brief discussion about teams. mostly because dean insisted there needed to be strategy involved despite nobody else caring very much who they played with.
he looked around the group for a moment before pointing at you and logan, “you two, you’re together.”
a silent looked passed between the two of you, but neither of you questioned it, “alright.”
dean looked absurdly pleased with himself and you caught the expression immediately. logan, apparently, did not. he’d already reached for one of the cues leaning against the wall, turning it over once in his hands before offering it to you instead, “this one’s straighter.”
you accepted it automatically, “thanks.”
the game started. calling it competitive would’ve been generous. beau insisted dean wasn’t keeping score properly. dean insisted beau simply couldn’t count. garrett somehow managed to sink the cue ball twice within five minutes. allie laughed so hard she almost missed her own turn.
you weren’t especially good at pool. you’d played often enough to understand the rules, but accuracy remained … inconsistent. halfway through the game, you leaned over the table, squinting down the cue as you tried to line up a shot that looked considerably easier in theory than it did in practice.
you adjusted your grip. then adjusted it again, but something still felt wrong.
before you had the chance to rethink it a third time, logan stepped quietly beside you. he didn’t say anything straight away. instead, he looked from the cue to the angle of your arm before gently reaching for your hand, “here.” his voice stayed low enough that only you heard it. his fingers shifted yours slightly higher along the cue, “you’re holding it too tight.”
his hand was warm and steady against yours. he moved your wrist barely half an inch before stepping back again, his attention returning to the table as though nothing particularly noteworthy had happened, “try that.”
you did and suddenly the ball rolled neatly across the felt. two seconds later, it disappeared cleanly into the corner pocket. you stared after it, “huh.”
logan’s mouth lifted at one corner, “better.”
“little bit,” you smiled despite yourself.
across the room, dean noticed the entire interaction. he leaned sideways toward allie, “see?”
allie followed his gaze, “what?”
“chemistry.”
she looked back toward the two of you. logan was already focused on the table again while you circled around the opposite side, trying to decide which shot came next.
“i think he just helped her,” she knitted her brows as she looked back at the blonde.
“exactly.”
“you’ve become weirdly invested in this.”
“i just think they’d be good together,” he shrugged.
she smiled to herself, “they would.”
by the time the game ended, nobody seemed entirely sure who had actually won. dean claimed it had been your team, but beau disagreed loudly, and garrett insisted the score had become irrelevant after someone accidentally knocked two balls off the table.
eventually, everyone gave up trying to work it out.
chairs scraped against the wooden floor as people stood, conversations overlapped while jackets were pulled on, and someone inevitably realised they’d forgotten to close their tab just as everyone else reached the door. after a few hours, the evening had settled into the comfortable kind of tiredness that came from spending too long laughing with people you genuinely enjoyed being around.
outside, the air had cooled considerably.
the streets were quieter than they’d been when you’d arrived, most of the foot traffic now made up of students wandering back toward campus in small groups. the lights from the bars spilled across the sidewalks, catching against puddles left behind by an afternoon shower and turning them gold.
everyone lingered outside for a minute or two, deciding who was walking where.
dean and allie had parked across the street, garrett and hannah were already arguing over whether they had enough food left at the hockey house to avoid another late-night grocery run, and beau and tucker had somehow wandered into an entirely separate conversation before anyone else had finished saying goodbye.
you slipped your arms into your jacket, only half paying attention.
“i’ve got to head this way,” you said absentmindedly, nodding toward the opposite side of campus, “my dorm’s clear across the other end.”
before anyone could answer, allie looked toward logan who was stood beside you, “logan, can walk you back, right?”
the suggestion landed so naturally that nobody questioned it. logan didn’t hesitate, “yeah.”
you caught the smile dean tried, and failed, to hide. it lasted barely a second before he looked away, but you’d seen it. you knew exactly what he thought had just happened.
allie, on the other hand, looked entirely unconcerned. if she had any ulterior motive, she hid it considerably better than dean ever could. she simply smiled at you, wished you both goodnight, and climbed into the passenger seat of dean’s truck.
one by one, everyone drifted away. before long, only you and logan remained standing beneath the glow of the streetlights outside malone’s, “ready?”
you nodded, “ready.”
the walk back toward campus began in easy silence. you’d discovered early on that neither of you felt any pressure to speak simply because there was empty space to fill. sometimes one of you started talking after a few minutes. sometimes neither of you did. either way, it never felt awkward.
the sidewalks were damp beneath your feet, carrying the faint scent of rain and warm pavement. somewhere across campus, music drifted lazily through the night air before disappearing again as you turned down a quieter path lined with trees.
logan matched his pace to yours without seeming to think about it. he always walked slightly slower when he was with you. not enough that anyone else would notice, but just enough that you never had to hurry to keep up.
you’d made it halfway across campus before you finally smiled to yourself. logan glanced over, “what?”
you shook your head, “i think everyone’s trying to set us up.”
he blinked, “what?”
“garrett, hannah, dean, and now allie,” you gestured vaguely behind you, toward the direction of malone’s, “they’re trying to get us together.”
logan was quiet. you watched him think, his gaze dropping briefly toward the pavement as he replayed the last few weeks in his head. you almost saw the moment everything clicked into place, “oh.”
you smiled, “there it is.”
he looked back at you, “they are trying to set us up.” another few steps passed before he spoke again, “i didn’t notice.”
“i know.”
he rubbed absently at the back of his neck as he chuckled, “i thought garrett was just being friendly.”
you returned the laugh, “he was.”
“…and dean?”
“less subtle.”
“huh.”his expression settled somewhere between thoughtful and faintly amused. for another minute, neither of you said anything. then, quietly— “that’s kind of nice.”
you looked at him, “what is?”
“they like you,” his mouth twitched and the smile that appeared was small enough that most people would’ve missed it entirely.
you didn’t, though. you never did.
the path narrowed as you approached your dorm, forcing the two of you a little closer together. your shoulder brushed his once, then again a few steps later.
the building came into view not long afterward, its windows glowing softly against the dark campus.
you stopped near the entrance and for a moment, neither of you spoke. the night had settled comfortably around you, carrying the distant sounds of laughter from somewhere across campus. “thanks,” you said.
logan looked at you, “for what?”
“walking me home.”
he seemed almost surprised by the question, “always, you know that”
the answer came so simply. as though there had never been another possibility.
something warm settled quietly in your chest. you stepped a little closer, close enough that nobody looking out from the dorm windows would’ve noticed anything unusual. your fingers briefly caught the sleeve of his hoodie, “i know.”
his hands found yours for the smallest moment, hidden between the two of you. he gave them one gentle squeeze before slowly leaning closer to place a soft kiss against your lips, “night.”
the hockey house was unusually quiet that evening. someone had left a hockey game playing on the television more out of habit than genuine interest, and dean and garrett were arguing half-heartedly over something that had happened during practice while tucker scrolled aimlessly through his phone.
allie and hannah occupied opposite ends of the couch, comparing notes for a class neither of you had been unfortunate enough to take.
logan had disappeared upstairs twenty minutes earlier to shower after practice.
you’d made yourself comfortable in the corner of the couch with one of your textbooks balanced across your knees, though you’d spent considerably longer reading the same paragraph than actually understanding it.
your attention drifted every few minutes. sometimes toward the television. sometimes toward whatever dean was complaining about now. sometimes… toward the staircase.
you heard footsteps before you looked up and logan appeared a second later, still rubbing a towel absently through his damp hair. he’d changed into gray sweats and a faded briar hoodie, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. his hair was still slightly damp around the edges, curling faintly where it hadn’t quite dried yet.
your eyes lifted from the textbook almost automatically.
the smallest smile appeared the moment he noticed you. he wandered into the living room, only half paying attention to whatever dean was saying.
as he drew closer, you noticed one of the hoodie strings had twisted itself awkwardly beneath the collar.
without thinking—
completely, utterly without thinking—
you held out your hand, “logan.”
he stopped beside the couch, “hm?”
“come here.”
he stepped closer immediately. not because you’d sounded particularly serious. simply because you’d asked.
you reached up, gently tugging the twisted drawstring free before smoothing the collar flat against his chest. the fabric had folded awkwardly beneath the hood, so you fixed that too, “there.”
logan glanced down briefly, “thanks.”
you brushed one last damp strand of hair away from his forehead before letting your hand fall. the movement had become so instinctive over the past few months that neither of you gave it a second thought.
logan certainly didn’t, because he leaned down to press a brief kiss against your forehead before dropping onto the couch beside you. his hand found yours beneath the blanket draped across your lap with the same unconscious ease he’d done it a hundred times before.
it took several more seconds before you realised the room had gone completely silent.
you looked up to find that dean had stopped talking mid-sentence, garrett still held an unopened bag of chips in one hand, hannah was looking between the two of you with an expression that suggested several months’ worth of observations had suddenly rearranged themselves into one very obvious conclusion, allie blinked only once, and beau looked at each face in turn, then at you, then at logan. the corners of his mouth started twitching.
logan followed your gaze around the room, “oh.”
you looked at him, “shit, we forgot.”
dean found his voice first, “what.”
neither of you answered immediately. mostly because there didn’t seem to be much else to say.
you and logan looked at each other before you finally closed your textbook and set it carefully on the coffee table, “we’re dating.”
silence. dean blinked, again, “what.”
“logan and i are dating.”
another pause and garrett frowned, “since when?”
this time, logan answered, “about four months.”
garrett slowly lowered the bag of chips onto the coffee table as though any sudden movement might somehow change what he’d just heard, “four months.”
logan nodded, “yeah.”
garrett looked genuinely wounded, “i told you to ask her out.”
“i know.”
“you were already dating.”
“yeah.”
garrett stared at him, “why didn’t you tell me?”
logan frowned slightly, considering the question with complete sincerity, “well, you didn’t ask.”
beau made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. dean ignored him completely as he looked between you and logan, “hold on.”he pointed accusingly between the two of you, “the pool game.”
you looked at him, “what about it?”
“i put you two together.”
“you did.”
“because i was trying to set you up,” he voice raised slightly as he spoke, obviously in complete disbelief.
“we know.”
“you knew?”
you nodded and dean looked personally offended, “the walk home from malone’s.”he turned toward allie, “you literally asked him to walk her home.”
allie slowly covered her face with one hand, “oh my god.”
you smiled apologetically, “he’d actually been walking me home for months.”
allie let out a quiet groan, “we spent an entire semester trying to get these two together.”
another beat of silence passed. then beau finally gave up trying to hold it in. his laugh echoed through the living room, loud enough that dean shot him an unimpressed look before the sound became contagious.
garrett started laughing next. then tucker. even hannah eventually shook her head, smiling into her coffee, “to be fair,” she said, “i did tell her i thought logan liked her.”
you laughed, “you did.”
hannah looked at you, “you could’ve said something.”
“…probably.”
dean threw both hands into the air, “probably?!”
you couldn’t help but smiling, “it was kind of funny.”
dean stared, “funny??”
then beau laughed even harder. dean dropped backward onto the couch with the sort of dramatic resignation usually reserved for championship losses, “i cannot believe,” he muttered, rubbing both hands over his face, “i spent four months accidentally rooting for a relationship that already existed.”
logan gave him a sarcastic smile, “hey, thanks.”
dean groaned loud enough for the entire house to hear, which only made everyone laugh harder.
through the middle of it all, unnoticed by everyone except you, logan’s fingers tightened gently around yours beneath the blanket, and when you looked around the room and found everyone still laughing at dean’s expense, you realized there wasn’t any reason to hide it anymore.
Summary: Everybody knew about you and Logan. Now, all that's left are missed shows, forgotten flowers, and the lingering hope that maybe some love stories deserve a second act.
Inspired by "Want You Back" by 5 Seconds Of Summer.
Author's Note: Holy moly... I genuinely didn't expect Your Favorite Flowers to get so much love. T^T Thank you all so much for reading—it honestly means the world to me.
Anyway... here's Part Two!
This Part was heavily inspired by "I Want You Back" by 5 Seconds of Summer because I've been absolutely obsessed with that song lately. I also think I may have snuck in a few too many references... (Greek mythology, Flipped, 5SOS.. you get the idea. )
I'm not gonna lie, my heart broke a little while writing this chapter. Hehe.
As always, thank you so much for reading, and if you spot any grammar mistakes, please be kind! English isn't my first language, and I'm still learning.
I hope you enjoy (and maybe cry a little). ♡
"Fuck it," Logan muttered, tipping the bottle back until the last drop of beer disappeared. He set the empty bottle on the coffee table with a dull thud before glancing at Tucker. "Tuck," he called. "Change the music." Tucker looked up from the couch, an amused grin spreading across his face.
"Since when do you listen to 5 Seconds of Summer?" Logan shrugged, refusing to meet his friend's eyes. "I don't." Dean let out a laugh. "Then why the sudden request?" "Just play it." Tucker smirked but grabbed the remote anyway. After scrolling through a few playlists, he clicked on "I Want You Back" by 5 Seconds of Summer.
The boys had been generous enough to let the theater department throw their cast after-party at the hockey house after opening night. It hadn't taken long for the place to fill with people. Red cups littered every available surface, empty pizza boxes were stacked on the kitchen counter, and conversations blended together beneath the steady pulse of the music. Theater kids and hockey players mixed surprisingly well, filling the living room with easy laughter and the occasional off-key singing.
The opening piano notes had barely played before your head snapped toward the speakers. "Oh my God!" you squealed, your words slurring together. "This is Five Seconds of Summer!" A laugh escaped you as you reached for Allie's and Hannah's hands, nearly spilling your drink in the process. "C'mon! Dance with me." "You've had enough to drink," Hannah protested, laughing despite herself. "Exactly," you replied matter-of-factly. "That's why we have to dance."
Before either of them could object, you pulled them into the middle of the living room. The three of you dissolved into laughter, swaying to the beat while singing along long before the lyrics even started. A smile tugged at the corner of Logan's mouth.
Garrett noticed immediately. "It's her favorite band," he said quietly. "I know," Logan answered, his gaze never leaving you. Dean followed his line of sight before shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. "I Want You Back?" Seriously? You're whipped, dude." Logan ignored him. The first verse drifted through the room, the lyrics weaving between conversations and laughter.
♪ No matter how long you're gone...
I'm always gonna want you back...♪
His grip tightened around the neck of his beer bottle. Maybe he should talk to you. Maybe one conversation wouldn't change anything. Maybe he'd finally tell you how sorry he was. He started toward you before stopping himself halfway across the room. One of the guys from the theater department had beaten him to it.
The actor leaned down to say something that made you burst into laughter. You lightly shoved his shoulder before the two of you continued dancing with the rest of the cast, completely unaware of Logan watching from across the room. A knot twisted in his stomach.
The distance between you suddenly felt impossible to cross. He lowered his gaze to the half-empty beer in his hand. The bitter taste lingered on his tongue as one thought echoed louder than the music.
You burst into laughter at one of your friend's ridiculously stupid jokes. You couldn't even remember the punchline anymore—something about why you couldn't trust atoms—but it had been just funny enough in your drunken state.
Across the room, Logan watched the scene unfold from behind the rim of his beer bottle. Every laugh that left your lips twisted something inside his chest. He told himself to look away. He didn't.
Instead, he reached for his drink again, letting the bitter beer burn down his throat in hopes that it would drown out the ache settling in his chest. It didn't. It only made him miss you more. Logan took another long drink, barely tasting the beer.
"Hey." A blonde girl slid into the empty spot beside him, leaning against the kitchen counter as though she'd known him for years. "I don't think we've met." Logan forced a polite smile. "I don't think we have." She laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm Kaia. Theater department." "Logan." "I know who you are." Of course she did.
She rested her elbow on the counter, asking him about hockey, classes, and whether the rumors about the Briar hockey team were true. Logan answered with distracted hums and one-word replies, offering the occasional smile out of habit more than interest.His body was there but his mind wasn't. Because less than twenty feet away him was you.
His Y/n.
with some theatre department guy and laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful? was all that could run in his mind.
You threw your head back as one of your castmates said something that sent the entire group into another fit of laughter. The sound carried effortlessly through the room, rising above the music and chatter.
His eyes found you without meaning to. Why couldn't he remember the last time you'd laughed like that with him? The blonde kept talking, blissfully unaware that she was carrying the conversation alone. Logan nodded absentmindedly, pretending to listen while every part of him stayed fixed on you.
You looked happy. Genuinely happy. It should've made him smile. Instead, it hollowed him out. For the first time all night, he realized he wasn't jealous of the guy making you laugh. He was jealous of the version of himself who used to be able to.
"...Because they make up everything!"
Another wave of laughter rippled through your group. You shook your head, smiling as you wiped at the corner of your eye. Whether you were laughing because of the joke or because the alcohol had lowered every one of your defenses, you couldn't tell anymore. As the laughter settled, your gaze wandered across the crowded living room.
It found Logan almost instantly. He stood near the kitchen counter, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingers, when a blonde girl wandered over to him. She leaned in, saying something that disappeared beneath the music.
Then he smiled. That smile. The one that always made your heart stumble. The blonde laughed, and Logan laughed with her.
My Logan.
The one who used to steal your smiles. The one who waited outside the theater after every show with a bouquet of forget-me-nots tucked behind his back.
The one who used to look at you like you were the only person in the room. You looked away before the sting behind your eyes had the chance to become something more. Maybe another drink would help.
The night seemed to swallow you whole.
Somewhere between the music, the laughter, and one too many drinks, the room had softened around the edges. The fairy lights blurred into warm golden halos overhead, and every conversation melted together into an indistinct hum.
You'd long since given up on pretending you were pacing yourself.
Now you were sprawled across the couch, one leg tucked beneath you while your head rested dramatically against the armrest. Your red cup sat forgotten on the coffee table, courtesy of Allie, who had confiscated it the moment you'd started insisting the ceiling fan was "kind of inspirational."
"I think we're done drinking for the night," Hannah said, crouching in front of you with a bottle of water. You eyed it suspiciously. "That's not vodka." "No." "I don't want it." "We know."
You sighed dramatically before your gaze suddenly sharpened, as though you'd just remembered the most important thought in the world. "Hannah." She blinked. "...Yeah?" "You know what?" "What?" You sat up just enough to point a finger at her.
"Orpheus should've looked back."
Silence. Hannah frowned. "...What?"
"He should've looked back," you repeated, nodding with surprising conviction. "Everyone says he doomed them both because he couldn't wait, but..." You pressed a hand dramatically against your chest. "Imagine loving someone so much that one last look is worth losing them forever."
Garrett, who had been sitting beside Hannah moments earlier, slowly lowered the slice of pizza in his hand.
"...What?"
You continued as though you hadn't heard him. "He knew the risk." You sniffled. "He looked anyway." Your lip quivered. "That's romantic." Garrett looked at Hannah. Hannah looked at Garrett. Neither of them had the faintest idea how they'd gone from monitoring your alcohol intake to debating Greek mythology.
"I..." Garrett began cautiously. "I thought the lesson was literally don't look back." "No!" you gasped, sounding genuinely offended. "The lesson is that he loved her." Garrett blinked. "I think..." He glanced at Hannah for help. "...I think I'm losing this argument." "You are," you declared with a solemn nod before slumping back against the couch.
"I still would've looked."
The room fell quiet for a moment. Across the living room, Logan had heard every word. His grip tightened around the beer bottle in his hand. He wondered if, given the chance, you'd have looked back for him too.
Tucker had been watching Logan ever since he'd asked him to change the music. From the moment I Want You Back started playing, Logan hadn't been present—not really.
His body remained planted beside the kitchen island, a half-empty bottle of beer hanging loosely from his fingertips, condensation slowly collecting against his knuckles. But his attention drifted elsewhere, pulled across the crowded living room as if tethered by an invisible string.
Every laugh that escaped your lips softened the hard lines of his face. Every smile you gave someone else hollowed him out all over again. It was almost painful to watch. Tucker bumped his shoulder. "Watching you suffer usually brightens my day," he admitted, taking a long sip of his beer. "But damn..."
Logan dragged his eyes away from you. "You actually look like shit." A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. "Thanks." Tucker's usual grin never came. Instead, he studied his best friend for a long moment, his expression unusually gentle.
"You really messed up, didn't you?"
The question lingered between them, swallowed almost immediately by the bass vibrating through the walls and the laughter spilling from the living room.
Yet somehow...
It was the loudest thing Logan had heard all night. For the first time since the breakup... Someone had finally said it. Logan lowered his gaze to the amber liquid swirling inside the bottle. His thumb absentmindedly traced the peeling label, over and over, until it began to curl beneath his nail. "...Yeah." The word barely left his lips. The memory found him anyway.
"You missed opening night." Your voice wasn't sharp. It wasn't angry. If anything... That hurt more. It was tired.
The kind of tired that settled deep in your bones after hoping for too long. Logan stood frozen in the doorway of your apartment, hockey bag slipping from his shoulder with a heavy thud against the hardwood floor. The familiar scent of vanilla candles lingered in the air, mingling with the faint smell of fresh paint that always clung to your scripts and costume pieces. One of your playbills lay open on the coffee table beside two mugs of tea.
One untouched. One already cold. "I told you Coach kept us late." "I know." You nodded softly. "I saved you a seat anyway." His eyes drifted toward the empty chair beside yours. A folded ticket rested there. Still perfectly intact. You'd never stopped believing he'd walk through the theater doors. "I'm sorry." Your smile didn't reach your eyes. "You've been saying that a lot lately." Silence settled over the apartment.
Outside, rain slipped lazily down the windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold and white. Somewhere beyond the walls, a car horn echoed before fading into the distance.
Inside... The room felt unbearably still. "I've been busy." "So have I." "But this is different." You looked at him with knitted brows. "Different how?" "My scholarship depends on hockey." "And my degree depends on theater." "I know that." "Do you?" Your voice never rose above a gentle murmur. Somehow, that only made every word heavier.
"You've missed the last three shows." "I couldn't." "You didn't." The correction landed softly. Almost kindly. Which somehow made it sting even more. Logan dragged a hand through his already messy hair, frustration tightening every muscle in his body.
"You think I wanted to miss them?"
"I think..." You rubbed absentmindedly at the fading stage makeup near your wrist. "...I think you're carrying everything by yourself." "I have to." "No, Logan." You closed the distance between you until only a step remained. "You don't."
He let out a bitter laugh. "You don't get it." Something flickered across your face. Not anger. Heartbreak. "Then help me understand." "You can't." "Why not?" His jaw clenched.
"Because you don't know what it's like."
The words hit the room with a force neither of you expected. Immediately, he wished he could reach into the air and pull them back. "You don't understand the pressure I'm under." Your shoulders sagged ever so slightly. "I don't understand?"
A sad smile found your lips. "I spend every opening night looking for you in the audience." Your fingers nervously twisted the sleeve of your sweater. "I save you a seat anyway." You let out a quiet laugh. Not because anything was funny. Because if you didn't laugh...
You were afraid you might cry. "I tell everyone you'll be here." "They always ask where you are." Logan couldn't bring himself to look at you. The guilt sat like wet concrete in his chest.
Somehow, your drunken emotional spiral had only gotten worse.
What had started as an impassioned defense of Orpheus looking back for Eurydice had now evolved into an equally dramatic lecture about Echo and Narcissus.
You sat cross-legged on the couch, gesturing wildly with your bottle of water as though you were standing on a stage instead of slumped in the middle of a packed living room. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, strands of hair falling into your face every time you nodded too enthusiastically.
"I'm telling you," you insisted, pointing an accusatory finger somewhere in Garrett's general direction, "Echo deserved so much better." Garrett blinked. "...Who?" "Echo!" you gasped, sounding genuinely offended. "The nymph!" Dean frowned from the armchair across from you. "...Like... the Amazon thing?"
You stared at him. For one long, painful second. Then you buried your face in your hands. "Oh my God." Allie let out a laugh beside you. "Hockey players." "They know nothing," you groaned dramatically, peeking through your fingers. "Absolutely nothing."
Hannah was already smiling before you even continued.
"She was cursed!" you exclaimed, throwing your hands into the air. "She could only repeat what other people said, and then she falls in love with the most emotionally unavailable man in Greek mythology."
Dean raised a finger.
"...Who's Greek?" "The mythology, Dean." "Oh." Garrett glanced at Hannah. "...I'm still trying to process the fact that there are rankings for emotionally unavailable men." "There are," you said with absolute conviction. "Narcissus is number one."
Dean looked horrified. "There's a list?" "No!" Allie laughed. "She's making it up." "I am not," you protested, scandalized. "He's literally in love with himself." Garrett rubbed a hand over his face. "So... let me get this straight." He pointed at you. "You got drunk..."
You nodded. "...and now you're explaining Greek mythology." You nodded again. "...While insulting fictional men." Another nod. Garrett sighed. "I think I'd rather deal with Dean." "Hey!" Dean objected.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Before Garrett could answer, you leaned back against the couch with an exaggerated sigh, your gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "I just think..." you murmured, the playful grin slowly fading from your face, "...loving someone who never really sees you..." Your voice grew quieter. "...must be the loneliest feeling in the world."
The room fell silent. Garrett's confused expression softened. Dean stopped reaching for the bowl of chips. Even Allie's smile disappeared. No one said a word. Because for the first time all night... It no longer sounded like you were talking about Echo.
(9) Bitch to Me Briar: Love it when you look at me baby
John Logan x fem!reader
Summary: Finally you and Logan get to see what the two have been avoiding for the past few weeks. Safe to say it was always going to be you two together.
Warnings: FLUFFFF
Seires Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Previous Part | Next Part
Logan kept his promise in taking things slow.
Your first date was him taking you to an art exhibit you had mentioned on the off hand during your carpooling to Hastings Elementary. He picked you up from your dorm which had Allie and Hannah being annoyingly happy about the situation. Even though he was dressed the same, leaning against the same truck that drove you around Hastings, seeing him outside your dorm knowing he was here for a date with you made your heart flutter.
“You look nice,” he smiled, giving you a polite side hug greeting which you appreciated.
“Thanks,” you said, as he jogged around to open up your door.
The gallery was everything you imagined and more. It had been awhile since you’ve been to a museum with someone, normally opting for solo trips, but Logan was good company.
“The colors are beautiful,” you sighed, getting as close to the paintings as you could without getting yelled at by the security.
“Yeah I really like this style,” Logan smiled, shoulder brushing yours as he leaned close.
You missed him sneaking a few photos of you looking at the art, but he saw those images for himself as a reminder how lucky he got.
You felt a bit shy making him walk around a gallery but he followed you with patience and let you explain to him all the history and techniques behind each article. If he seemed bored he didn’t show it at all.
When he dropped you back off at your dorm and walked you to your dorm, you both stood in front of each other for a moment. For the first time you realized he was nervous, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” he smiled, “I had a lot of fun.”
“Me too,” you said.
“Would you be interested in going out with me again?”
You pretended to think about it which had Logan press his lips into a thin line waiting for your answer.
“Yeah I think I would like that,” you said.
“You think?” he teased.
You gave him a playful shrug which made him chuckle. Before he could say anything else, you leaned to give him a kiss on the cheek. Just to keep him on his toes.If he was disappointed not scoring an actual kiss on the first date he didn’t show it. Instead he looked more than happy just knowing that he was spending time with you.
“I’ll text you about this second date we will be having,” he sighed, “Good night.”
“Good night Logan,” you smiled.
He watched you walk into the building and you waited until you were safely in the walls of your dorm let your face morph into the biggest grin that you were trying to hide.
–
Your second date was technically a studying one in the library which was spent doing absolutely no studying. Logan kept distracting you by playing with your hair and telling you about all the things he had seen in the past few days that reminded him of you.
“There was a bird that flew into the rink yesterday,” he said, arm draped across the back of your chair, “Definitely wasn’t a boring sparrow but I didn’t get a photo.”
“Well that’s very helpful,” you sighed, scrolling through the latest articles you needed to read for class.
“Oh also we have a game on Friday,” he said.
His voice trailed off as you looked up at him from your notes. You found it kind of adorable how nervous he got. You knew it was because he didn’t want to mess up but you were so used to seeing a cocky John Logan that it made you feel a bit prideful that you were the one making him into a mess.
“I know,” you said teasingly.
“Umm you should come,” he said, “I mean you normally do anyways but I thought I’d ask just to make sure.”
You giggled at his rambling as he scratched the back of his neck.
“Yeah I’ll be there,” you said.
That bright smile flashed across his face which made your heart flutter. Feeling a bit more confident you grabbed your chair to pull closer to his own so that your thighs were pressed against each other. He reached out to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear which had your face grow hot.
“Look out for the goal I score,” he said with a grin.
–
The next time you went out on a proper date was a simple dinner and it was genuinely the best meal you ever had in Hastings. You had been busy with your midterms which Logan made a point to accompany you in the library whenever he could. You could feel yourself starting to opening up to him more, less afraid of what could happen and enjoying the moment.
"You're a very good listener," you said, ranting about how awful your midterm went.
"Thanks you just happened to be a very interesting talker," he smiled, "But I don't think you did bad."
"You didn't see the test Logan," you sighed, "I fucking hate philosophy."
"Rest in power Socrates," Logan joked which made you roll your eyes.
"If it makes you feel any better I have an econ paper up and I haven't started," Logan said.
"Why would that make me feel better?" you scoffed jokingly.
"Knowing that you're definitely the smarter one in the relationship," he grinned.
The word relationship made your heart stutter. Even though you both agreed to take it slow there was no denying where the two of you were heading.
Neither of you mentioned it as you continued your conversation about everything and nothing. You both talked about the fundraiser and fashion show coming up in a couple weeks.
“How intense is this leopard situation?” Logan asked, pushing his plate of fries towards you.
“Very. You’ve met Katie, she doesn’t do anything halfway.”
“As long as it’s not spandex,” Logan sighed, “And none of the hockey guys are allowed to have their phones.”
“You’re no fun,” you groaned as Logan grinned at you. However you were still in the mood to tease.
“I guess this is our last date. Such a shame I was starting to like you,” you sighed, purposely turning away from Logan.
A quick look of hurt flashed across his face as he said, “Aww come on. Fine phones are allowed.”
You laughed at how easy he folded which made him narrow his eyes at you.
“That was quick,” you giggled, “I bet I can make you do anything now.”
“I thought that was clear when you got me willingly coaching middle schoolers on the weekends,” Logan said.
“You didn’t even know that was me,” you said.
“Still even when I didn't know I still knew to listen,” he shrugged, “By the way how is that going?”
“The account?”
“Yeah. Jules post didn’t mess anything up right?” he said, his hand creeping across the table to brush against your fingers, “They are sorry I think. I still don’t really know their obsession with the account.”
“It’s fine,” you shrugged, over it, “The account is under new management anyways.”
“Really?” Logan said in shock, “Don’t tell me it was because of me?”
“It was a number of things,” you said honestly, “It just didn’t feel the same running when I first started. I think it was slowly starting to eat me up inside and I realized there’s probably better outlets for me.”
Logan gave a supportive nod, reaching out to squeeze your hand. He had already paid for the check when you went to the bathroom earlier so he guided the two of you out of the restaurant. The night was cool but your hands were still intertwined as you walked to the car.
You gave him a smile and a shiver ran down your spine. Logan instantly shrugged off his jacket and put it around your shoulders. Now you both were inches apart so that you could smell his cologne.
“You wanna know now who runs it don’t you?” you teased at his silence since the previous conversation.
“Hey, can you blame a guy for being curious?” Logan exclaimed, “It might be nice to know who’s behind the screen now in case I need help planning our next date. Or maybe even an anniversary down the line.”
“Wow you’re really thinking ahead now,” you laughed, but your heart still skipped a beat realizing Logan was really serious about his future with you.
“I told you I was gonna do it right,” Logan said, “You look really pretty by the way. You always look pretty. I should tell you that more often.”
“You really know how to lay it on thick,” you joked.
“Can’t a guy admire his girl?”
“I’m your girl now?”
“Well in due time yes. I see it in the very near future but for now I’ll just be your man.”
“My man?” you chuckled, “You make it sound like I have a new toy.”
“I’m all yours. Even if after tonight you decide to stop going out with me I’ll be yours,” he said with a small sigh, “You’re it for me.”
“Well we haven’t even kissed. What if I’m a horrible kisser and you decide I can’t be your girl.”
“Then we should figure that out sooner rather than later,” he grinned, hands around your waist already pulling you closer.
You leaned in to press your lips to his. The short stubble on his chin tickled your face as his hands came up to cup your jaw. Your own hands tangled in his hair, pulling your bodies flushed against each other. You kept kissing in the moonlight until eventually you needed to come up for air.
Best kiss ever.
“Yeah I didn’t have any doubt,” he grinned before kissing you again.
–
Despite Logan being 90 percent sure that you were his, he was still nervous about the situation. His mind kept thinking about the kiss from two nights ago, how soft your lips were and that he could taste the vanilla gloss you had just applied. Man he was obsessed. And lucky. So fucking lucky.
Which is why he needed to make sure tonight was great. The Hawks win and he finally asks you to be his girlfriend. He brought over an extra jersey to your dorm earlier but you weren’t home. Allie teased him before promising to pass along the message. But there was no set way in knowing you would actually wear it.
His legs bounced nervously in the locker room as Coach Jenson gave their final pep talk before the game. It shouldn’t be a hard game but Logan did promise you a goal which would be embarrassing if he didn’t deliver.
“Hey there lover boy,” Dean teased, patting his back as they walked out the locker room, “Heard you got a special fan wearing your jersey in the crowd tonight.”
Logan looked over with a confused look, “How do you know that?”
Dean’s face dropped as he quickly said, “Thought I might’ve seen her walking in.”
Logan didn’t think much of Dean’s statement as he was now excited to see you in his jersey.
The noise of the arena was loud as he followed his teammates onto the ice. His eyes scanned the crowd for another 22. After a few minutes of head swiveling he spotted your face in between Allie and Amy with a big smile. Sure enough your body was engulfed by the large jersey with his number plastered on the front.
You gave him a shy wave before continuing your clapping with the crowd. Logan couldn’t stop smiling as he skated past where you were sitting to give you a quick wink. Garrett did yell at him to get into position after but it was so worth it.
It wasn’t a difficult game but Logan still hadn’t scored as they moved into the final period. He knew that you didn’t really care but there could be a chance you’d tease him to death after so he needed to eradicate that possibility. He was a man of his word.
Thankfully the third period began to pick up with only a few minutes left on the clock. Logan skated down the rink looking for an opening so Garrett could pass. In a quick turn, Logan blurred past his defender and Garrett shot the puck right in his direction. Like all the times in practice, Logan swung at the puck with a loud crack. The black object flew straight past the goalie straight into the net, the sound of the buzzer confirmed the goal.
Garrett engulfed Logan into a celebratory hug but Logan’s attention was somewhere else. Not focused on the goal, his team, or even the crowd chanting his name. His eyes narrowed in on where you had jumped to your feet cheering so loud your cheeks were bright red.
He pointed his glove right at you, confirming that he followed through on all his promises.
–
After the game, Hannah, Allie, Amy, and you were waiting behind to meet up with the guys to go to Malone’s. The team slowly trickled out as you said your polite congrats to the other members and promised to see them later at the bar.
Dean and Tucker emerged first which you and girls gave them high fives and hugs before Garrett came out making Hannah sprint to him. You looked over their shoulders in search of the person you wanted to see. His jersey clung to your frame as the smell of his cologne was wrapped around you.
John Logan emerged from the tunnel, his hair damp and duffel bad in hand. He looked a little short of breath but his eyes lit up when he met your gaze. You couldn’t help but smile as he approached you, stopping just inches away from you to take in you in his jersey.
“Cute outfit,” he hummed, arm gripping your waist through the thick fabric.
“Thanks,” you said, “Found it on my bed today. Very weird. I don't remember buying it.”
“So weird,” he murmured before pressing a kiss to your lips cause he couldn't help himself.
You reacted immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck. Logan was trying to deepen the kiss until an awkward cough cut through the tension.
“So we’re gonna go to Malone’s,” Tucker said, “Go ahead and continue sucking face.”
The whole group was staring at you with knowing grins and wide eyes. You felt your cheeks heat up, always a bit shy, mumbling an apology.
“Don’t apologize,” Logan said, squeezing your side, guiding the two of you to follow your friends, “Let them be jealous.”
“Can’t believe I’ve become someone who does PDA,” you groaned, trying to hide your face in his side.
“Oh this is just the beginning baby,” he grinned, wrapping his arm around your shoulders feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.
Next Part
A/N: Hiiiii here's a cute fluffy part before the last chapter!! Omg that's so crazy to think I'm basically done with this series. I'll save my thank yous for the next chapter but enjoy!!!!
Garrett had gotten Hannah. Why did he need you too?
Drinks clinked around the noisy living room while Logan all but stalked you. Someone had spilled a drink minutes prior, but his gaze hardly moved. He didn't bat an eye at Allie's apology or Dean cleaning up the mess. No, he was too distracted by you. Per usual, but not for the usual reasons.
The thought had rooted itself deep into Logan's mind as he watched you entertain the brunette.
Your hands were expressive, waving around as you told whatever wild story you had just remembered in the heat of the moment. "Heat of the moment." Logan hated that phrase—when it came to you and somebody else. You were beautiful, who wouldn't want a piece of your soul?
There shouldn't be any heat in the moment. I mean, how many times was Garrett going to slide in with that sly smile and woo who Logan wanted? Not that Logan had really wanted Hannah before Garrett did. Maybe a little, but it was nowhere near this situation. Logan often wanted what he couldn't have, but this? This would be Garrett stealing you out from under Logan's feet. And truthfully, Logan outside of the situation could see how silly it was. You were explaining a story to a friend; a stupidly handsome friend. If Hannah had fallen for the charming act—Logan's eyes cut downwards to the beer can in your hand. It wasn't your usual brand, substitued for whatever Garrett had grabbed you.
Jealousy gnawed at his twisting gut. As the electric guitar turned over into airy beats, Logan clenched his jaw. Anyone could be reminded of you when the flames of the guitar licked into the air, but it took someone who knew you to understand you were the air. You were the space between the sensuality. You were everything. Your light touch lit up every nerve of his.
Garrett didn't know that. Dean didn't get the intricasies of your essence. Tucker didn't stand a chance with your attitude. You were with Logan. Not "officially," but it was enough for his brothers to know to back away from you.
In reality, the whole act wasn't really working on you. Flirting with Garrett was fun, but that's all it was, harmless fun. You'd compare it more to Dean with one of his puck bunnies than to anything real Tuck' had going on. "And then you…walked out?" Garrett's curious tone pulled your eyes back up, an easy grin settling on your lips. "What else was I supposed to do? John fished the condom out, I wasn't touching it."
Garrett's laugh bounced around the personal bubble you two had created, "I didn't mean take it out!" Slapping his chest, you gaped. "What else did you mean!?" Dean had long disappeared from the bathroom by the time you had arrived! Even if he hadn't, what were you to do? Scold him for clogging th e drain? Probably. "Nevermind," Graham groaned and playfully slid your hand over to his bicep.
Despite your whatever-you-were's eyes having burnt a hole through your temple, you squeezed gratuitously. "Oh? The gains, Graham."
"Yeah, he's been working out more."
The sudden lilt of Logan's voice against the shell of your ear had you nearly leaping out of your skin.
It was almost comical how quickly your hand left Garrett's arm in favor of jumping away from Logan. "Logan," you groaned and shoved his arm. He knew what he was doing. All three of you were aware.
Logan's hand posessively slipped around your bicep the moment your bodies made contact. "Having fun?" If Garrett didn't know what a jealous man looked like, he would have to assume that Logan was speaking to him with how intently he watched the taller man. Now that Logan had taken up the space by your side, he was just as threatened. If anything, something urged him to start a fight, to make his jealousy known. Bad idea. His best friend would kind of pummel him.
"Yeah, are you?" Garrett answered anyways, tipping his cup towards Logan.
An understanding smirk played at his lips. Both of you had seen Garrett when Justin was hanging around Hannah—it was only a matter of time before the green envy infected somebody else. Who better a target than the ever undeciding Logan? That little streak of helplessness was already coming to an end at the smallest of threats. Seriously, you couldn't be doubting your relationship for Garrett.
The brute shot too slow. He took up too much space against you. Garrett didn't know how you liked your coffee, or how your lips parted when you napped, or even the whines you would reward him with when he kissed you just right…
The bass that thumped around him rattled Logan's ribs. It was a confusing mix of jealousy and horniness. He could hear the pulsing of his heart roaring in his ears. When was the last time he had been this riled up? Even when it came down to Garrett guiding Hannah upstairs, Logan didn't say a thing. Fuck.
Without a second thought, Logan was pulling you away. He didn't put a hand on the small of your back like Dean or grab your waist like Garrett. A firm hand clasped around your shoulder, turning you to the stairs. "You can't kidnap me from a party," you commented. It was the second thing you said to Logan and yet your voice was as unsteady as the first time. It was enough to get a pained chuckle out of Logan. "Yes I can." It was like he was reminded of who was really in charge here.
You could boss him around daily for whatever you wanted—he liked it—but Logan wasn't forking over anything he loved.
summary: you never cared much for the hockey team, finding what they did on the ice to be offensive and distasteful. the way they ruin the ice had always left a rather bad taste in your mouth, and you were happy to never have to share a rink with them. that is until the rink that you practice on suddenly went out of commission. now you are faced with sharing the rink with a bunch of brutes, and there is one in particular that seems rather interested in you. however, you don't have time for boyfriends, and john logan is just going to have to accept that.
author note: i am losing it over them.... also my dislike for trucks really came here, im so sorry
"who are you texting," louise asks as she sits down at the table across from you. a soft sigh escapes you as you click your phone off and place it face down on the table, eyes looking up to meet hers. "is it john logan?," she teases then, a look of amusement dancing across her face.
"i am not texting anyone," you state then, but the corner of your lips seem to tug upward as another sigh escapes you, "but he is texting me." the confession makes your best friend squeal in excitement as her hand reaches out and wraps around your phone. "lou, what are you doing?," you ask then, trying to grab your phone from her hand. however, she holds it up above her head, and you give in quickly.
louise uses the passcode that you gave her months ago and immediately navigates to your text messages. it isn't long before her eyebrows are furrowed together, and her eyes shift up to you, "you weren't kidding," she says with a disappointed sigh, "he is texting you are not texting anyone."
there is an absentminded shrug that comes off of you, and you offer, "i told you." though, that doesn't seem to appease her. rather, louise seems to level you with an unamused glare as her arms cross over her chest.
"babe," she says then, in that tone that you hate. it's the same one that she gets every time that she is about to give you a lecture. "you can't just ignore him! not after you guys made so much progress after the party," and now you are starting to regret telling her about the time that you two had spent together at the rink. "he clearly likes you, and i think you like him," her words are careful then, as she if she was treading on uneasy waters.
it's easy, the way your eyes over dramatically roll to the back of your head as she speaks, "i do not like him," then there is a pause, "i think he is tolerable, but that's where it ends. we are not friends, and we are definitely nothing more than that."
an annoyed exhale comes from your best friend as she flops against the back of her chair. "you could be if you just let yourself have some fun," she says as she levels you with an exasperated look. then there is a moment of silence before she gets that look that you hate. the one where she definitely has an idea that you are going to hate. "we should go to the hockey game," she exclaims, "he did invite you via text! it'll be fun!"
you level her with your own look, one that you know she hates. the very one that you give whenever you are about to turn her down, "i am never going to a hockey game."
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿
the stadium is packed as you walk in, finding the seats that logan had his sibling save for you. jules doesn't say much to you other than a quick hey before continuing to get their phone set up to record. however, the glances in your direction that they keep stealing isn't something that you miss. though, you try not to give too much away knowing that jules had a specific love for gossip.
the buzz around the stadium seems to intensify then as the people around jump to their feet and start to cheer. your eyes slide to louise then, and there is a look of annoyance that over takes your face as her hand wraps around your arm and hauls you to your feet.
the stadium fully erupts then as the team enters the ice. everything is so loud that it almost overwhelms you senses. the people around you are yelling and stomping, and there is so much life in the stands that it reverberates through your body.
logan seems to spot you immediately. that goofy, charming grin over takes his face the moment that your eyes meet. admittedly, the sight of it seems to tug at the corners of your lip until you are, without much intention, smiling back at him. something that louise seems to notice immediately given how she jabs you in the side with her elbow as soon as she notices.
the game is, as you expected, brutal. it's almost instinct, the way your eyes travel to the ice and how you catalogue each bit of damage that they did to the ice as they moved around it. just as you, almost by instinct, catalogue each hit that logan takes.
it's brutal, and yet you can't help the way that you get swept up in ever so slightly. it's easy to blame the environment. to say that the excitement of the stadium simply seeped into you, and spread out throughout your body.
it felt as if very little time had passed before the game is over, and you are shuffling out of the stadium along with the rest of the crowd.
the cold air hits you, sending a chill up your arms, before you register that it was snowing. as you tilt your head up to look up at the sky, there is a smile that spreads across your face as a snowflake falls onto your face. there is a sense of calm that overtakes you then, but it is quickly disturbed by louise's voice, "i hate to do this," she starts, and your head tilts back down to look at her, "but max came to pick me up? do you want us to take you home? or do you want to walk?"
there is a momentary silence as you think it over. it wasn't that you didn't like max, honestly you found him quite tolerable. it was more that you always felt like a third wheel when you were with the two of them. "i'll just walk," you say softly, "go, have fun with your boyfriend."
then her hand is on your arm, and her head turns to look back towards the stadium, "you should wait for him," she says with a smile, "i'm sure he will be looking for you."
then she is off without a second thought, not even giving you the chance to come up with a comeback. though, you don't think that you would. especially since waiting for him didn't seem that bad. it actually seemed like the right thing to do. he had invited you, and made sure that you had somewhere to sit - so waiting for him was the right thing, really.
it takes longer than you anticipated for him to come out of the stadium, and the chill was really starting to settle in your bones while you. the snow seemed to be coming down more aggressively as well, and it made you feel more hesitant to walk home.
you really should have left with max and louise.
a few more minutes before you finally see him walking out of the stadium alongside a few of his friends. it takes a minute before he spots you, a smile growing on his face the moment that he does. you watch as his teammates seem to tease him (you can't hear them, but they are laughing and he is flipping him off, so it seems implied) as he splits off from them and walks over to you. "you came," he says as he is finally close enough for you to hear.
a small laugh escapes you them, "lou didn't give me much of a choice." you had told her that you would never go to a game, and yet she had pushed and pushed until finally you gave in.
his hand tightens around the strap of his hockey bag, and there is an amused smile on his face as he asks, "and what did you think?"
you take a moment to think it over, replaying the the game over in your head. finally, you say with so much certainty, "it was brutal." the admission seemed to tickle something within him, because he began to laugh almost instinctively. "it really was! you got hit like a hundred times, i don't understand how you are even walking," you say and there is a hint of concern in your tone.
logan quickly latches onto that concern, "oh, and did that upset you?" there is this teasing lift in his tone as he asks. as if he found it amusing that you might actually care about his well being.
"shut up," you say then almost out of instinct. then your head turns to look around at the parking lot before back up at the sky. the snow was getting worse, and the lot was emptying out; both indicators that it was likely time for you to go. "anyway, i just wanted to say hi," you start with a simple smile, "but i should go now. it's a bit of a walk--"
"you're walking?," he asks then, but he doesn't let you answer before continuing, "i can take you home, if you want."
if it wasn't for the wind that bit at your arm, then you wouldn't have taken it up on him. however, when the chill runs up your arm it feels easy to say, "sure."
he then takes a step forward, and you fall into step next to him as you walk across the parking lot to where he was parked. there is a silence that settles between you, but it isn't uncomfortable. rather it just was. it existed in this space between you as if it belonged there.
then, he stops walking and your eyes land on the truck before the two of you. "on second thought," you state then turning towards him, "i'll walk home."
his eyebrows furrow as he turns towards you, confusion clearly overtaking him. "what?," he asks then, eyes moving between you and the truck.
"yeah," you say then before looking at him with a scowl, "because i will not be riding in a pick up truck." it sounded pretentious, and it probably was. you just had something against trucks. every time that you shared the road with one, they were always miserable to drive around. plus, every truck that you had ever seen always looked rugged and gross. if not that then pretentiously upkept as if the owner had something to prove.
there is a laugh that escapes him then, as if he doesn't entirely believe you. "you're joking," he says, the laugh still lingering on his lips.
you level him with a steel, hard gaze as you say, "nope." then his laugh seems to die off, and he finally is beginning to understand, "i'm being dead serious."
a momentary silence passes between you before he lets out a sigh and moves to open the passenger side door, "get in the truck, princess." this results in you crossing your arms over your chest, and leveling him with hard glare as if to say no. this causes a smile to grow on his face, "you can get it or i can put you in it, it's up to you. either way, you're not walking home in this weather."
for a second, you stand your ground. your arms tightening over your chest, and the annoyance etching into your facial expressions. the two of you remain in this stand off, both of you unmovable forces that will not back down.
except, then he does move. he takes a step towards you, his arm reaching out like he really was going to put in the truck. "fine," you let out with a huff as you push back him, "but i'm adding kidnapping to your list of offenses, right after stalking."
there is a laugh that escapes him as he watches you get settled into the passenger seat, "whatever you say, gorgeous." then he slides his hockey bag by your feet and closes the door.
as he settles into the driver seat, and turns the key to set the car in motion, he states casually, "okay, where to?"
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿
the drive to your apartment wasn't all that bad. the two of you talked some, but the drive wasn't long enough for any serious conversation. "well," you say to him with a forced smile as the truck comes to idle in front of your apartment complex, "thanks for the ride."
then, as you are unbuckling, suddenly the engine shuts off. it takes a moment for what was happening to settle in, and when it does your head snaps towards him, "what are you doing?," you ask, body still as you look at him.
logan then begins to undo his own buckle, looking at you with a simple look, "i'm walking you to your door." he says it as if it was obvious. as if that was something he was expected to do. when the only people that have ever done so were typically ones that you went on dates with, and you definitely had not gone on a date with him.
you clear your throat before saying, "no, you're not."
"yes, i am," he says again before opening his door. his movements are so quick that it leaves you a step behind him, your hand hovering over the seat buckle by the time that he is out of the car. when the belt if off entirely, he has already made his way around to your side and was opening your door for you.
there is a moment where you just stare at him for a moment trying to process what was happening. he was really acting like this was a date, and it confused you. especially since it wasn't, and he surely had to be aware of that. even still, there seemed to not be a whole lot that you could do about it.
thus, you hop out of the truck and listen as he closes the door behind you. the two of you then walk side by side up the stairs to your second floor apartment. once at the door, you fumble in your bag for the keys. it takes a minute longer than you want, but eventually they are in your hands and you are shoving them into the door handle.
once unlocked, and the door partially opened, you turn to him, "well, uh, thank you." you say then as you take a step back across the threshold, "i really appreciate it."
logan doesn't move at first, just looks down at you with a smile. the two of you maintain the eye contact for another second longer before he asks, "can i see you again?" the question nearly taking you off guard.
another silence falls between you, this time a bit more awkward then it normally was between the two of you. the night seems to be getting to you. the way the moon reflects against the snowflakes, and how magical it appears as you watch it.
it must be that, because you can't think of what else would compell you to say, "maybe," in a coy, teasing tone, "if i have the time."
there is another smile on his face then, and his head tilts as he looks down at you. "you'll make the time," he says then, and there is a part of you that thinks he may be right. "goodnight, gorgeous."
there is a sparkle that settles in your eye then as you smile up at him, "good night, logan."
Summary: you knew what you signed up for. no labels, no promises, no future. but somewhere along the way, you fell in love with him anyway. when you realize his feelings are starting to drift toward someone else, you walk away before you can become his second choice. except losing you is the thing that finally makes john realize who he's loved all along.
Warning: angst, casual relationship, idiots in love
Note: just a little bit of angst and John Logan being a dumb boy
masterlist
One shot
John Logan had never led you on.
That was the frustrating part.
From the very beginning he'd been honest. No labels. No promises. Just two people who liked spending time together and happened to have really good chemistry.
You'd agreed to it because you genuinely thought you could handle it.
Turns out you couldn't.
Not because John treated you badly.
Because he treated you so well.
He'd show up at your apartment with takeout after practice because he "accidentally" bought too much. He'd text you when he got home after parties. He always walked on the outside of the sidewalk, always reached for your hand without thinking, always remembered the little things you mentioned once weeks ago.
It felt like dating.
Except it wasn't.
You never pushed for more. You knew who John was. He wasn't looking for a girlfriend, and you respected that.
So you kept your feelings to yourself.
You'd rather lose him because he didn't love you than because you tried to make him.
—
You noticed the way he looked at Hannah before anyone else did.
It wasn't obvious.
Most people would've missed it.
But you knew John.
You saw how his smile lingered a little longer around her. How he looked for her whenever everyone got together. How he'd bring her into conversations without even realizing it.
It wasn't love.
Not yet.
But it was heading there.
And you weren't about to wait around until it did.
—
"You've been quiet tonight."
John bumped your shoulder as you both walked back toward your apartment after movie night.
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous."
You laughed.
"Very."
He smiled at you, completely unaware that your heart was quietly breaking.
"Can we talk?"
His smile faded.
"Yeah."
You stopped outside your building.
The night was cool, the campus unusually quiet.
You shoved your hands into your hoodie pockets before you lost your nerve.
"I think we should stop this."
His eyebrows pulled together.
"...Stop what?"
"Us."
"What?"
"I don't want to keep doing whatever this is."
He stared at you.
"Did I do something?"
"No."
"You seem upset."
"I am."
"So tell me."
You looked at him for a second before smiling softly.
"You like Hannah."
"What?"
"You do."
"I don't."
"You will."
His face twisted in confusion.
"I don't even think about Hannah like that."
"Not yet."
He opened his mouth to argue.
Then closed it.
Because maybe...maybe he had noticed himself looking for her more often.
Maybe you weren't wrong.
"I don't understand."
"I know."
You nodded.
"But I do."
You looked down at your shoes before meeting his eyes again.
"I love you, John."
The words came out much quieter than you expected.
His whole body went still.
"Oh."
You laughed under your breath.
"Yeah."
"I didn't know."
"I know."
"I'm so sorry."
"You don't have anything to apologize for."
"I do."
"No."
You shook your head.
"You never lied to me."
His shoulders dropped.
"I just...can't stay."
"What do you mean?"
"I know my worth."
Your voice stayed steady even though your chest hurt.
"I love you, but I'm not going to wait around hoping one day you'll choose me."
His expression cracked.
"I'd rather leave now than become someone's second choice."
"You aren't."
"I already am."
He frowned.
"No."
"You just don't know it yet."
Silence settled between you.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
He hugged you back almost instantly.
You could feel him holding on tighter than usual.
"I really am going to miss you," you whispered.
His voice was barely audible.
"Don't do this."
You smiled sadly against his shoulder.
"If you loved me, I wouldn't have to."
You kissed his cheek.
Then you walked inside.
You didn't look back.
Because if you did, you knew you'd stay.
—
John couldn't stop thinking about that conversation.
He kept replaying it over and over.
You saying you loved him.
You saying you knew your worth.
You walking away without begging him to stay.
She wasn't trying to convince him.
She had already accepted it.
That somehow hurt the most.
—
Three days later Garrett found him sitting in the locker room long after everyone else had left.
"You look miserable."
"I think I screwed up."
Garrett laughed.
"You'll have to be more specific."
John explained everything.
Garrett just blinked.
"...You're kidding."
"What?"
"You seriously didn't realize?"
"Realize what?"
"Dude."
Garrett sat down beside him.
"When's the last time you hooked up with someone else?"
John frowned.
"I don't know."
"Think."
"...Months."
"When's the last time you wanted to?"
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Garrett kept going.
"Who do you text first after every game?"
"Her."
"Who do you eat dinner with half the week?"
"Her."
"Who's apartment do you basically live at?"
John rubbed a hand over his face.
"Hers."
Garrett smiled.
"You've been acting like someone's boyfriend for months."
"I thought I liked Hannah."
Garrett snorted.
"You thought she was pretty."
"...Yeah."
"You know what you did with Hannah?"
"What?"
"You talked to her."
Garrett shrugged.
"You know what you did with your girl?"
John looked up.
"You built a life around her."
His stomach dropped.
Movie nights.
Coffee before class.
Buying her favorite coffee without asking.
Calling her when his sister annoyed him.
Falling asleep with her every weekend.
Wanting to tell her everything first.
...
"Oh."
Garrett nodded.
"There it is."
"I love her."
"Yeah."
"You knew?"
"We all knew."
John groaned into his hands.
"I'm an idiot."
"The biggest."
—
Getting you back was harder than losing you.
Because you weren't angry.
You were just...done.
You smiled when you saw him around campus.
Asked how hockey was going.
Waved when you passed each other.
You treated him like an old friend.
Nothing more.
It drove him insane.
—
He finally caught you outside the library.
"Can we please talk?"
You hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Five minutes."
"I love you."
You blinked.
"You don't have to waste any time."
"I mean it."
"I know you think you do."
"No."
He took a step closer.
"I was stupid."
"You were."
"I thought because I wasn't looking for anyone else that meant I wasn't in love."
You stayed quiet.
"I didn't realize I was already choosing you every single day."
He laughed softly.
"I just forgot to actually tell you."
You looked at him for a long moment.
"I never wanted you to choose me because I stayed."
His eyes softened.
"I wanted you to choose me because you couldn't imagine your life without me."
"I can't."
He answered immediately.
"I tried."
"I know."
"It was awful."
You smiled despite yourself.
"I noticed."
"I miss you."
"I know."
"I miss you too."
His breath caught.
"You do?"
"I never stopped."
You stepped a little closer.
"But if we do this again..."
His entire attention was on you.
"...I'm not doing casual."
"I'm not asking for casual."
"No other girls."
"There hasn't been."
"No wondering where we stand."
"You'll never have to."
You smiled, the first real smile he'd seen from you in weeks.
His grin slowly spread across his face.
"So...does this mean I get another chance?"
You reached for his hand.
"One."
He laced his fingers with yours like he'd been waiting to do it for weeks.
"I won't waste it."
"I know."
And this time, when John Logan kissed you, there wasn't any uncertainty left between you.
For the first time since the two of you had met, you weren't wondering if he would ever choose you.
summary: you and logan find yourselves meeting up again and again in the backyard of the hockey team's house parties. 2,2k words, fluff, request!
Logan feels like he should be thankful for the guys’ eternal disposition for throwing parties, even though he thinks it might kill him any day now.
He’s coming out of a tough week, the end of semester dumping him into an ugly mix of early practices and pulling all-nighters, leaving him more tired than usual. He thinks of his dreams of having a nice meal and good night of sleep as a boomboxing sound makes him feel like his head is pounding, swallowing all his long forgotten plans along with a sip of a warm beer.
“That’s disgusting,” Garrett’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “At least get a cold one.”
“Meh,” he downs the rest of his drink, “Had been nursing this one for like, an hour now.”
Garrett hums, “Not much for drinking tonight?”
“No,” he shakes his head, “Not much for anything, really. Just hanging out for a bit.”
“Fair. Tough week?”
Logan chuckles, “You know it. Did Wellsy come too?”
“Yeah, going rounds trying to find a friend.” Garrett looks around the room, “Matter of fact, I better go find her. Want me to bring you a cold beer?”
“No,” he stands up from the couch, “I’ll grab it myself. Thanks, man.”
Logan heads to the kitchen, an impromptu bar made from two massive coolers, and grabs a beer out of the ice. He’s still dwelling on the fizzy feeling down his throat when he spots the backdoor leading to the backyard slightly cracked open, and a girl sitting on the bench under a few lightstrings.
Your eyes are closed, head resting on the wall behind you and seemingly taking in the nice weather, so different from the stuffy atmosphere inside. With your peaceful face illuminated by the tiny golden fairylights, Logan thinks you look like a vision.
He’s not one to believe in love at first sight, but he does believe in talking to pretty girls.
“You good?” He says, watching your shoulders tense all of sudden, a startled look on your face. He bites back a laugh, “Sorry, just checking.”
“‘m fine,” you mutter, “Just trying to listen to what they’re playing now.”
He steps out, moving in your direction slowly, “May I sit?”
You watch him for a moment, scanning his entire demeanour before making your mind. Your eyes stop on his left hand, and he holds his canned beer up, “This is my second one,” he says, figuring out what you’re thinking, “And I just opened it. I’m not drunk, in case you’re wondering.”
Your mouth twists, biting your lip before you give him a single nod, “Okay,” you scoot over to the side, opening space for him on the bench. Logan sits on the very far corner, not wanting to scare you at all.
Nineties’ pop music plays inside the house, and Logan’s pretty sure Hannah is the one queuing the songs. He watches as you bob your head in the rhythm, “You like it?”
You hum, “Yeah. Playlist’s good, it’s just too loud inside.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, “They tend to be.”
“You’re a regular at the hockey team house parties?” You ask, and it makes Logan realise you don’t know him at all. Bad for his ego, sure, but good that he has a clean slate. He doesn’t often get one of those.
“You could say that, yes.” He smirks, and you look at him like you’re trying to grasp what he meant by that. Or you’re just thinking he’s fucking weird, he thinks. Logan clears his throat, “You’ve never been over here?”
You shrug, “Maybe once during freshman year, I’m not sure. I don’t do parties that much, honestly,” you smile bashfully, “Boring, I know.”
“You don’t seem boring at all,” he says, smiling as he adjusts his position, turning his body to face you, “What brings you here, then?”
“Uh, my friend Hannah,” you smile, “She's been asking me to come ever since she started dating Garrett Graham. One of the Hockey guys, you know?”
Logan just nods, smiling, “I’ve heard of him. And how come you’ve never seen any of the hockey games?”
“It’s just not my thing,” you take a sip of your drink, like you haven’t just destroyed his entire world. He lets out a laugh, and you smile at him, “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“John. Uh, John Logan.”
He watches as your smile drops, and he’d feel slightly bad if your widened eyes weren’t so adorable. “As in Garrett’s best friend? From the hockey team?”
“Yeah, sorry.” He offers you a tight-lipped smile, “I thought you didn’t watch hockey?”
“I don’t,” you say, averting your eyes from him as you stand up from the bench, “I’m sorry, erm– Hannah talked about you, that’s all. Um, I should go find her.”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he stands too, and you see a flash of earnest crossing his eyes as he steps in your direction.
You shake your head, laughing incredulous, “No, I did that myself,” you chuckle, “I– I’ll see you around, yeah?”
And with that, you scurry back inside.
Logan drops back into the bench, his lips curved into a tiny smile. Yeah, he’ll see you around.
“Logan, what is actually wrong with you?” Hannah shouts from halfway down the stairs.
Logan sits in the kitchen next to Tucker as they share party leftovers for breakfast, and both Johns look up as she storms into the room.
Tucker’s head snaps at him, “Nice meeting you,” he says solemnly as he pushes the plate of mini sandwiches in his direction "Enjoy your last meal.”
Hannah stops in front of him, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in a way Logan only sees when Garrett is being particularly annoying.
“I’m guessing your pretty friend rattled me?”
“She was mortified,” Hannah says, then in a slightly more invested tone, “You think she’s pretty, huh?”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass her,” He answers, “I just thought it was… Nice that she didn’t know me.”
Hannah rolls her eyes, turning away from him, “You hockey players and your big fucking heads.”
“Wait, Hannah,” Logan grabs the mini sandwich plate, moving around her, “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to her next time.”
Hannah raises her eyebrow, “Next time?”
“If you bring her again. Please?” He smiles coyly, offering her the plate, “Here, turkey and spinach as an apology?”
She stares at the mini sandwiches, letting out a huff before snatching it off of his hands, “You’re lucky I’m hungry. Don’t try to be funny next time.”
He doesn’t know if it’s his luck or if you’re allowing him to find you so easily. Still, Logan murmurs a thank you to whoever’s listening when he spots you on that very same bench.
“Second time in a row,” he says, immediately disregarding Hannah's commands and being (debatably) funny, “Thought you didn’t do parties?”
You turn your head to face him, relief washing over him once he sees a smile on your face, “You’re one to talk,” you answer, “Mr. You Could Say I’m A Regular. You literally live here.”
“Which is exactly why I’m a regular,” he says, sitting down on the bench. “Sorry for not clarifying that before.”
You shake your head, chuckling, “It’s fine. Cruel, but fine.”
Logan’s hand finds his chest, feigning being offended, “Well, thank you for allowing me to rectify myself.” He says, “Why did you come back here, then?”
The yellow lighting dances over your face as you switch positions, “Hannah,” you say, simply.
“What, she dragged you here?”
“No. Can you imagine?” You look down at your cup, laughing, “No, she just said you were nice. That I should talk to you again.”
Oh, I gotta text Hannah a profound thank you after this, Logan thinks. “Yeah?” He mutters, “So it wasn’t about the good music?”
An upbeat, indie rock song plays in the background, muffled by the closed door separating you two from the inside. He doesn’t tell you that, but they’re playing his playlist tonight, a cheeky smile on his face as you rest your head in your hand, bobbing your head.
“I don’t think I know this one, I think,” you say, “But I like it.”
“Me too.” He says, “You know, I promised Hannah I would make it up to you after leaving you mortified last time.”
You let out a surprised cackle, “Okay, mortified is a stretch,” you say through giggles, “I was mildly embarrassed.”
“Hey, her words, not mine.” He says, laughing with you, “Anyway, I was thinking– And feel free to like, I don’t know, say I’ve read this wrong, but– Um, do you think I could take you out sometime?”
You look up at him, the same glow of the fairy lights above you adorning your face and, god, you’re pretty. Logan would ask you out a hundred more times if he wasn’t waiting for an answer right now.
“That’s a third meeting question, I think.” You smile at him, “But I can give you my number.”
He nods, the corners of his mouth going up, “I’ll take it.”
Logan’s thrilled that he gets to invite you for your third night over their house. Again, he feels extremely thankful for his friends’ disposition to party, even though this one barely counts as one. It’s a get–together at best, with his everyday housemates and their usual attachments, girlfriends, siblings and other close friends of friends. Maybe that’s why you seem much more comfortable as you walk inside, looking around.
“It’s a really nice house,” you say, “I can actually see the flooring when it’s not packed with people.”
He laughs, “Can I tell you a secret?” You nod, getting closer to him, and he takes the opportunity to drop his arm around your shoulder, “I like it much better this way.”
“Not much a party man yourself?”
Logan makes a face, scrunching his nose as he shakes his head, “It’s nice to just have music playing and chatter. Dean likes playing cards sometimes, I’m not against it.”
“Me neither.” You say, like an open opportunity for invitation next time. He takes note, dragging you by your shoulders into the living room.
You fit right into his friend group, he thinks as you sit on the couch, sandwiched between Allie and Hannah as you talk and talk — apparently Allie has heard wonders of you from her friend and was dying to meet you, in true Allie drama club fashion. He doesn’t mind losing your company for the next forty minutes, as long as he gets to watch you have a good time.
“You’re staring, loverboy,” Hannah says, his head snapping out of it, turning away from you in her direction, then again at your mocking face. He smiles, embarrassed from getting caught.
“Sorry, hard not to,” he says, getting an eyeroll from Allie and giggles from you, which he counts as a win. “Mind if I steal her back?”
He’s asking you, you can tell because his big eyes don’t move from your face, even when his demeanour does. You give him a small nod, and he offers you his hand.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Is that even a question?” he says, moving from the living room to the kitchen, pitstopping to grab two drinks and hand you one, his arm going back to your shoulders as he leads you to the backdoor, “Our place, obviously.”
You chuckle as he closes the door behind him, your usual bench still in its place, fairy lights very much the same. The sky isn’t as dark tonight, a blue tinted colour around the both of you mixing with the yellow glimmer that decorates the backyard. You sit, and he follows you. This time, he doesn’t leave much space, and you don’t mind his legs so close to yours as you rest your head against the brickwall.
“Is it our place now?” You ask.
Logan does a hand motion, gesturing for you to look around, “I don’t see anyone else here,” he says, “I don’t think I was even aware of this bench until I found you here.”
“So you’re saying this is my bench,” you joke.
“I mean, feel free to get it engraved or something. As far as I’m concerned, this is yours,” he says.
You laugh, fingers moving across the wooden armrest, “Thank you,” you say, your hand traveling over the bench, reaching until it meets his upper arm, “And thank you.”
He shrugs, moving his face so his chin gently touches your hand on his shoulder. You touch his face, caressing his cheek like you just did with the armrest, pulling him a bit closer.
“I know I’m supposed to ask you on a date,” he murmurs, “But is it okay if I ask for a kiss now?”
You chuckle, not giving him any response but your lips touching his gently. His hand goes to your other cheek as you kiss him, the first of many kisses that backyard bench gets to witness. You giggle as Logan’s hands in your face keep you in place, continuing to press quick kisses over your mouth and face.
“I might take you up on that engraving offer, you know?” You say, “I like this place. It’s sort of romantic.”
“Sort of romantic?” He asks, his voice muffled as he presses his lips against yours again, getting a smile from you.
Logan might just carve your initials into that bench now, make it real romance, just for you.
notes: genuine question how do we feel about the dividers. also i believe this is my biggest john logan fic so far! thank you for reading and sorryyy it took me some extra time, i'd love to hear your thoughts on it! <3
I Can Fix That - a John Logan x F!reader one shot.
a/n: ok so I watched Disney movies all day & Holes was on and all I could think of during the Sam and Ms. Katherine montage/backstory was John Logan and reader flirting with each other by you giving a bunch of tasks and he just wants to be around you and for you to be taken care of so he does all of it with a smile and an ‘I can fix that.’
warnings: 18+ ONLY — typical shirtless shenanigans, longing, fix it felix, handyman!logan, neighbors, strangers to lovers, descriptions of sexual acts, teasing, dirty talk, making out, fingering, oral (f!receiving) protected sex, p n v. he talks you through it cause it's john fucking logan, of course he does.
You'd moved into the old McAllen home that was next to the boys' house last semester and run into nothing but issues since you'd signed the lease. Within the first three months of living there, your water heater had gone out, the garbage disposal stopped working and on warm nights, sometimes the air conditioning would go on the fritz, leaving you in sweltering heat and being miserable in your underwear while laying on top of your bed.
Your landlord was absolutely useless and you were probably on a list of dozens of other properties that were probably experiencing the same issues. And for a while, you just grit your teeth and dealt with it the best you could.
One day, you'd finally had enough and got your dad's old toolbox out of your storage and decided to try to figure out the AC unit on your own. A decision that you instantly regret once you get the thing open and see the wires and metal.
But it was at least eighty degrees inside of your house, your outfit of the day consists of a pair of cut of denim shorts and a bikini top. Your hair is up as high off your neck as it can get and you're still sweating. You groan at the tangled mess of wires and are about to give up and just live in the nude this summer when you hear a voice behind you.
"Need a hand?"
You turn to see the Captain of the Briar U Hawks, John Logan with his sunglasses up on his forehead. He looks concerned at how you're holding the tool in your hand and how much electrical you're around right now.
"My air conditioning blows but it's not cold," you explain desperately, "I'm dying," you confess. Hastings has been in the middle of an unseasonably warm heat wave. By mid day, it's over one hundred degrees and at night, even with the sun down it's around eighty five and it's very humid.
Logan winces and drops his backpack, "Yikes," he says and steps forward, taking the pair of pliers from your hand and eyeing them up with a soft chuckle. He drops them gently into the toolbox and moves a few things around before he finds a flathead screwdriver.
"I can fix that," he says as he manages his hand inside of the opening you'd just found earlier. He flicks his wrist and the screwdriver hits something metal and he looks underneath the unit before he gives a quick nod. "Go in, see if it's cold," he tells you and you walk around to the back door of your two bedroom little starter house.
You don't know much but it was a senior who graduated who'd lived here last — but you do know that student did not take care of the place. You'd spent the first few weekends of your first year here pulling weeds, throwing away old furniture and giving the place a thorough scrub down.
It wasn't much but it was yours and you were proud of it.
As you step into the living room, you walk up to the wall where an air vent is sitting at the top, you stand up on your tipped toes and hear the air conditioner start to whir outside and air kicks out of the vent.
And it's hot.
You huff. And just as you're about to call out that it didn't work, your fingers cool down slightly. It's working and it's getting colder.
For the first time in three weeks, you would be able to sleep in an air conditioned house. You could kiss him right now and you don't even officially know his name.
Sure, you're not stupid. Anybody with eyes on campus knows who John Logan is. But at the end of the day, being his neighbor has made him incredibly human. You've seen him stumble out of the front door ten minutes late for his first class, taking out the trash in his boxers, you've seen him say goodbye to countless women, usually in the early morning hours. John Logan didn't do morning afters, you'd noticed.
Realizing you sound like a fucking stalker; you shake your head and rid your thoughts for a second. You step back outside and give him a gracious smile.
"It's working now, holy shit," you gush. "Thank you so much —" you trail off.
"John," he places a greasy hand on his chest and it leaves a stain. "Logan, that's what everybody calls me," he nods. "You renting?" he motions to the house with the screwdriver still in hand.
"I'm Y/N, yeah, until grad," you nod gently. "I'm a sophomore."
"Locking a place down already," he nods appreciatively at the house then back at you. His eyes linger for a beat longer than appropriate and he clears his throat as if to let you know that he's aware he's messing this up. "Smart move," he says. "Me and the guys rent too, same; til we're outta here," he smirks.
You've had a few classes with a few members of the hockey team and they all seemed nice enough. Their playboy personas definitely preceded them.
"Well hey, listen, if you ever need anything around the house like this kinda thing," Logan taps the air conditioner, "Lemme know, it's kind of my hobby," he confesses.
You raise an eyebrow, "Yeah," you nod slowly. It couldn't hurt to have someone who actually knew the names of what the fuck fixed things. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," you smile.
He picks his backpack back up and places the screwdriver back in the toolbox, shutting the box. "Have a good day," he smiles sweetly before walking across the street and up the stairs to the hockey house.
You pick up the toolbox and walk back into your house, making a silent vow to yourself that you'd only ever call John Logan in case of emergency.
About a week later, you're working on the garden in the front yard that's by your door when you see the shadow of someone who's standing behind you. You squint gently before tilting your head over your shoulder and catching a glimpse of Logan.
You hadn't been avoiding him per say, you had just been going about your day to day life. But you had been noticing that he had been outside more, working out in the backyard and you could have sworn he'd been staring over at your house a few times.
He's shirtless, sweaty and has a bandana on that's damp at his forehead. His athletic shorts are hanging low on his hips and you can see the little trail of hair that goes from his belly button dow—
"How's the AC?" he asks, hands on his hips and you turn back to your pruning, desperate for a distraction. He's asking such a simple and innocent question and your thoughts are racing about how strong he was. You wondered if he could bench press you, but a voice sounds inside of your head.
Holy shit, Y/N, not fucking now.
You nod your head, "It's great, thank you again," you say again.
He shakes his head like it was nothing.
"I was headed to the hardware store this morning," he says and you're wondering why he's telling you when he motions to your back fence. "When I was over here last week, I noticed you're missing a couple of slats," he shrugs. "I can fix that."
You look over towards where he's pointing and sure as shit, there's about four broken or missing slats to your fence scattered along the back wall. You sigh. You haven't been in the backyard much yet this spring and are afraid of what you're going to have to face when you finally do get around to it.
"I could pick up a couple of boards," Logan offers nonchalantly. "Our shower keeps getting clogged," he says and he instantly knows that his roommate Dean is the culprit. "Since I'm there already," he trails off and glances at you.
You blink.
"Oh, uh, yeah - that would be great," you say with a shake of your head. This guy was too good to be true. You smirk gently when he nods happily.
"Cool," he says as he reaches back and pulls the t-shirt that's hanging from his pocket out and over his head in a swift motion. Like he's done it all his life.
"I'll be right back," he tells you with a wave before turning and jogging towards his pickup.
Forty minutes later, Logan is carrying plywood back into your jungle of a backyard. He sees the weeds and laughs, giving a low whistle.
"Lemme guess," you say with a sly smirk and he grins back at you.
"I can fix that," he nods once.
"At least on that one, I can help," you say as you watch him start to line up the boards in the missing spots. He measures twice, you notice.
You excuse yourself after a minute and go inside to lean against the kitchen counter.
John Logan is in your backyard, fixing your fence. The only thing that could make it better was if he was shirtless, you think as you make your way to the sink, looking out the window that sits in front of it.
Oh, and just like that..
Logan grabs the hem of his baby blue t-shirt and rips it off, tossing it to the side and you groan internally. You look down and see your hands clutching the counter.
"Fucking hell," you grumble softly. "This is torture," you mumble as you watch his shoulder blades flex as he starts to hammer in nails.
You search the kitchen for some way to show your appreciation and find some lemonade in the very back of the fridge. You see a chunk of ice in it floating so you know it's good. The iceberg clinks around the glass pitcher walls as you find a glass.
You hastily pour, looking out at him and biting your bottom lip. He has no fucking business coming to do chores at your house looking this fucking good, you think to yourself and place the pitcher down on the counter.
You inhale slowly and realize your hand is shaking. Like your entire body is slowly starting to gravitate towards the idea of reaching out and touching him.
You steady yourself before walking outside as calm as you should be with a hot guy working in your backyard, shirtless.
The sound of nails grounds you and you clear your throat and he turns, offering a genuine grin at the glass of lemonade.
"Oh, fuck yeah," he says and drops the hammer to the ground, taking the glass and chugging half in one go. He gasps as he takes a deep breath and nods in appreciation. "That's delicious," he says before his eyes widen and he rubs his temples, "Fuck that shit's cold," he laughs through his temporary brain freeze. "Thank you," he nods and takes another sip, slower this time. He's learned his lesson.
You laugh softly, "Are you kidding me? Thank you," you motion to the three new fence posts that are already in place.
"Ah, it's nothing," he waves. "I'd rather do this and be outside than fishing condoms out of the shower drain," he says and when you give a confused look he shakes his head. "Don't ask," he warns.
You hold your hands up in surrender and laugh once and Logan smirks.
He likes the sound of your laugh.
"So, next weekend I've got an away game," he says matter of factly. "But the weekend after that we're home, I could come and help you with some of this stuff," he kicks a bush that's just given up on the will to live.
You nod gently, "That would be great, I'll get out here next weekend and try to get some out of here before you come back," you offer and he shrugs.
"No worries if you don't," he says quietly. "I could get this clear in an afternoon, couple of hours if I loop a couple of freshman into helping," he smirks.
"That's cruel, even for freshman," you reason with a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
He lets a beat pass before gazing around the backyard and he states boldly, "So no boyfriend around to help ya."
It's more of a statement than a question and you don't know how to respond.
Your eyes widen slightly at his forwardness before laughing softly. Something you did when you got uncomfortable. You shift between your feet and shake your head.
"Nah," you say simply and leave it at that. John Logan doesn't need to know your entire relationship history since coming to Briar.
He eyes you up suspiciously before turning back to the fence, "Well, I'll get this last one done and get out of your hair," he says dismissively. He kneels down and grabs the hammer again, digging into his pocket for a handful of nails. He sticks a few between his teeth by their flat heads and he starts to hammer them into the wood and with each hit, you feel the opportunity of getting to know Logan more slip away until two weeks from now.
"Hey, can I get your number?" You ask suddenly between hits and he raises an eyebrow and looks over his shoulder at you. He's got a look that screams curiosity and maybe even excitement at the idea of you asking for his number.
Before he can get too cocky, you follow up with a bold faced lie, "My water heater has been weird lately—" you say quietly and make a mental note to go in there before he comes to fix it and fuck it up somehow. "In case it blows up or something while you're gone.." you trail off and place your hands in your pockets.
His lips slowly pull into a sly smirk and he nods, "Yeah, I can give you my number," he winks. "In case something blows up," he confirms before hitting the final nail on the head and placing the hammer into the toolbox at his feet. "Done."
You hand him your cell phone and quietly watch him type in his name and number before handing it back to you. He hit 'call' and 'end' quickly so that he'd have your number as well — he wasn't dumb. He wasn't going to wait for something to break to talk to you again.
"Thanks again," you tell him as you walk him towards the front of the house. He's wiping his face with his bandana that he's removed from his head. His hair is slightly sweaty and sticking to his forehead, he puts his hands in his t-shirt and lifts it up to wipe his face even better and you get a good glimpse of his abs before the shirt falls back down.
"Yeah, of course — get inside into that air conditioning," he tells you seriously. "It's getting fucking hot," he grumbles. He loved spring and summer but not when it was as hot as Hell outside, literally. He could feel the thickness of the air when he inhaled and that was something he'd learned that he did not like since this heat wave had begun.
You smirk gently and nod your head, "Yeah, you too," you muse and he waves you off.
"I'll talk to you later," he promises and crosses the street and you stand there for a moment, looking at your feet for a second before going inside and plopping onto the couch trying not to imagine him naked.
You end up taking an hour long cold shower.
It's only four days later when you're sitting in your bed, trying to read a book. Your eyes scan the same paragraph for the sixth time, trying to force yourself to comprehend.
You've been thinking about John Logan since the fence fixing and it was starting to consume your day to day life. In the middle of lectures, just as you were disassociating to your professor's monotone, you'd get a glimpse of the dimples behind his back that were more pronounced whenever his arms were above his head.
At the end of a long day, you would come back to your house and look over to the hockey house; wondering what he was doing.
Your phone vibrates on your thigh and you look down.
It's late, Hannah had already said goodnight a few hours ago and that was the only person that you been talking to that day. You close your book and place it to your side, looking at your phone screen.
Logan: Just checking in to make sure nothing has imploded on you before I head to bed — thought I heard a bang.
You smirk slowly and resist the urge to kick your feet at the sight of his text. No, this isn't an elementary school crush, no — you were fully lusting over John Logan and he was seemingly interested in seeing what could be between you two.
You slowly type back, "Nothing here at least from what I can tell, I think you're in the clear…"
And instantly, those three little dots slowly pop up and you inhale slowly.
Logan: That means nothing coming from you: I saw how you hold a pair of pliers. If you're trying to reassure me, you're doing a terrible job.
A grin pulls at your lips and you lean back in your bed against the headboard.
"Who needs to know how to hold a pair of pliers when they live next door to Fix-It Felix," you respond with a GIF from Wreck it Ralph. He gives a 'haha' to the image before responding quickly.
Logan: I'm not gonna be here forever — unlike some of my teammates, I take my schooling very seriously. I'm not planning on being here for a decade. When I graduate, you're fucked. 😭
You laugh and roll your eyes.
"Good thing I have your number then, huh?"
He starts typing but the dots disappear and you stare, waiting for them to show up again.
They don't.
You exhale and let your head fall back between your shoulders against the headboard.
Another vibrate.
Logan: What are you up to? Me and the boys just got back from Malone's & I'm about this close to refereeing a rock, paper, scissors tournament, I think.
You smirk and debate how you want to play this. You could easily turn this into a flirtatious conversation — ask Logan to come across the street and keep you company. Or you could stay just like you were, just talking. It seemed like a win win either way. You're in your thoughts when the phone vibrates again in your palm.
Logan: JK, Dean passed out on the couch and Garrett decided he's headed to bed. Another fun night at the Hockey House!
"Sounds like a blast, more fun than I'm having," you hit send and then send another message. "I'm trying to read a book but my mind is just elsewhere, I guess…" and you add a shrugging emoji to make sure he knows you're not being blatantly flirtatious.
Logan: Hate that for you. What's up? Something on your mind?
You swallow and stare at the message.
Yeah, you think to yourself, you.
And your thumbs start to move mindlessly, "Just nothing is keeping my attention and I just feel restless."
Logan: Except me.
And you can see the smug ass smirk that's probably on his face right now across the street.
You stand up and pace back and forth as you think of how to respond.
You type back with one word.
"Apparently."
Logan's little dots pop up and taunt you with what you imagine his response could be. He could be smug, he could be completely disinterested and respond with a 'quit it, freak' or worse, he could be totally fucking into it.
Logan: I can fix that.
And your heart skips a beat as you text back to explain yourself and you delete what you've got, going for a third attempt at an excuse when your doorbell rings.
Your stomach falls into your ass as you slowly lift yourself up off the bed and walk down the hallway towards the front door. Through the decorative windows at the top of the door, you can see the very top of Logan's head, moving back and forth.
You slowly reach out and open the door, looking at the hockey captain who has his hand behind his neck and he gives a gentle smile.
As you watch him, you rack your brain for everything and anything that could be considered 'broken' so that you can keep him here as long as you could, but he simply shrugs his shoulders and leans against the door frame.
He's switched out of his clothing from this evening at Malone's and is now in a pair of gray sweatpants, the drawstrings hanging between his thighs. His t-shirt is one size too big for his frame — either he doesn't care about flaunting his muscles or he doesn't realize how fit he truly is.
"I know nothing's broken," he states matter of factly. "Can I come in anyway?"
Instead of speaking, you probably couldn't if you tried right now, you simply step to the side and motion for him to come inside. He does so with a smile and looks around as soon as he's inside.
"Can I get you anything?" you ask him quietly and he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.
"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' as he shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. "I'm all good, I uh, just wanted to see you," he confesses.
"Me?" you ask with a surprised look on your face. Logan could get any girl on campus with a bat of those long eyelashes and that stupid lazy smirk that he's got on his face whenever he looks at you.
"You," he nods with the same surprised look on his face, laughing softly. "Yeah, you," he states with a shrug. "Truth be told," Logan sighs dramatically and leans against the kitchen island, arms against his chest. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you were trying to fix your AC," he tells you as if it's no big deal that he's been thinking about you for weeks.
There's a slight skip in your heart's rhythm when you think about if he's had the same type of thoughts about you?
He watches you intently as you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him with your mouth slightly agape.
"Y/N, you gotta give me something to work off of here," he begs gently with a pleading look in his eyes and you shake your head in disbelief.
"Sorry," you say simply with a blink, "I just… think my brain short circuited," you joke but you feel like doing literally anything but laughing. John Logan has been thinking about you, you remind yourself and you swallow before feeling yourself returning into your own body again. "Thinking about me," you try out quietly as you start to step towards him. "Like how?"
Logan stares at you as if you're a piece of prey as you step closer, dark eyes locked on your frame as you saunter towards the island. He bites down on his bottom lip gently, "Oh, if I told you you would think that I'm insane," he warns.
Eyebrows lifting slightly, you gaze up at him curiously and tilt your head to the side, "Try me," you say in an encouraging tone.
Logan swallows. Hard.
"I've been thinking about you—" he inhales sharply as if he really is considering doing this. He looks down at you and reaches over, grabbing your waist and tugging you between his legs. His hands find your hips as his thumbs gently graze at your hip bones. "In the worst fucking ways possible," he says, "—which is a problem because I haven't even taken you out on a proper date yet."
Ah, you think. A romantic, how sweet.
You smirk gently, "Oh, shit," you say in a low tone. "That bad, huh?"
Logan groans and shakes his head, "Like right now, all I wanna do is put you up on this counter and have my way with you," he says in a voice just above a whisper. He pulls his right hand up and strokes your cheek as if he's testing the waters. "I've been thinking about how badly I wanna fuck you," he confesses and your cheeks flush.
Your lips curl up into a smirk and you lean in, whispering into his ear. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," you say softly and he looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows.
"What? What's the bad news?" he asks, worry in his voice.
"I've been thinking about that too," you say. "And then you kept coming over shirtless and shit looking like a Ken doll," you groan and rub your hand over your face.
"Can I at least be a GI Joe?" he asks and you roll your eyes.
Logan's eyes light up slightly and he reaches forward, capturing your lips against his. He takes a step and spins you around, effectively caging you in against the countertop. Your tongues play against each others and both of his hands slip up to either side of your neck, deepening the kiss. After a moment, his hands slide down to your hips and he grabs you tightly, fingertips digging into your pajama bottoms and lifts you. He plops you right on your ass onto the counter, legs dangling and he steps between them effortlessly.
Your mind is fucking racing right now as his hands start to roam up and down your sides over your pajamas. Finally realizing what's going on, your arms instantly go around his neck and your leg hooks around his waist and pin him against the counter. He groans into the kiss slightly and lets his hand slip up your shirt.
His palm brushes against your breast and rolls your nipple gently between his index finger and thumb and he grins against your lips at the noise that comes out of your mouth.
You reach up and let your hand rake through his hair, sighing into the next kiss that he plants on your lips. He then breaks away, trailing kisses down your jawline as his hand switches over to your other breast and starts giving it some attention as well.
Logan's hands pull at the hem of your shirt and his eyes meet yours, asking silently for your approval before continuing on.
When you nod, he has the green light and he yanks the fabric up and over your head with no flair. He's too excited to be pulling out all the moves even though he knows he needs to slow the fuck down and savor this moment.
His lips graze down your jawline and down onto your neck and he nips gently at your pulse point before he sucks gently to ease the pain. Your lips part and you exhale, tilting your head to the side to give him the best angle of your neck that he can get.
You secretly hope he leaves marks. You want to walk around campus with makeup poorly covering his little claims on your body — at least the ones that are visible.
Logan's eyes drift down to your tits and smiles appreciatively. "Jesus," he breathes out as he reaches behind his neck and tugs at the collar of his own t-shirt. He throws it to the side and your hands rest on his muscular chest, fingers tracing the silver chain that he wears every day.
He presses you up against his chest and he closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours as your hand slowly slides down between his pecs to his abs. Your fingertips slowly trace small little circles along the muscles and his flinches his belly away from you instinctively before you smirk up at him and let your hand rest at the waistband of his sweats.
You watch his face intently as your hand palms against his dick through the fabric and you can feel him tense underneath you instantly. He sucks in a deep breath of air and grunts gently.
"You gonna tease it or you gonna play with it?" he asks gently, a slight challenge in his voice. He's never going to not be a smart ass when it counts.
You grin, letting your fingers curl around his fabric covered length. He hisses and closes his eyes, shifting his hips forward into your hand and he groans.
"Y/N," he warns, "I've wanted this all week," he tells you and you give him a sympathetic look.
He looks at you with a smile that shouts two can play that game and lets his fingers hook into the elastic of your shorts. In one swift motion, he's got you naked sitting on your kitchen counter and you feel like a million bucks as you sit in front of him with that grin.
He's looking at you like he's hit the lottery and he licks his lips before he leans back in, "You're fucking perfect," he whispers genuinely into your ear.
He grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist and tugs you closer, picking you up off the counter with ease and walking you towards the living room where he saw a couch earlier that seemed like it would give him enough room for what he wanted to do to you.
He lays you gingerly back against the couch cushions, dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you and nudging your knees apart with his shoulders. Logan's lips plant kisses up your thighs and just as he's about to reach your center that's throbbing at this point, he hovers and hesitates.
Logan's dark eyes stare down at your pussy, all wet just for him, and he blows air against your exposed clit before he goes to your other thigh and starts to kiss down towards your knee. You whimper and squirm underneath him and lift your head up off the couch.
"Fucking tease," you mumble with a sigh and he laughs between your thighs, laughing and leaning in. His lips place a gentle kiss at your clit before he lets his tongue lap in lazy circles against you.
His tongue moves just like a skater on the ice and you can't help but fall back against the cushions as he starts to inch you closer to an orgasm. His arms wrap around your ass and tugs you down onto his tongue, humming happily as he eats you out.
Your hand reaches down and grabs a handful of his hair and as he slips a finger inside of you, you tug in approval. A shaky sigh escapes from your lips as he throws your knee over his shoulder, burying his face deeper.
Your eyes widen as he starts to suck at your clit, a second finger added to the mix with a moan from you giving him encouragement every step of the way. The way your hips are starting to roll against his fingers makes him grin and his cock twitches between his legs.
Not now, Logan says to himself as he curls his fingers up just right and rubs against your spot.
"That's right," Logan nods, eyes dark. "You like that?"
Your head bounces like a bobblehead.
Logan shakes his head down at you, pressing his fingers deeper. "Say it," he says.
"I like it," you say eagerly and he smirks gently at how much control he has right now in this moment — even though he knows you can switch that dynamic around real fast.
He curls his fingers and pumps his fingers out as he sucks at your clit again, looking up at you.
Jesus Christ, John Logan between your thighs looking up at you may be the sexiest thing you've ever seen in your entire life.
"Fuck," you manage out a moment later as he keeps his motions going, leaning up though and grinning down at you.
"What's up, baby?" he asks in that snarky little tone that makes you clench around his fingers slightly. "Mm, you're close, aren't you?" he asks.
You nod weakly and Logan lifts a finger to his earlobe.
"Use your words, princess," Logan growls gently as he tilts his ear down towards you.
"I'm gonna come," you breathe out, your fingertips digging into his forearm.
Logan grins, "Good, let go for me," he says softly into your ear, "C'mon, let me have it," he tells you.
Your eyes close and you whimper as your thighs quiver around his fingers and he slows his fingers yet adds an entirely new sensation at this moment: his thumb, rubbing gently against your clit steadily.
He holds you as you tense up under him, kissing any inch of your body that he can get his lips on as you ride out your high.
"There she is," he grins once you seemingly come back down to Earth and you giggle softly, leaning in and kissing his lips roughly.
Logan leans back into you and kisses you back before pulling away and exhaling. He glances down and bites down on his bottom lip.
"You're not done," he tells you quietly as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and gives it a slow pump. His eyes are locked on you and you sit up slowly, grinning.
You lean over him and open your coffee table drawer, reaching in and grabbing a condom before taking the wrapper between her teeth and tearing it open.
Logan's seen women trying to make condoms sexy a hundred times but you, however, are the only one to succeed. He bites harder into his bottom lip as he pumps his cock once more, watching as you grab the latex and line it up with him.
He groans as you slowly roll the condom down with your hand, gripping him as you slide down and grinning up at him as you notice him twitch.
He crawls up onto the couch between your thighs and lets the head of his cock rub against your wet folds teasingly.
Your eyes roll at the feeling and you reach down to grab his forearms that are braced on either side of you.
And with one swift thrust, Logan pushes inside of you and you moan softly.
He pauses when he's fully inside of you and gives you a second to adjust before he rolls his hips back - only to thrust right back in. His head drops back between his shoulders and he groans.
You wrap your legs around his waist and he buries himself inside of you with each thrust, each one growing more and more passionate. He's savoring this moment just as much as you are, you notice, as he looks down at you as if he's memorizing this. The way your tits bounce with each thrusts, the sound that your bodies are making as they collide or maybe even how you feel.
"Just like that," you egg him on as he angles his hips just right and you feel a sudden sensation building in your stomach.
He beams at your words and tries to hit that spot over and over and over again.
He groans slowly, "You look so gorgeous like this," he tells you. And you don't care how many girls he's told this to before, you believe him. And your hands slowly reach up to your tits, squeezing them together as he brings your knees up to your chest and continues to pound into you.
You groan and know that you're on the edge and it's way too fast for your liking but you have no say in the matter. Logan for all intents and purposes has full control of you and this moment and you wouldn't have it any other way.
He leans down and kisses your lips as he bucks his hips, his thrusts getting more and more desperate and ragged as he rocks his hips back and forth. When he feels your thighs shake again and your breathing hitch, he groans deeply into the kiss and his hips start to slow down, looking down at you. His eyes lock onto yours as he fills the condom, moaning and kissing your jaw again.
And you two lay like that, just together, chest to chest on the couch, catching your breath. A comfortable silence falling between you two. You quietly wrap an arm around his shoulders as he places kisses against your collarbone, slipping out of you a moment later.
You sit up and Logan instantly walks over to the kitchen and grabs the roll of paper towels. He peels the rubber off of his dick and cleans himself off quickly and hands you the roll of towels for yourself.
He pulls his sweats back over his hips and he sits on the couch, running his hand through his hair and exhaling contently.
"You good?" he asks gently after a beat and you offer a grin that makes him laugh. "Jesus," he laughs, "You keep looking like that and I'm gonna get you for three tonight," he grins and leans in, pecking your lips.
"What's wrong with that?" you ask with a small smirk.
Logan chuckles lowly and swats at your thigh, "Nothing, but I'm gonna get hooked," he smirks. "And then you'll never get rid of me," he shrugs quickly.
"I thought I already couldn't get rid of you," you muse and he leans in, tickling your sides and making you writhe underneath him in an entirely different way.
"So I'm gonna take you out to dinner tomorrow night," he tells you simply, tracing circles up and down your arm.
You laugh gently at the shift of conversation.
"I'll see if I can pencil you in," you say gently. "Have you seen my backyard?"
He smirks, "Alright, fine, instead of going out for dinner, we'll get some take out and we can work in the backyard and get some work done before I head out on the road," he says, like it's the easiest decision to make.
You purse your lips and nod, "I don't think my sprinkler system is even hooked up," you muse after a minute and Logan hums behind you, hugging you tight to his body as he shrugs.
"I can fix that."
a/n: well, here we are hussies, (jk lol) I hope that you enjoyed my first smutfic in a HOT ASS minute. what a muse, huh? is he just not the finest hunk in the world? the things i'd do-- and with that, i'm headed to bed. let me know what you think -- as always, requests are OPEN and I'm always willing to take your suggestions! who knows -- maybe this becomes a mini-series in and of itself depending on how ya'll like it!
i love you all so very very much! thank you for reading!
☄︎ Warnings: Arguing. Reader being stubborn. Heavy alcohol consumption. Light angst.
☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan
☄︎ Rating/Genre: PG. Hurt/Comfort
☄︎ Words: 1847
☄︎ Summary: You get into a petty argument with Logan on the way to a party.
💭: super original title cause i couldn't think of anything else lol
Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Logan Masterlist here.
It started as most stupid arguments did, a mild annoyance that snowballed into something unnecessarily bigger.
Logan had been late picking you up for the party. It's not like he hadn't messaged you to let you know, he had. It's not like he didn't have a valid excuse, he did. But you were already in a foul mood, already lowkey feeling like hockey took priority over everything, and his late arrival was the cherry on an already shit cake.
"I'm so sorry, babe," Logan said the second you climbed into the passenger seat, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
"No problem," you replied, your voice clipped.
But there was a problem, and you both knew it. Logan knew you well enough to pick up the subtle signs in your texts and body language. Your reply to his text had been short; your clipped response now was unusual; you looked unimpressed, all clear signs. But the biggest one was the fact that you hadn't leant over to give him a kiss. Hadn't tried to soothe the tired lines in his face.
Logan noticed it all, but he chose not to press. He'd had a long day too and was wound just as tightly as you were at the minute.
The silence in the car stretched as he pulled away from the curve, driving you to the party hosted by the Lacrosse team. The silence allowed your thoughts to ruminate unnecessarily over the situation, working yourself up until the irriation boiled over. Under your breath, you muttered a tight "I should have just walked."
It was meant as a throwaway comment, a petty jab to vent, and you truly didn't mean to start something, but it hit its mark.
"I said I was sorry." Logan's grip on the steeting wheel tightened.
"I know."
"Then what's that supposed to mean?" He snapped, his already low patience wearing thin.
"Exactly what I said," you snapped back, crossing your arms. "I just meant I should have walked."
"Yeah, because I was late, right?"
You knew you should have stopped the conversation there, apologised, let him know you'd had a bad day, and moved on. But a stubborn part of you needed this fight, needed to get out the emotions you were bottling up.
"I don't know why you're being like this. I wasn't trying to start anything."
Logan let out a sharp exhale through his nose. "Kinda feels like you were."
"Well that doesn't make it true," you retorted, continuing to stare straight ahead through the windshield.
"Look, I'm exhausted," Logan said, voice dropping low. "I barely slept last night. Practice was hell. Coach was on my ass the whole time. I got stuck in traffic on my way here, and now the only thing I'm hearing from you is that I should have gotten here quicker."
"There's no need for that tone, Logan."
Logan's head snapped to look at you, his eyes flashing before he forced his attention back to the road. "I'm only giving you a tone because it seems like nothing I'm saying is good enough for you."
"I never said that!"
"You've been in a mood since you got in the car." You were about to protest when he interuppted, "Don't deny it. You're picking a fight. What am I supposed to think?"
"Maybe think that I was just frustrated."
"And so was I, but I didn't take it out on you."
That made you pause. Deep down, you knew that Logan was right. He hadn't taken out his crappy day on you the way you were with him. But, at the same time, the longer this conversation went on, the more unheard you felt.
"Okay, but I am allowed to be frustrated too," you muttered.
"I didn't say that you weren't." Logan pressed his foot on the brake, pulling the car over to the curb with more force than necessary. Turning in his seat, he shifted to look at you.
"What do you want me to say?" He asked, throwing a hand up. "I apologised. I texted you. I told you practice ran over. What more do you want from me?
"A text twenty minutes later than you were supposed to be here."
"Did you want me to pull out my phone while coach was talking?"
You opened your mouth before closing it again. "Obviously not," you admitted. "Maybe I just wanted you to understand why I'm upset, rather than acting like I'm attacking you."
"I do understand," he said, voice softening a little. "But every time I apologise, it feels like you find another way to tell me I screwed up."
Your stomach dropped.
"Forget it." Stubbornly, you turned your hear away, staring out of the passenger side window.
Logan sighed heavily, turned the engine back on, and drove you both the rest of the way to the party. As he pulled into crowded driveway of the party, he broke the silence that had settled over you both, keeping his eyes glued to the steering wheel.
"You don't need to come in if you're just going to be pissed at me all night," Logan muttered.
You folded your arms tighter across your chest, his words leaving you seething. "If you don't want me to come with you, just say that."
"Can you stop twisting my words?" You could hear the frustration in his voice, and it only made you more frustrated. "I never said that."
"Whatever, Logan."
"Have fun," he said flatly as he shut off the ignition.
"Oh, I will."
You slammed the door to his car a little harder than necessary and stormed into the party.
Inside, the party was in full swing. Someone called your name, but you only offered a tight smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Within seconds, a drink was in your hand. Less than a minute later, the first drink was gone and you were pouring a second, heavy on the booze, light on the mixer.
You welcomed the burning heat of the drink as it hit the back of your throat. It felt better than the ache in your chest. As the drinks, and music, kept flowing through you, you forgot why you even needed it in the first place.
But the alcohol could only make you forget for so long. Every couple of minutes, you found your eyes scanning the crowd to find Logan. And when you finally did, your chest tightened. He was standing with Garrett and a few of the lacrosse team, head thrown back in laughter, unaffected and carefree.
'He hasn't even looked for me,' you thought, a bitter lump forming in your throat. 'He didn't text to see if I wanted to talk. He doesn't care. As usual, he'd rather drink with his buddies than deal with his emotional girlfriend.'
Suddenly, every emotion you'd been trying to bury came bubbling to the surface. Tears blurred your vision, turning the fairylights into halos. You stumbled towards the exit, desperate for fresh air.
"Whoa, steady there. I gotcha."
Strong hands caught your forearms, holding you steady as you practically fell into a chest.
Blinking hard, your vision focused on Tucker's worried face.
"Hey, what happened?" Tucker's brow furrowed as he took in your dishevelled state, mascara streaked down your flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears.
Before anybody else could notice, he carefully steered you toward the kitchen.
"Here," Tucker said gently as he handed you a cup. "Drink this, it's water."
You frowned at the cup as if it had offended you. "I don't want water."
"Please? For me?" He coaxed, using that soft gentlemanly tone he was so good at.
"Fineeeee." You downed the first cup, and let him refill it. By the time you finished the second, your head was pounding slightly less, but the emotional dam was still broken, stray tears still running down your face.
Tucker guided you to a quieter hallway near the downstairs bathroom, leaning against the wall. "Do you want me to go and get Logan for you?"
"No," you wailed, the sound muffled as you hid your face in your hands. "He doesn't care, he hates me."
Tucker sighed sympathetically, you were obviously shit-faced drunk, so he didn't expect much logic from you. "I don't think that's true. Tell me what happened."
"He hates me," you repeated, a hiccup interrupting your words. "He's gonna break up with me for being difficult."
"What makes you say that?" Tucker asked, completely baffled.
"Because he said I was pissed off and picking fights," you cried, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand.
Tucker stared at you for a minute, fighting the amused twitch of his lips. "And... were you?"
"Yes," you hiccuped loudly. Falling into Tucker's arms, you buried your face into the front of his shirt.
Tucker wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back in soothing circles as you began dramatically retelling the car ride. Between slurred and jumbled sentences, you explained how he arrived late because he only cared about hockey, how he 'yelled' at you, and how he basically told you to go away.
Tucker listened patiently, nodding along, knowing damn well that this was a result of two tired people knowing how to push each other's buttons, rather than the hateful breakup you were telling him it was.
"Alright, let's just breatheeee," Tucker said slowly, gently pulling you away from his shirt. "Listen to me, that boy is crazy about you, like literally crazy. You're just really drunk, alright?"
You nodded slowly, wiping the snot from your nose.
"Come on, let's go get your boy."
Half-carrying, half-guiding your body, Tucker navigated you through the sea of college students. You stumbled along, clinging to his arm and still crying softly and mumbling about how Logan wouldn't want to see you.
Logan was still standing where you'd last seen him. He was talking to Garrett, but he wasn't really paying attention. His eyes were scanning the crowd, clearly looking for you.
The moment he spotted you clinging to Tucker, tears streaming down your face, his posture changed. He pushed through a couple of people to get to you.
"What happened?" He asked frantically, scanning your body for injuries. "Did someone hurt you?"
He didn't wait for you to answer, he pulled you from Tucker's hold into his arms, tucking you against his chest.
"She's fine, man," Tucker said gently, "she just missed you and is very sorry about earlier."
Before you could say anything, Tucker turned back into the crowd, giving you both space.
Your tears had stopped the moment you were in Logan's arms, instantly calmer. "I'm sorry," you mumbled into his shoulder. "Don't be mad anymore and please don't break up with me."
Despite himself, Logan laughed softly. "It's going to take a lot more than a stupid argument for me to even consider breaking up with you. You're stuck with me."
"I'm so sorry," you slurred, eyes closing as you swayed. "I-."
"Let's talk about it later," he interrupted, already pulling you towards the exit. "First, let me take you home."
💭: oh how i crave an argument then comfort w logan. sigh. i really enjoyed writing out the argument cause (in my mind) they both have a point and it gets like that sometimes but let me know what you thought about this one xx
There were some people who arrived in your life like weather.
You saw them coming from a distance.
A darkening sky. A shift in the air. The strange, electric quiet before rain.
Logan was not like that.
Logan arrived slowly.
He appeared in the spaces between your days, in the small places where you had not realised there was room for anyone else. A knock on the front door when he had borrowed Olivia’s extension cord and forgotten to return it. A coffee left on the porch rail with your name written in black marker across the cup. A text message at midnight asking whether you were awake, followed by a photograph of Dean asleep on the hockey house couch with a half-eaten slice of pizza on his chest.
He became familiar in increments.
A song you heard through the wall and knew he was probably playing. The scrape of his boots on the front path. The way he said your name when he was amused, stretching it out just enough to make it sound like he had discovered something funny about you that nobody else had noticed.
You told yourself it was friendship.
You repeated it like a prayer.
Friendship was safe.
Friendship did not ask you to wonder why his eyes softened when he looked at you. It did not make you stare at your phone whenever his name appeared on the screen. It did not turn every quiet moment into a question.
Friendship was simple.
Logan was not.
It started with coffee.
You had been up since six that morning, finishing an article on the university’s proposed tuition increase. By nine, you had already rewritten the opening paragraph four times and consumed enough caffeine to make your hands tremble over the keyboard.
Olivia had left early for class, leaving the townhouse quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional groan of the old pipes.
You were halfway through another sentence when someone knocked on the door.
Not loud.
Three quick taps.
You looked up.
The clock on the wall read 9:17 a.m.
Nobody came to your house at 9:17 in the morning unless something was wrong.
You crossed the living room and opened the door.
Logan stood on the porch in sweatpants, a hoodie, and a backwards baseball cap. His hair curled out beneath it in careless blond waves. He held two coffee cups in one hand and looked entirely too awake for someone who had been laughing loudly with his roommates at one in the morning.
“Morning,” he said.
You stared at him.
“What happened?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Nothing happened.”
“You’re here before ten.”
“I’m capable of functioning before ten.”
“You have never given me evidence of that.”
He smiled and held out one of the cups.
“Peace offering.”
You took it automatically.
It was your usual order.
Not just coffee. Your usual order. Oat milk, one sugar, extra shot.
You looked down at the cup.
“How do you know this?”
“You told me.”
“I did not.”
“You did.” He stepped past you into the entryway without waiting for an invitation, which should have annoyed you more than it did. “At the diner. You said the coffee was terrible because it had too much cream and not enough caffeine.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It gave me context.”
“You remembered context?”
“I’m full of surprises.”
You shut the door behind him.
Logan wandered into the kitchen like he had been there a hundred times, leaning against the counter while you followed with your coffee.
“You have practice?” you asked.
“Later.”
“Class?”
“Skipped.”
“Logan.”
“What? It’s an elective.”
“You are the reason professors drink.”
He laughed.
You took a sip of coffee and immediately hated how good it was.
“Why are you here?” you asked.
He looked at you.
For a moment, he seemed almost uncertain.
Then he shrugged.
“I was bored.”
“That is not a reason to come to my house.”
“It is if you’re more interesting than my house.”
“You have four roommates.”
“Exactly.”
You tried to hide your smile by looking down at your coffee.
Logan noticed anyway.
He always noticed.
“You’re working?” he asked, nodding toward your laptop on the dining table.
“Trying to.”
“What are you writing about?”
“Tuition increases.”
His face fell. “That sounds terrible.”
“It is terrible.”
“Can I help?”
You looked at him.
“With what?”
“I don’t know. Moral support?”
“You are not morally supportive.”
“That’s harsh.”
“It’s accurate.”
He placed a hand dramatically over his heart.
“You wound me.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Barely.”
The words were playful, but something in his expression softened after he said them.
You looked away first.
He stayed for forty minutes.
You did not get much work done.
He sat across from you at the table, drinking coffee and scrolling through his phone. Every so often, he interrupted you with a question that had nothing to do with anything.
“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever written about?”
“Why do you have six different pens?”
“Do you think Dean knows he’s annoying?”
You answered despite yourself.
When he finally left, your article was unfinished, your coffee was cold, and the townhouse felt too quiet.
Your phone buzzed as the front door clicked shut behind him.
JOHN LOGAN: You’re welcome for the coffee.
You looked toward the door.
Then typed:
YOU: You were a distraction.
JOHN LOGAN: You smiled though.
You stared at the screen.
YOU: Don’t get used to it.
His reply came immediately.
JOHN LOGAN: Too late.
You did not answer.
But you smiled anyway.
That was the problem.
It was always the small things.
Not the grand gestures people wrote songs about. Not the dramatic declarations beneath rain-soaked windows or the kind of kisses that rearranged a person’s whole life in a single breath.
It was the coffee.
The stupid coffee.
It was him remembering something you had said once, in passing, and treating it like it mattered enough to keep.
By the end of the week, you had spent more time at the hockey house than you had intended.
The first time, it was because Olivia had gone out with friends and you had run out of milk. Logan had been sitting on the porch with Garrett and Tucker when you came home from class, your tote bag heavy with books and your shoulders aching from the weight of the day.
“Hey, neighbour,” Logan called.
You looked toward the porch.
Garrett sat in a wooden chair, one ankle resting over his knee, his expression calm in the way it always seemed to be. Tucker leaned against the railing, eating something out of a plastic container.
Logan was stretched across the outdoor couch, looking entirely too comfortable.
“You’re all outside,” you said.
“Great observation,” Dean called from somewhere inside the house.
You ignored him.
Logan sat up slightly. “Come hang out.”
“I have work.”
“You always have work.”
“That’s because I have responsibilities.”
“So do I.”
“You skipped class this morning.”
“It was an elective.”
You stared at him.
Tucker snorted into his food.
Garrett’s mouth twitched.
“Fine,” Logan said. “Come hang out for ten minutes.”
“I need to go to the store. We’re out of milk.”
“We have milk.”
You paused.
Logan’s grin widened.
“You know what kind I drink?”
“You have oat milk in your coffee.”
“That does not mean I drink oat milk at home.”
“You definitely drink oat milk at home.”
You hated that he was right.
“I’ll bring it over,” he added. “You don’t have to come inside.”
Dean appeared in the doorway behind him, holding a beer in one hand.
“She’s coming inside,” he said. “Nobody has ever turned down an invitation from this house.”
“I have,” you said.
Dean looked at you.
“You’re here now.”
You folded your arms.
He smiled.
It was the kind of smile that made you understand immediately why people got themselves into trouble around Dean Di Laurentis.
Logan stood.
“Ten minutes,” he said.
You should have said no.
You had an article due. Laundry waiting upstairs. A pile of notes on your desk that needed sorting.
Instead, you followed him across the yard.
The hockey house was warmer than you expected.
It smelled faintly of laundry detergent, pizza, and something spicy that had probably been burned in the kitchen. The living room was cluttered with mismatched furniture, hockey equipment, blankets, empty water bottles, and several framed team photos hanging crookedly on the walls.
It was messy.
Loud.
Lived in.
It felt like a house built from chaos and friendship.
Logan disappeared into the kitchen, and you stood awkwardly near the couch while Dean watched you with open amusement.
“So,” he said.
“So?”
“You and Logan.”
“There is no me and Logan.”
Dean raised his eyebrows.
“Sure.”
“There isn’t.”
“You know, you say that with the exact same conviction Logan uses when he says he isn’t hungry before eating half of everyone else’s food.”
You looked toward the kitchen.
Logan was opening the fridge, arguing with Tucker about something involving protein powder.
“You’re making things up,” you said.
Dean took a drink from his beer.
“I don’t have to.”
Before you could respond, the front porch steps creaked.
The room shifted.
It was subtle.
A quiet change in the air, like a breeze moving through an open window.
Hannah Wells had arrived.
You knew who she was immediately.
She was smaller than you expected, dark hair falling around her shoulders, her coat pulled close against the cold. Garrett looked up from the porch through the open front door, and his entire expression softened.
Not dramatically.
Not in a way anyone else might notice.
But you did.
You noticed because you wrote stories.
You noticed because you had spent years studying the spaces between what people said and what they meant.
Hannah smiled when she saw Garrett.
Then she walked toward him.
Logan went still.
Only for a second.
A fraction of a second.
But you saw it.
His hand tightened around the carton of oat milk.
His smile disappeared.
Then returned.
By the time Hannah reached Garrett, Logan looked normal again.
Too normal.
“Hey,” Hannah said to everyone.
“Hey, Wellsy,” Dean replied.
Tucker nodded politely.
You stood near the couch, suddenly feeling like you had walked into a scene already in progress.
Hannah noticed you.
Her expression brightened.
“You must be Y/N.”
You blinked.
“I am.”
“I’m Hannah.” She smiled. “Logan talks about you.”
Your eyes flicked toward him.
He was still standing in the kitchen.
His jaw tightened.
Dean made a small sound that was definitely a laugh.
Hannah seemed not to notice.
“I read your article after the first game,” she continued. “It was really good.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re with the Beacon, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I used to write for my high school paper.” She looked almost shy when she said it. “Nothing serious. Mostly school events.”
“That still counts.”
Hannah smiled.
And you liked her immediately.
That was inconvenient.
You had expected to resent her.
Not because she had done anything wrong. She had not. You knew that. But resentment did not always need logic to grow. Sometimes it grew in the quiet places, watered by insecurity and all the things you wished you did not want.
But Hannah was kind.
She was warm in a way that did not feel performative. She asked you questions and listened to the answers. She made you laugh when she told you about Garrett trying to teach her hockey terminology.
“He gets so intense about it,” she said. “Like if I don’t understand icing, the whole sport will collapse.”
From the porch, Garrett looked over.
“I heard that.”
“You were supposed to,” Hannah called back.
He shook his head, but there was a smile on his face.
You watched them.
Then you looked at Logan.
He was looking at them too.
Something inside you folded.
Not broke.
Not yet.
But folded, carefully and quietly, like a page being turned.
Ten minutes became an hour.
You stayed because Hannah was easy to talk to. Because Garrett was less intimidating than campus gossip made him seem. Because Tucker offered you a soda without making it weird, and because Dean kept making you laugh despite yourself.
Mostly, though, you stayed because Logan kept finding reasons to be near you.
He brought you the oat milk, then sat beside you on the couch. He asked about your article. He showed you a video of Dean falling off a paddleboard last summer. When you stood to leave, he stood too.
“I’ll walk you,” he said.
“You are walking me twelve feet.”
“Still counts.”
Outside, the air had grown colder.
Hannah and Garrett were still inside, their voices drifting faintly through the open window. You could hear Dean laughing. Tucker arguing about music.
Logan walked beside you across the yard.
Neither of you spoke at first.
The silence between you felt different now.
Heavier.
“You okay?” you asked.
Logan looked at you.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t seem okay.”
“I’m fine.”
The words came too quickly.
Too familiar.
You stopped at the bottom of your porch steps.
Logan took another step before realising you had stopped. He turned back.
“You know,” you said quietly, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”
His face changed.
The easy expression slipped.
For a moment, he looked tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper than that.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
He looked away.
The streetlight caught in his hair, turning it almost white at the edges.
“You saw Hannah,” he said.
It was not a question.
You nodded.
Logan exhaled slowly.
“She’s Garrett’s girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“She’s happy.”
“I know.”
“And Garrett’s my friend.”
“I know, Logan.”
His eyes closed for a second.
When he opened them, he looked at you again.
“I’m trying,” he said.
The words were quiet enough that you almost missed them.
Trying.
Not over her.
Not fine.
Trying.
Your chest tightened.
Because there was something devastating about the honesty of it. Something worse than a lie. A lie would have given you something to fight. Something clean and sharp and easy to hate.
But this was just a boy standing in front of you, admitting that his heart had not caught up with reality.
You wanted to tell him you understood.
You wanted to tell him that wanting someone unavailable was like holding a match too long: eventually, it burned through your fingers, and you were left wondering why you had not dropped it sooner.
Instead, you said, “I don’t want to be the person you use to forget her.”
Logan looked stricken.
“You’re not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
His jaw tightened.
The hockey house behind him was still loud. Someone turned the music up. A burst of laughter spilled through an open window.
But out here, beneath the streetlight, the world felt quiet enough to hear every unspoken thing between you.
“I like being around you,” Logan said.
You swallowed.
“Logan—”
“I’m not asking you for anything.”
“You don’t have to ask for it.”
He looked at you.
And for one terrible, beautiful second, you thought he might step closer.
Thought he might touch your hand.
Thought he might say something that would make it impossible to pretend this was only friendship.
Instead, he took a step back.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
You hated how much the apology hurt.
“Don’t be sorry,” you replied. “Just be honest.”
He nodded once.
Then walked back toward the hockey house.
You stood on your porch until he disappeared inside.
That night, Olivia found you sitting cross-legged on your bed with your laptop open and no words on the page.
“You saw Hannah,” she said.
It was not a question.
You looked up.
“How did you know?”
“Because you have the face you get when something hurts but you’re trying to act like it doesn’t.”
You laughed once, without humour.
“Apparently everyone knows my face.”
Olivia sat beside you on the bed.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Then she said, “Do you like him?”
You looked down at your hands.
The answer sat inside you like a stone.
Not huge.
Not impossible to carry.
But heavy enough that you could not ignore it anymore.
“I don’t know,” you said.
Olivia’s expression softened.
“Yes, you do.”
You closed your eyes.
Outside, the hockey house was quieter than usual.
Maybe Logan had gone upstairs.
Maybe he was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about someone else.
Maybe he was trying.
And maybe that was the cruelest part.
That he was trying.
Your phone buzzed on the blanket beside you.
JOHN LOGAN: I meant what I said.
You stared at the message.
A second one came through.
JOHN LOGAN: You’re not a distraction.
Your fingers hovered over the screen.
You wanted to believe him.
That was the problem.
You wanted to believe him so badly that it frightened you.
YOU: I know.
The typing bubble appeared.
Then disappeared.
No other message came.
You placed your phone face down.
Olivia reached over and took your hand.
You let her.
・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜
@yourusername: Sometimes the hardest stories are the ones you are living while trying to write them.
Comments:
@oliviajames: too real
@hannahwells: I love this
@johnlogan: You okay?
↳ @yourusername: Working.
↳ @johnlogan: You always are.
↳ @yourusername: Someone has to be.
@deandilaurentis: This comment section feels tense.
↳ @yourusername: Go away, Dean
↳ @deandilaurentis: Never.
・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜
The next week, you tried to create distance.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Just enough for yourself.
You stopped answering Logan’s messages immediately. You kept your curtains closed when the hockey house was loud. You stayed later at the Beacon office, taking on extra assignments and telling Paige you had more time than you did.
You told yourself you were being sensible.
You told yourself you were protecting your heart before it had the chance to become something fragile in someone else’s hands.
But distance had a way of revealing how close someone had become.
You noticed the absence of his texts first.
Then the absence of coffee on your porch.
Then the fact that when you came home from class, you looked automatically toward the hockey house windows before you could stop yourself.
On Thursday night, you stayed at the Beacon office until nearly midnight.
The campus had emptied by the time you left. Snow had started falling, thin and hesitant at first, then heavier as you crossed the quad. It gathered in your hair and on the shoulders of your coat. The streetlights turned every flake into something bright and floating.
By the time you reached your townhouse, your fingers were numb.
The hockey house was dark.
No music.
No voices.
No movement behind the windows.
You should have felt relieved.
Instead, you felt something else.
Something hollow.
You unlocked your front door and stepped inside.
The townhouse was cold.
Olivia was away for the weekend, visiting her sister, and the silence met you like a wall. You dropped your bag near the stairs and stood in the entryway for a moment, listening to nothing.
Then someone knocked.
Three quick taps.
Your breath caught.
You knew the rhythm.
You opened the door.
Logan stood on the porch.
Snow clung to his hair and shoulders. He was wearing a dark jacket, his hands shoved into his pockets. His face looked pale beneath the porch light.
“Hey,” he said.
Your heart made a terrible, traitorous movement.
“Hey.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The snow fell around him in slow, white spirals.
“I know you’ve been avoiding me,” he said.
You looked away.
“I haven’t.”
“You have.”
“Maybe I’ve been busy.”
“You have been.” His voice was gentle. “But you’ve also been avoiding me.”
You hated that he knew.
You hated that he was right.
“What do you want, Logan?”
The question came out sharper than you intended.
His expression shifted.
Not anger.
Something sadder.
“I wanted to see you.”
The words settled between you.
Simple.
Unprotected.
You looked at him.
Really looked.
He seemed tired again. Like he had not been sleeping much. Like there were things sitting heavy behind his eyes.
“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted.
His brow furrowed.
“Do what?”
“This.” You gestured between you. “Whatever this is.”
Logan stepped closer to the porch.
Snow melted against the edge of his jacket.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“You might anyway.”
“I know.”
“And that’s the problem.”
He looked down.
The silence stretched.
Then he said, “I’m not over everything.”
Your chest tightened.
“I know.”
“But I’m not where I was either.”
You did not speak.
He looked up again.
“I think about you,” he said. “All the time. I think about you when I’m at practice. When I’m at the house. When I’m trying to sleep. I see something stupid and I want to text you. I hear a song and I wonder if you’d hate it.”
Your breath caught.
Logan took another step closer.
“I don’t know what that means yet,” he continued. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to let it mean something. But I know you’re not nothing to me.”
The snow fell between you.
Soft.
Endless.
You wanted to reach for him.
You wanted to believe that being not nothing could be enough.
But you had spent too much of your life accepting half-formed feelings from people who were not ready to give more.
“I can’t be your almost,” you said quietly.
Logan’s face changed.
The words had hurt him.
You could see it.
And it hurt you too.
“I’m not asking you to be,” he said.
“Then what are you asking?”
He looked at you for a long time.
Then he shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
There it was.
The truth.
Not romantic.
Not satisfying.
Just real.
You nodded slowly.
“Then maybe you need to figure it out.”
Logan swallowed.
The snow had begun to settle on the porch steps.
For one second, he looked like he might say something else.
summary: over the years, you notice your son picking up more and more of logan’s habits, never realizing just how closely he’s been watching his dad
warnings: this genuinely is just pure fluff, if you’re not into parenthood fics i suggest skipping this one :)
word count: 2.5k
a/n: based on this request by @memedin4 ! i hope you enjoy it<3
john logan masterlist off campus masterlist
── ᵎᵎ ✦
logan had been home from a training camp for less than twelve hours when you walked into the kitchen and found a smaller version of him sitting at the table.
not physically, obviously. your son was three years old, barely tall enough to climb onto the dining chairs without using his knees, and currently wearing dinosaur pajamas with one sock missing. logan, meanwhile, looked every bit like a man who had landed in boston sometime after midnight and been woken before seven by a child who had apparently spent the last four days saving every thought he’d ever had for his father’s return.
they had already been downstairs for nearly an hour.
you knew this because you’d heard your son talking through the floorboards while you were still in bed. the conversation appeared to have been largely one-sided, punctuated every so often by logan’s lower, sleep-roughened voice. eventually, the smell of coffee had convinced you to join them.
logan sat slouched in his chair, one hand wrapped around a mug while he scrolled through his phone. his hair was still flattened on one side from sleep, and the exhaustion around his eyes suggested he was only technically awake.
beside him, your son sat in almost exactly the same position. his small body was slumped against the back of the chair, one hand wrapped around his plastic cup of milk while he stared down at the unopened coloring book in front of him with an expression of deep contemplation.
logan lifted his coffee, your son lifted his milk. logan took a sip, so did he.
you remained by the doorway, watching as logan lowered his mug and scratched absently at the stubble along his jaw. a few seconds later, your son raised one small hand and dragged his fingers thoughtfully across his own smooth chin.
your mouth twitched slightly at the utterly adorable sight. logan noticed you then, his eyes lifting from his phone, “morning.”
“morning.” you crossed the kitchen, placing a quick kiss against your husband’s lips before reaching for the coffee pot, and glancing toward the table again as you filled your mug.
logan leaned farther back in his chair, your son did the same. this time, you laughed.
both of them looked at you, and the resemblance in their equally confused expressions only made it worse. “what?” logan asked.
you shook your head and turned back toward the counter, “nothing.”
you heard logan mutter something to your son behind you, followed by a quiet little laugh.
at three, imitation was hardly unusual. your son copied plenty of things. he tried to use your hairbrush, repeated words he had no business knowing, and had recently spent an entire afternoon pretending to talk on a television remote after watching you take a work call.
by four, your son had worked out what it meant when logan left with a suitcase.
before, his father’s absences had existed without much explanation. dad went away sometimes. dad appeared on the television. dad eventually came home, usually with something small from whichever city he’d been in and enough guilt about missing bedtime to make him incapable of saying no for at least twenty-four hours.
now, your son understood that logan played hockey for the bruins and this information had completely changed his life.
he had a miniature jersey with his father’s name across the back and insisted on wearing it during games. on nights when logan was away, you let him stay up later than usual to watch, although he rarely made it through all three periods.
more than once, logan had called after a game only for you to turn the phone toward the couch, where his son was asleep beneath a blanket with one hand still loosely holding a plastic hockey stick.
when logan was home, things weren’t much different. your son followed him everywhere.
if logan went into the garage, the back door opened thirty seconds later and a small voice asked what he was doing. if logan went upstairs to change, your son waited outside the bedroom and resumed whatever story he’d been telling the moment his father reappeared. if logan sat down to watch something, there was usually a small body pressed against his side within minutes.
logan seemed entirely unaware of the fact that he had acquired a shadow. you, however, had noticed it most one saturday afternoon.
you had walked into the kitchen to find logan crouched in front of an open cabinet. a screwdriver rested between his fingers as he worked on one of the hinges, while your son sat cross-legged on the floor beside him.
his eyes followed logan’s hands as they moved. whenever logan paused to inspect the hinge, your son leaned forward slightly too. when logan frowned at something, a smaller crease appeared between your son’s eyebrows.
you leaned against the counter, “is he helping?”
logan glanced over his shoulder, “apparently.”
your son looked mildly offended, “i am.”
you looked at his empty hands with a small smile, “alright, love.”
logan continued working, explaining what he was doing whenever another question came from beside him. most of the answers were probably going over your son’s head, but that didn’t seem to matter. he listened with the solemn attention usually reserved for bedtime stories.
eventually, logan handed him the screwdriver and placed his own hand over the smaller one to help him tighten the final screw.
as your son looked ridiculously pleased with himself you smiled and left them to it.
later that evening, you found him sitting in front of one of his toy trucks with a plastic screwdriver in his hand. when you asked what he was doing, he barely looked up, “fixing it.”
you didn’t need to ask where he’d gotten the idea.
you discovered this at dinner when you noticed every cherry tomato from his salad arranged in a neat pile at the edge of his plate.
you stared at them for a moment, “what’s wrong with those?”
your son shrugged, “don’t like them.”
“you ate them yesterday.” you said with your brows knitted in confusion, but another shrug followed.
when you glanced across the table you noticed logan eating with the determined concentration of someone who knew better than to make eye contact. you looked at his plate, and sure enough, a small pile of tomatoes sat near the edge.
your eyes moved from him to your son, and back to your husband, “seriously?”
logan finally glanced up, “what?”
you gestured toward their plates. he looked down at his own and then toward your son’s. understanding dawned slowly causing his mouth to twitch.
“don’t,” you pointed your fork at him.
“i didn’t do anything,” he shrugged.
“you’re enjoying this.”
“a little.”
your son looked between you, clearly uninterested in whatever argument was taking place. he pushed another tomato into the pile and continued eating. you watched him glance briefly at logan’s plate before doing it.
the tomatoes were only the beginning.
your son began asking for eggs the same way logan ate them, despite previously insisting that the yolk was disgusting. he started sitting beside his father during breakfast instead of in his usual seat across the table. when logan came home from practice and dropped onto the couch with one ankle resting over the opposite knee, it wasn’t unusual to find your son sitting the same way twenty minutes later.
the expressions were the funniest part.
logan had a particular look whenever he thought you were being unreasonable. it wasn’t dramatic. one eyebrow lifted slightly while his mouth flattened at one corner, and after years of marriage, you knew exactly what it meant.
apparently, your son did too.
the first time he used it on you after being told he couldn’t have ice cream before dinner, you nearly called logan into the room to deal with the consequences of his own genetics.
by six, hockey had become more than something your son watched because his father was on television.
he wanted to play.
you knew logan had been secretly thrilled the first time your son asked for skates, but he tried hard not to show too much of it. hockey had been part of his life for so long that he seemed almost wary of accidentally making it an obligation for his son.
he didn’t have to worry, though, because your son loved it.
you spent more mornings than you could count sitting in cold rinks with coffee between your hands, watching him on the ice. whenever logan’s schedule allowed, he came along.
you could tell those were your son’s favorite mornings.
he listened differently when logan spoke. not because he ignored his coaches, he didn’t, but because anything his father said seemed to carry additional weight.
logan would demonstrate something once, skating slowly enough for him to follow and your son would try. usually, the first attempt wasn’t particularly successful, but logan never made a big deal out of it. he would skate over, say something you couldn’t hear through the glass, and show him again.
there was something about the concentration on your son’s face that felt familiar. his brows drew together the same way logan’s did before a faceoff, his mouth tightening slightly as he tried to remember where to put his feet.
when he finally got something right, he looked for logan immediately. every single time. and no matter how small the improvement was, logan always noticed.
you wondered if either of them understood just how much they watched each other.
at seven, your son announced that he would play for the bruins.
the declaration came over breakfast with such certainty that neither you nor logan questioned whether he’d meant it. logan looked up from his coffee, “that’s the plan?”
your son nodded and continued eating his cereal. logan glanced at you as you tried to hide your smile behind your mug. there was no point arguing. only a week earlier, your son had also informed you that he intended to become a marine biologist despite refusing to swim anywhere he couldn’t touch the bottom.
that evening, you sat with him during one of logan’s home games. your son had been to plenty by then, but his excitement never seemed to fade. he sat forward in his seat throughout warmups, tracking his father across the ice.
once the game started, his attention remained fixed. you occasionally had trouble following logan among the movement of jerseys and helmets, but your son never did.
he knew exactly when his father stepped onto the ice. he recognized the shape of his skating, the way he moved, the number on his back. whenever logan had the puck, your son became completely still.
you had seen him watch games hundreds of times, but for some reason, you really noticed it that night. there was admiration in the way he watched his father, but there was something else too. concentration, maybe. as though he weren’t only watching the game. he was learning.
logan finally noticed on a rainy sunday afternoon.
he was home for the day, which had become increasingly rare as the season grew busier. the three of you had spent most of it doing very little.
logan was stretched across one end of the couch, one arm resting behind you while a game played on television. your son had turned the space between the couch and coffee table into a makeshift rink, using a miniature stick and foam ball despite being told several times to watch the lamp.
you were reading a book while logan was half watching the game and half scrolling through his phone.
a bad call on the television made logan look up. he frowned at the screen and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, “come on.”
it was a sentence you’d heard him say plenty of times, so you barely registered it.
a few minutes later, your son lost control of the foam ball. it bounced off the coffee table and disappeared beneath the couch. he stopped for a second as his eyes followed it, then, with a frustrated breath, he leaned on his stick and dropped his head, “come on.”
logan went still and you looked up from your book. his attention was fixed on your son, who had already dropped onto his stomach and was attempting to retrieve the ball from beneath the couch, “did you hear that?”
you followed his gaze, “hear what?”
“that.”
“you’ll have to be more specific.”
logan frowned, still watching him, “he sounded like me.”
you stared at your husband for several seconds before letting out a laugh. not because it wasn’t true, but because it had taken him seven years to notice.
logan looked at you, “what?”
“nothing.”
his eyes narrowed. the expression was so familiar that your amusement only grew, “he copies you all the time.”
logan looked genuinely doubtful, “since when?”
you smiled as you closed your book, because where were you supposed to begin?
you reminded him of the mornings when your son was three and copied the way he drank from his cup. the afternoon with the cabinet hinge. the tomatoes. the expressions. the way he rubbed his chin when he was thinking despite having no stubble to scratch.
logan listened quietly and his attention gradually moved back toward the floor. your son had retrieved the ball and was standing again, adjusting his grip on the stick. after a moment, he glanced toward logan, “dad, watch.”
logan did as your son tried the same little move he’d been practicing for the last ten minutes. the ball rolled wide. he frowned, but before he could try again, logan stood from the couch, “move your bottom hand down a little.”
your son immediately adjusted it. logan stepped around the coffee table and crouched beside him, correcting his grip before moving back, “try now.”
the second attempt was better and your son’s face changed immediately, looking at logan for his reaction, who smiled.
you watched something shift in your husband’s expression. it was subtle, but you knew him well enough to see it. the realization that this wasn’t new. that the little boy standing in front of him had been paying attention for years.
later, after your son had gone to bed, you found logan standing in the kitchen. he was looking through something on his phone. when you came closer, you realized it was an old video.
your son was four in it, pushing a plastic lawn mower across the backyard several feet behind logan, carefully following every turn he made.
you leaned back against the counter next to him and watched him as he rewinded the video and pressed play again, “you really never noticed?”
he shook his head slightly. for a few seconds, he didn’t say anything. his thumb moved across the screen, replaying the beginning of the video once more, “he was tiny.”
you smiled, “he still is.”
“not that tiny.”
there was something in his voice that made your chest tighten a little. you rested your head briefly against his shoulder.
on the screen, a four-year-old version of your son followed directly behind his father, pushing his plastic mower through grass that wasn’t being cut and occasionally looking up to make sure logan was still there.
logan watched until the video ended, then he played it again.
summary: reader asks her friends to go out to Malone’s to blow off steam when school and work was becoming too much, but when the opportunity arises to mess with her boyfriend a bit, she couldn’t resist. What started off as a harmless bit ends up pushing Logan to a tipping point.
warnings: established relationship, smut! | kissing, p in v sex, riding, semi-public sex, fingering, handjob, slight dubcon (if you squint) | possibility of slight toxicity on both sides here… (I got carried away)
word count: 3.2k
a/n: my first request! Thank you so much @nocturnalscoutdrifter for this amazing idea :)
The sun had almost set by the time your internship let out. You were pretty sure that your pile of paperwork for the day surpassed the height of your laptop at one point. It took everything in you to persevere, but when you considered all the bullshit you went through for this position, you let your complaints fade into the background.
But goddamn, you were exhausted.
You needed to blow off some steam, however possible.
Which is why you initiated tonight’s plans. Convincing Allie was easy; all you had to ask was, “Drinks tn?” And she was immediately in, and by association (and obligation), so was Dean.
Hannah and Garret also jumped at the chance to have some fun amidst the pressure of finals—and Hannah couldn’t say no when you pointed out how she’d been writing music in her downtime every night for the past week.
Last, you had to ask Logan.
Your sweet boyfriend, though he would’ve rather had you to himself, he was probably the quickest to accept your invitation—well, maybe after Allie.
Your feet ached from the uncomfortable pumps you had decided to wear to work that day. Bean, your cat, nearly jumped at the sound of your shoes hitting the floor of you and Logan’s shared apartment. You felt personally victimized by the business casual dress code, mentally cursing your choice in occupation.
You had finally finished retouching your hair when you heard the front door open, followed by the sharp sound of keys hitting the ceramic bowl that sat atop your entry table, a sound you knew far too well. If the heavy weight of his footsteps were any indication, he was probably drained after practice, especially if he was still in this weird funk he claims he’s been experiencing. You knew he needed tonight just as much as you did.
You rushed to your closet, peeled off your button-up, unearthed that one top you saved for the most special of occasions, and threw on a jacket before meeting Logan downstairs.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
“Eeek!” screeched Allie and Hannah in nearly perfect unison, scooping you up into a group hug that knocked the wind out of you.
As you inhale the perfume of your two best friends, you have trouble recalling the last time you were able to get together, all three of you. Despite your lack of oxygen, you squeezed them equally as hard.
Logan stood behind you on the semi-crowded floor of Malone’s, shaking his head at your shenanigans and keeping an eye out for his teammates. A small wave from Dean motioned him to a shared booth where the boys were already sharing an appetizer.
Less than five minutes later you were on the dance floor with a drink in hand, your worries slipping away. The stress of upcoming deadlines and overbearing bosses seemed unremarkable in the grand scheme of things; at least it seemed that way when you could practically feel the bar’s music course through your body.
A familiar face appears in your peripherals, and you spin around to locate the commotion. It was Logan, waving you over to the table. When you reached the booth, your hair was already tousled beyond repair, and your already small top had ridden up to the bottom of your ribcage, leaving a portion of your midriff exposed.
His eyes don’t leave you once as you come to the head of the table, sliding in next to him as you catch your breath. “What’s up?”
You almost forgot you had shed your jacket until you took his utter silence as a hint.
You’re met with blank stares from the other boys as you await an answer. When you look back at your boyfriend, it’s obvious he had been focused on anything but your face. You patted his thigh with your right hand in an attempt to bring him back down to earth, and while it worked, you think it might’ve also worsened his fixation.
“I… uhm, Dean was asking about what to get Allie for her birthday, and I thought you might have some valuable insight.” Everyone at the table watches as he tries to scramble together what he was trying to say.
It brought a dopey smile to your face, thinking about the effect you had on him. No matter how many times he had seen you naked, the smallest inch of exposed skin transformed him into a lovesick teenager.
You chose to ignore his state for the time being, trying to help out Dean as much as possible, because Allie does not take birthday gifts lightly. It’s all going smoothly until you feel calloused fingers drift over your back, your skin igniting at the small touch. Apparently, he can throw you off just as easily as you can him.
What some would call a mischevious glint appeared in your eyes as you reached behind you and removed his hand, no matter how much your body wanted him to remain near. You can tell by the confused and somewhat hurt look in his eyes that he wasn’t expecting it, and it takes everything in you not to put an end to your little scheme in that moment.
But you didn’t.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
You feel a pair of eyes follow you when you return to the dance floor, and you make sure he notices how low your jeans sit on your hips.
The music thumps through the speakers with an amount of bass intensity that should be illegal, enveloping you into a crowd of sweaty bodies. Under any other circumstances, this would probably be incredibly unpleasant, but with a few drinks in your body, you were having the time of your life.
After several failed attempts to make them dance, the boys join the rest of you near the stage, deciding to abandon their hockey talk and beers at the booth.
He was a bit more hesitant the next time he tried to get your attention, taking the open spot to your left and nudging your shoulder with his in a way that was trying to be subtle. You glance toward him and offer him a smile before continuing to dance along to the current song. Your hips swayed to the beat as your arms remained raised in the air.
He didn’t move from his spot. He just stood there, with his hands in his pocket and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. It would’ve been concerning how hard he was biting it if you had been able to see the color it turned in the dimly lit room.
You thought he had committed to his pouty state behind you until he appeared behind you, or more accurately, on you. There was not an inch between your two bodies.
Though his face wasn’t visible to you at the time, you knew what he was feeling by the sheer strength of his grip on your hips. Even through the denim you wore, his large hands applied a possessive pressure that you found hard to resist.
With your inhibitions running low, you couldn’t find it in yourself to tear him away, so you did the opposite.
Your grinds against each eachother, providing friction between your bodies. The soft skin of your waist burned under his touch, and you could tell he felt it too.
You spent the next several songs attached at the hip, except for the few times you ventured off and danced with Allie and Hannah, though Logan’s gaze didn’t leave you for a moment.
There was no use in denying how your stomach flipped every time he looked at you like that. The way he did when you two first met. Like he wanted you to be his and his only.
It only made it harder to deny him of what he wanted.
______
It was after midnight when they left the bar. The air had a cool yet comfortable breeze when you stepped outside, your flushed cheeks welcoming the change in temperature. You kept your jacket off, though, and you didn’t miss how Logan death-stared anyone who looked your way.
After saying goodbye to everyone, you got into the passenger seat of your boyfriend's car. The ride home was mostly silent, aside from the occasional sigh or the faint tapping of Logan’s hand on the steering wheel. It catches him by surprise, though, when your hand reaches over and plants itself on his thigh, your thumb caressing his leg.
His eyes dart to you for a moment, trying to analyze what you were trying to accomplish. He doesn’t say anything, the only visible sign of a reaction being his clenched jaw.
Your hand inches further up his leg when he attempts to readjust in his seat, a decision that proved to be fatal. Even the sight of your hand touching him like that was enough to send him over the edge, so when your fingers skimmed the edge of his belt buckle, he knew it’d be too much.
Your hand doesn’t remain there for much longer, though, because a second later Logan’s slamming on the brakes and pulling over on the side of the road, even though you were less than 10 minutes from home at that point.
“Logan, what the hell? What’s wrong?” You were genuinely panicked at this point, and you were worried you had somehow done something to upset him.
He doesn’t answer your question. He only looks at you, like really looks at you. His chest rises up and down at uneven increments, and it feels as though something previously buried was about to rise to the surface.
“Why did we stop? Tell me—” You cut yourself off with a quick yelp when Logan pulled you onto your lap in the driver’s seat, arguably the seat with the least amount of wiggle room. As soon as you two are face to face, Logan wastes no time in connecting your lips in a bruising kiss. You probably would’ve collapsed due to your legs turning to jelly if you weren’t already seated on his thighs.
He ravishes your mouth with his tongue, and his hands follow suit by tugging at the fabric of your shirt. His hold on you was steadfast, and he was two seconds away from tearing it off of your body, but you were too distracted to care.
When you pulled away to catch your breath, he chased after your lips, seemingly offended by your need for oxygen. His eyes took on a darker hue than you had ever seen, and it wasn’t just because you two were in a parked car in the middle of the night. He seemed almost… angry. Like you had purposefully deprived him of something he so needed—which was, well, you.
It felt as though your heart dropped to your stomach when you felt him harden beneath you. You couldn’t make out his facial expressions very well, but there was no doubt in your mind that he was smirking.
“You can’t tease me like that, baby.” He says, his tone feigning sweetness like he didn’t just have his tongue down your throat two seconds ago.
“Says who?” You retort. You knew how this was going to end, but part of you wanted to see just how far you could push him before he snapped.
Spoiler alert: not very far.
“Says me.” His humorless tone took your sarcastic smile right off your face.
“Well maybe I liked riling you up all night."
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” If your heart was in your stomach before, it had now fallen to your ass.
Instead of continuing your sexually charged conversation, he takes it a step further and starts to unbutton your jeans. With every pop! you felt yourself drift further into a pool of desire you weren’t sure you’d be able to swim out of.
“Wait, Logan!” You whisper-shout, covering his hands with yours. “What if someone sees? We’re on the side of the road,”
You had every right to be cautious about this situation, but even as you were saying it, you felt less and less convinced.
“I guess we’ll have to be quick, then.” He utters casually, as if he didn’t just make the wet spot on your panties grow exponentially in size.
You have no time to argue because he’s already done with your buttons and has decided to slip his hands under the fabric and cup your heat, dangerously close to where you need him the most. He reattaches his lips to a lower target and conveniently lands right at the sensitive spot on your neck, a place he is all too familiar with.
You squirm in his lap, not sure if you’re trying to move away from his touch or trying to wriggle impossibly closer to it. Though you know the ladder is true, you don’t relent on the small moans of opposition or the pathetic attempts at swatting his hands away.
All defiance is deemed futile, however, when his fingers press directly against your bundle of nerves, earning a surprised gasp from you. He began to circle around your clit in painstakingly slow motions. He sucked on a small patch of skin on your neck as he continued.
Every muscle in your body tensed under his touch, and he knew exactly how much he affected you. You began rolling your hips against his hand to relieve some of the tension building within you, an electric sort of friction occurring between you.
“Please, J,” you practically beg, your voice coming out in breathy moans.
“Use your words, baby.” He responds in an absolute tone you only hear when he’s having his way with you.
“I want your fingers, please,”
He wastes no time in slipping his index finger inside of you, his cool skin sending shivers down your spine as he probes deeper within you. As he pumps his finger in and out of you, the lewd sounds of his ministrations fill the air.
Moments later he adds a second finger, refusing to allow you to adjust before he continues at an unprecedented speed.
A tight coil begins to form in your lower abdomen, causing you to start to wriggle within his grasp—but he doesn’t relent.
It’s only right before you’re pushed over the edge that he finally stops.
A disappointed whine leaves your lips, bringing a satisfied, shit-eating grin to the man’s face.
“How’s it feel?”
“W-what?” You pant, still recovering from your denied release.
“To be teased?”
The confusion written all over your face gradually shifts to frustration.
Oh. If that’s how he wants to be, well, two can play at that game.
You say nothing, and you can assume that Logan thinks he’s won. So when you reach down and begin to unbuckle his belt, he doesn’t read into it.
“Baby, I’m sorry…” You say in the most innocent tone you could muster considering your exasperated state. Once his belt is unfastened and the zipper of his pants is no longer in your way, you begin to stroke his hard-on through his boxers. Your eyes remain locked on his, though he finds it hard to maintain the contact once you begin touching him.
“I, uh, it’s okay…” He stutters a bit when speaking, and it took everything in you not to break.
His chest rises and falls at inconsistent speeds as his lips remain slightly parted. A bead of precum forms at his tip, and you tease him by running your thumb over the sensitive area. His hips jerk up into your hand at the action, and you have to bite your bottom lip to contain yourself.
“Am I doing it right?” You ask, even though you know no one else has ever been able to make him feel like this before you.
“Yes—fuck! —Yes, you’re perfect, baby… feels so good.” He practically yells, like he knows this could end at any second. His eyes flutter closed, and you’re a bit disappointed that you can no longer see his pretty brown eyes.
When his eyes finally reopen, his attention is immediately redirected to your chest. His hands, though somehow much less coordinated than before, were able to unclasp your bra in record speed, exposing your upper half.
“So pretty…” he mutters, beginning to plant kisses over the soft skin of your breasts, paying special attention to your nipples as he sucks them into his mouth. It made your job a bit harder due to the movement of his skilled tongue.
He proceeds to take your entire breast in his mouth, your hands faltering momentarily. Regardless, you refuse to let up. You pump your hands faster up and down his shaft, relishing in every groan or whimper you’re able to elicit from him. His hips buck up into your first, seemingly uncontrollably.
You feel his movements slow a bit, and you know he’s close to losing it. Losing control. Losing any semblance of power he once had over you.
“Fuck, don’t stop, please." He whispers—no, whimpers. He almost sounded like he was… begging?
That was all that you needed to hear.
You smile as you release his cock from your grip, his swollen tip slapping against his stomach. You watch as he realizes what you did, the taste of his own medicine growing sour on his tongue.
“You…” He whispers, but it seems as though all of the blood rushing to his cock is limiting the flow to his brain, because he doesn’t finish his sentence.
You’re about to rub it in his face when he suddenly slips himself inside of you, your arousal allowing him to slide in seamlessly. The sensation of him filling you up clouds your judgment, so when he starts fucking up inside you at an ungodly speed, you can do nothing but sit there and take it.
He grips you firmly, his tight hold sure to leave a bruise. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, you’ll never fully get used to his size. Short, repetitive moans escape you as his hips roll deliciously against yours, every thrust reaching a new angle within you. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the car, punctuated by the occasional gasp or groan.
Logan’s hand hits your ass, hard, yet the pain mixes with the pleasure and only brings you closer to the edge.
The familiar feeling forms deep within you once more, and this time, he lets you feel it.
You clench tightly around him, knowing you won’t last much longer. Your lips connect in a messy, wet kiss as Logan pounds into you sloppily, his composure waning by the second. When your orgasm hits, he follows suit, releasing his load inside your pussy, your juices mixing with his.
Your bodies twitch and sputter against each other, covered in the aftermath of your desire. Logan had infiltrated every aspect of your being—in more ways than one.
You lean down, connecting your foreheads that are now sticky with sweat.
“I love you,” he whispers, his once aggressive grip softening against your thigh.
Your heart does a saumersault in your chest, and it makes you forget why the two of you were so hellbent on depriving yourselves of each other.
You can feel his release deep inside of you, and the fullness is overstimulating. Your exhaustion causes you to lean forward, pressing your forehead against his.
“I love you too, asshole.” You whisper back through a smile.
hope you enjoyed!
a/n: please keep sending requests!! i love writing them and getting to explore different characters and tropes. If you're ever wondering who i write for you can check out my masterlist here!
summary ! it'd been five months since you'd talked to john. five months. but when your car breaks down in the middle of the night, he's there for you, forcing you both to confront your feelings.
warnings ! slight angst. 18+ mdni. smut. unprotected sex. swearing. fluff if you squint. john lowkey has a breeding kink lol
wc ! 2.4k
author's note ! i need him so bad chat. so bad. not proof-read.
to be added to my taglist.
The first time your car decided to give out, you went where your parents had told you to. Some random auto-shop far too expensive for most people.
And it worked. For a little.
Three days later, your car broke down on the side of the road. It was close to midnight and you were sure as hell you were going to get murdered. So, you called Hannah to come get you. You were halfway through a conversation when she reminded you she had no car.
"Fuck, Hannah, what am I gonna do?" you grumbled, running a hand over your face.
"No worries. Logan can come get you, and he can fix your car."
You sucked in a breath. John Logan. The name was too familiar. The smell of his cologne still lingered in the air at times when you thought too hard. The feel of him against you, his hands on you, his lips on you.
You tried to shake the thought away. It was one hookup five months ago. Granted, it was also the last time you had a conversation with him for your own sanity, but still.
"Is there anyone else?"
Like Hannah knew you were going to say that, she simply replied, "Nope." And hung up.
You cursed, shoving your phone in your pocket and waited. You knew he'd come. He's just that type of guy. Your doors were locked and you were half-tempted to just start walking home if it weren't for your anxiety.
Ten minutes after you sent your location to Hannah, headlights appeared in your rearview, and a truck slowed down, pulling up behind you. You sighed, sucking in a breath and unlocking your doors, getting out.
Logan stepped out, sweatpants hanging low and shirt clearly just thrown on. Now, you felt a little bad. He was clearly sleeping before this. He walked over to you, the weight on your chest getting heavier as he came more into view.
You'd seen him around, sure, but you hadn't looked. Not until now. His stubble had grown out more, his hair a little longer. He looked more tired than usual, and it didn't seem to be just because of you waking him up at almost midnight.
Still, he smirked, giving no indication that he was upset, and leaned against your car, tapping the hood. "Car trouble?"
You rolled your eyes, although there wasn't much heat in it. "Obviously."
A chuckle. "Well, no way in hell can I fix it tonight. Grab your stuff, let's go."
You wanted to argue. Wanted to get angry that he was going to leave your car on the side of the road for anyone to have, but you didn't. Because logically, you knew he was right. It was too dark, too late, and there wasn't anything around.
He didn't have a shop full of tools and he wasn't superman.
Still, the thought of leaving your car behind sucked.
Logan noticed. "I'll have it towed to my family shop. No worries."
That, unfortunately, made you feel a little better. With a small nod, you grabbed everything important out of your car. The legal documents, your wallet and charger, and your duffle bag you had from spending the night at Allie and Hannah's last night.
You locked the car and shoved your keys in your pocket, following Logan to his truck. The walk was silent, and it was even more silent when you got in the vehicle. Logan called a tow truck, before he put the truck in drive and headed down the road.
For a moment, it was complete silence aside from the hum of his truck. Then...
"You look nice," he said simply. Your eyes flicked over to him for a second, seeing him looking between you and the road, before you glanced away. "Different, a little. Nice haircut."
You swallowed. "Thanks."
The awkwardness was killing you. Mostly because it was clearly only awkward to you. He seemed fine. Like the five months in between his dick in you and now didn't affect him at all. Why would it? It was just a hookup.
He did plenty of that.
You, however, didn't. And you'd been wondering why you did it with him ever since it happened.
"You need a haircut."
Logan laughed at that, low and soft and it went right to your stomach. You were fucked. You had to get out of this truck. "Yeah, I know."
The sound of the blinker pulled your focus, and you realized then that he wasn't heading to your apartment. Duh. Why would he? He had no idea where you lived.
"My apartment is the other way," you said.
"Good thing we're not going there."
The answer was simple enough. Full of confidence and certainty. But it made you spiral internally. Enough so that you asked, "Why?"
"It's almost midnight and you live on the other side of town. Hannah's at the house anyway."
"How do you know that?"
Your eyes met his. He smirked slightly, before looking back at the road. He didn't answer. You didn't like it.
You swallowed, eyes watching out the window as he drove. But there were things unspoken, things you wanted to scream out and things you never wanted to say at all.
Soon, he pulled up to the house, parking the truck and turning it off. He made no move to get out. Neither did you.
"Why'd you disappear?"
The question came unexpectedly. Soft and calm, but full of something you couldn't place. It made your heart race and your stomach drop. You didn't look at him. "Why does it matter?" you replied.
It wasn't meant to be a jab or a comeback, just a simple question, but it hit like one anyway. You felt the tension in the air the second you said it, and you had to swallow a lump that formed in your throat.
Silence. Silence so quiet it might've killed you if you let it.
"It was just a question," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.
"So was mine."
"I asked first."
"We're not in middle school."
You finally looked at him, a small smile on his face from your words. You gave in quickly. "Because it was weird."
"What was?" He had genuine curiosity in his eyes.
"I don't...I'm not the type of girl who just hooks up with someone."
"I know."
Simple. Certain. It took your breath away and made a million questions run through your head.
"If you know, then—"
"You think I had sex with you as a one-off?" There was no defense in his voice, no anger. Maybe a little hurt, but mostly just genuine curiosity. Like the idea of it was other worldly.
You swallowed. "Well...yeah."
A small, humorless chuckle. "So, that's what you think of me, then?" A genuine question laced with something you couldn't place. Something that hit your chest and made your ribs crack under it.
"It's not a bad thing, Logan."
"Sounds like it."
You sighed. Questions still lingered. "So why did you have sex with me?"
"Because I wanted to." Simple enough, but it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy. He knew that. "Because I thought that it was clear just how much I wanted you when it happened. I guess things should've been clarified."
Your head spun, words bouncing around until you landed on one conclusion. "Wait." A pause, your eyes locked. "You wanted to go out with me?"
"No." Another pause. "I wanted you to be mine."
The air was thick. Heavy with tension of a different kind.
"Still do, somehow."
You swallowed, your eyes frantically searching his as if his brown depths would hold all the answers. "You do?"
"Kind of pathetic, right?" A humorless chuckle.
You shook your head. "No," you whispered.
Something about it solved the questions lingering between you two. His eyes flickered down to your lips, before he swallowed. "We should go inside."
A beat. "Yeah."
The doors opened as you two got out, you grabbing your stuff. You silently headed inside, and by the time you did, everyone was asleep or in their rooms doing something. You sucked in a breath, but didn't even get to head to the couch.
"My bed's big enough for two," he said simply, heading up the stairs. You paused for a moment, before following him up the stairs and into his room.
You dropped all your stuff by his door, looking around. The room was exactly the same as it was the last time you were in it. That made everything feel heavier. Logan went to his dresser, pulling out a shirt.
"Here."
He held it out. Your fingers brushed as you took it. "Thanks."
He nodded, yanking his shirt off and tossing it on his dresser. You took in a shaky breath, closing your eyes. You slowly unbuttoned your jeans, slipping them down your legs and then tossing them on your duffle bag next to your shoes. Your shirt came next, then your bra.
Then you were in Logan's shirt, the consuming smell of him making you a little dizzy. Silently, you walked over to his bed, climbing in next to him.
"I'm sorry." The words hung heavy in the air, but you needed to say them. "For disappearing. I got scared."
"I know."
You sighed, looking at him. His lamp light cast a small glow over his face, and he looked even more handsome than usual like this. "I wanted you too."
"Yeah?"
You nodded. "Still do."
A small smile appeared on his face, his hand sliding over your waist, pressing into the small of your back and pulling you closer. "Yeah?" he repeated.
You smiled softly. "Pathetic, huh?"
He shook his head as he leaned in. "No."
Then he was kissing you. Soft and sure and full of everything you'd been missing since that night. But it didn't stay that way for long. Soon, his tongue was in your mouth and he was pulling you so close that you could feel the hard planes of his body.
You moaned softly into the kiss, and that's all it took for him. He was rolling over, pulling you on him, your legs straddling his hips as you made out. You could feel him hard and aching under you already, and it did bad things to your core.
He groaned, pulling back, breath heavy. "Fuck, I'm out of condoms."
For all of two seconds, the world stopped, but then you were kissing him again, deeper this time. "I'm on birth control."
He groaned into the kiss, flipping your bodies so he was on top, your legs wrapping around his waist. "Can't say things like that to me," he murmured into your lips.
You giggled, gasping as he pressed his hips into yours. "Why not?"
"Makes me wanna fuckin' try my luck."
You moaned, his lips kissing down to your neck. You sucked in a breath, whining softly as he sucked on the sensitive skin, his hips rolling into yours.
"John," you whined softly, tugging at his hair.
He all but growled into your skin, pulling back. "That desperate, huh?"
There was no embarrassment right now. "Been thinking about you for five months. So, yeah."
He smirked, not bothering with his shirt on you and going straight for your panties, yanking them down in one swift motion.
"Tell me what you want, pretty girl."
There was no hesitation. "You. Fuck me."
His hands gripped your thighs, massaging them as he spread your legs. "Ask nicely."
You wanted to wipe the smirk off his face for all of two seconds before his thumb was pressing against your throbbing clit, rubbing slow circles.
You moaned softly, back arching. "Please," you whined.
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me."
He hummed, rubbing his thumb up and down your slit, making you crazy with lust. His other hand worked his sweatpants until he was bare in front of you and all you wanted in that moment was his cock inside of you.
"Are you sure? There's absolutely zero promise of me pulling out," he said seriously, his thumb stopping its movement on your pussy.
You nodded. "I'm sure."
He nodded back, leaning down and kissing you, replacing his thumb with his cock, rubbing the tip up and down your slit, collecting your slick as you both moaned. "Been thinking 'bout this pussy every day for five months," he groaned into your lips, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance with each pass.
You whimpered, pulling him closer by his hair, one hand grasping his back as best you could. His cock slowly pushed into you, not stopping until your legs were shaking slightly from the pressure of him being completely inside of you.
"Fuck, feels so fuckin' good," he grumbled deeply, teeth nipping at your jaw.
He started moving, slowly at first. Deep thrusts that sent your nails raking down his back and your eyes rolling back slightly as your mouth fell open in silent cries. His lips never stopped working your skin, marking everywhere he could get to and making sure everyone knew you were his.
"Oh, fuck," you cried out softly, his thrusts getting faster and deeper as he continued.
"Yeah? Feel good, pretty?" You nodded frantically, nails digging into his back as he fucked you. He chuckled. "Use your words."
"Y-yes, oh, fuck."
He grabbed your leg, hiking it up over his shoulder and deepening the angle so good you let out a louder moan than intended. "There ya go. Let me hear you."
His hips never slowed, never stopped. He was hitting that spot in you so deep and with every thrust. You were clenching around him every time he did it, and he moaned every single time. "Fuck, you're mine now, huh?"
You moaned in response, but it wasn't enough for him. He pulled his head back, looking at you. "Look at me, pretty girl. Tell me you're mine."
Your eyes fluttered open slowly, half-lidded and full of pleasure as you stared at him, face contorting in pleasure as he continued hitting that spot deep inside you. "Fuck, I'm yours. So yours."
He groaned, leaning in and kissing you messily, all teeth and tongue as his thrusts got harder. Not by much, but enough to make your toes curl. "Oh, fuck- John..." you whimpered.
"I know. I can feel this pretty pussy squeezing me. I've got you. Let go for me."
You moaned, nails surely leaving red marks in their wake as your orgasm crashed over you, making your head dizzy and your thighs shake as your pussy pulsed.
He kept fucking you through it, thrusting deep in you and prolonging your pleasure until you were sure you were going to lose all ability to function.
"Fuck, fuck," he groaned, cock twitching in you as he got closer.
Your legs locked around him, keeping him inside of you and giving him no chance of pulling out. That did it for him. One, two, three more deep thrusts and he was spilling in you, causing both of you to moan as his head dug into your shoulder, his hips stuttering.
He fucked you through his orgasm slowly, before coming to a stop, panting. Your breathing was heavy as you laid there, arms and legs still wrapped around him, holding him close.
Your hand came up, carding through his hair as you kissed his temple. "Fuck, that was amazing," you whispered.
He smiled into your skin, lazy and satisfied as he nodded. "Mmm, you have no fuckin' clue, baby."
summary: you never cared much for the hockey team, finding what they did on the ice to be offensive and distasteful. the way they ruin the ice had always left a rather bad taste in your mouth, and you were happy to never have to share a rink with them. that is until the rink that you practice on suddenly went out of commission. now you are faced with sharing the rink with a bunch of brutes, and there is one in particular that seems rather interested in you. however, you don't have time for boyfriends, and john logan is just going to have to accept that.
the party is already in full swing by the time that you arrive. louise, your best friend, had insisted on the two of you meeting up beforehand to get ready. it wasn't shocking to you that she had put in a tight dress with an oversized denim jacket and some boots. the dress, she had assured you, was bound to get his attention.
it had done exactly that.
for the moment that you walked in the door, his eyes were on you. it was almost as he had been checking the door every time someone walked in, waiting for it to be you.
there is a smile that crosses his face then the moment that your eyes meet his. the group is standing with seems to be fully swept up in conversation, with some girl leaning in close to tell logan something. all he does is mutter something quick in return before abandoning the group all together, beelining across the room to you.
it takes very little time for him to be standing right in front of you, blocking the path that you were making to the kitchen. "i didn't actually think you would come," he admits then, cup lifting to his lips as he takes a drink from it. you catch his eyes looking you up and down, and there is a flicker of heat that blooms in your chest.
then your arms cross in front of your chest as you say, "i didn't have much of a choice." which is the truth. louise would have dragged you here by your hair had you not agreed to come. she was determined that you give john logan a chance, because john logan was fun. he was everything that you weren't in her eyes.
amusement dances across his face as he looks at you, fully taking you in for a second time. then he turns back towards the crowd looking at the size of people gathering in his home, before turning back to you. "let's get you a drink," he says then, hand wrapping through yours.
your eyes flicker down to your conjoined hands and then back up at his face. it takes a moment longer than it should, but you remove your hand from his. there is an amused look on his face as he looks at you, and he shakes his head lightly. another second and you take a step so that you are standing beside him, beginning to walk through the crowd.
there is a silence that passes between you during the few seconds that it takes to get from where you were to the kitchen. it's not lost on you the way that eyes all over the room seemed to track your movements. that was not something that you were used to.
the way people looked at you was just different then before. it felt as if each person was boring their gaze into you, jealousy pouring out of them. the truth was that you weren't stupid. rather, you were fully aware of the fact that this had nothing to do with you; it had everything with john logan.
it's not lost on you the way that every girl in this room wants to be with him. every girl in this room wants to be you.
in the kitchen, things feel slower. one of logan's roommates, john tucker, is refilling a snack bowl completely unfazed by the way that the two of you walk in together. his eyes only look up once at the both of you before he turns to do something else. everyone else in the room seems trapped in quiet conversations or moving out of this room back to another.
more importantly, less people are looking at you. the feeling of eyes on you had diminished nearly completely and it causes something to soften inside of you. "you drink beer?," logan asks then, grabbing your attention immediately.
there is a wrinkle in your nose and your lip curls slightly as you look up at him, "do i come across as someone who drinks beer?," you ask, attitude lacing your words. it causes a ripple of laughter to come out of him, and it almost makes you smile to hear the sound.
as his head shakes, he states "i guess not," that charming smile taking over his lips then. before you can reply, he is moving then to find you something else. it's easy to track his motions as he moves throughout the kitchen, people moving for him as if his very presence commands it.
soon enough there is a red cup being handed to you, and your eyes flick down to the liquid that settles within it before moving back up to him. your eyebrow arches up for a moment before a sigh escapes you, and you accept the cup from his hands. logan then settles back, leaning against the counter, one hand pressed against it causes the muscles in his arm to flex. "i really am surprised that you're here," he says cooly, lifting his own cup up to his lips.
you watch him for a moment, eyes flicking to the way the muscles in his arms flex with his movements. when the realization of your actions hits you, your eyes move back up to his. there is this smile on his face, as if to imply that he caught you. "as i said," you start slowly, "i didn't have much of a choice."
there is a laugh that escapes him, his head turning away from you for a moment. then his eyes slide back towards you, and his head corrects itself before he says, "there is always a choice, babe." the word causes you to roll your eyes. john logan, the charmer. "just admit that you wanted to be here, it'll be easier for everyone," he continues then with that wicked, charming grin.
a scoff leaves your lips then before you say, "as if." then you raise your own cup to your lips to take a drink. it's sweet and mixed with vodka, and you are unsure on how exactly he knew that you liked vodka. perhaps he really was stalking you. "there are a million other places i'd rather be then here, babe," the word comes out dripping in attitude.
amusement dances across his face then, finding it's place comfortable in his eyes as he looks at you. this had become a game that the two of you play. him charming and sweet, you always immune to it. "like where?," he asks, his voice lower and hinting at a more serious tone. did he actually care?
"the rink for one," you offer with ease, "i like to practice at night, it's easier when no one is around." a truth that you weren't sure why you sharing. it wasn't as if he was your friend. rather, you despised him. you found him arrogant and annoying. yet, the words came out so easily.
his eyes rove over you again, slowly going up and down before they meet your own. there is a moment of silence before he is putting his cup down on the counter and pushing himself up, "okay, let's go then."
you look at him under furrowed, confused brows for a moment. "go where?," you ask slowly, eyes moving down to his cup and back up to his face.
"to the rink, obviously," he says with a playful smile. then his hand is reaching out to take your cup and set it down on the counter next to his own. in another moment, that very hand is lacing through your own and pulling you through the house before you can say anything else about it.
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿
the two of you stand on the ice, lights illuminate the empty rink in front of you. your eyes fall down to his skates, and you note how completely different they are from your own. then you track up his body until you are meeting his own gaze, "i can't do my routine in this dress, logan."
there is a playful smile on his face as he looks down at you, "oh, i didn't realize you were serious about that part." your eyebrows furrow, because you had explicitly stated that you would be practicing. that seemed to imply that you would be working on your routine. "i figured we could just skate," he says then, "you know, for fun for once."
your hands cross in front of your chest and your head tilts as you ask, "are you saying hockey isn't fun?"
a laugh bubbles out of him then, and he shakes his head before stating, "it is fun, but it's also my job." then his hand is outstretched towards you, and your eyes look down at it before looking up at him with a displeased look. why did he keep insisting on holding your hand? "i don't have cooties, i promise," he states then, that smile seeming to be plastered on his face.
"even so," you start, "i know how to skate, i don't need my hand held." you then push off away from him, slowly making your way across the rink. he doesn't follow you at first, so you turn your body around and ask, "are you coming? or are you just going to stand there watching me like a creep?"
another laugh, and you find that it's growing on you.
he skates towards you slowly, seeming to take his time as he crosses the ice. there is a beauty in the way that he skates that you never noticed before. to you, hockey players approach skating in a way that is brutal and aggressive. something that serves a purpose rather than an art form. however, his skating is easy and smooth, like he had been practicing her entire life to make it seem so seamless.
once by your side, he slows and matches your pace as you begin to skate around the rink together. it's silent at first, until his voice comes out quiet and gentle, "why figure skating?"
the question causes your head to snap towards him, eyebrows furrowed together for a moment as you think it over. then, almost out of instinct, you ask "why hockey?"
a laugh escapes him, and his head shakes gently as his eyes fix in front of him. "i asked first," he states then, moving a few inches in front of you, causing you to pick up your speed to match him.
there is a moment of silence as you think it over. it's a question that not many people ask, they just accept that you love it. that this is the thing you are most passionate about. another moment, and then you exhale gently as you begin to speak, "i love it is the simple answer." when you look at him, it's easy to see that he doesn't want the simple answer. "when i'm on the ice and i'm doing a spin or a step sequence or anything, it's like the whole world goes silent. everything becomes white noise, and it's just me," you explain with ease, eyes not focusing on the ice in front of you, "and i like that. i like the peace that it brings me."
logan doesn't respond at first. rather, he just keeps skating forward. the silence isn't uncomfortable, which is odd given that you barely known one another. however, it's not. it just is. it's something that you find it easy to exist in.
then he licks his lips before saying, "i get that." his head turns slightly so that he is able to look at you better from the corner of his eye. "i feel similarly about hockey," he says with a shrug, "when i'm out there it's like nothing else matters. it all melts away."
this time it was your turn to not say anything. to just settle into the silence and keep skating around the rink, realizing that even if your skates were different, your reasons for being here weren't. that you both sought the same sort of peace that only the ice could bring.
his voice breaks the silence once more, "so," he starts as he fully turns towards you, "will you teach me how to spin now?"
there is a laugh that escapes you, light and airy. it floats through the rink as you shake your head and let out a sigh, "not in those skates, pretty boy."
Synopsis: At Briar University’s winter masquerade, the quiet, bookish girl John Logan barely notices becomes the mysterious stranger he can’t forget. Hidden behind a borrowed dress and silver mask, she finally lets him see the parts of herself she usually keeps guarded, only to disappear before midnight. As Logan searches for the girl from the ball, familiar feelings leads him toward someone who may have been right in front of him all along.
John Logan Masterlist: here.
--
The first time John Logan asked what I was reading, I assumed he was making fun of me.
It wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion.
The tutoring center was almost empty that afternoon, the quiet was only broken by the occasional turn of a textbook page or the low hum of the vending machines near the elevators.
Rain hit the windows in thin sheets, leaving the campus outside blurred and gray. Most students had already abandoned their afternoon classes in favor of staying in their dorm rooms.
Logan had arrived twelve minutes late to our tutoring session, his damp, dark hair curling at the ends, and a dark blue Briar Hockey sweatshirt stretched across his shoulders. He dropped into the chair opposite of mine with a muttered apology and spent the next forty minutes working on economics, periodically stopping to ask me questions.
I’d been waiting for him to finish working through another practice worksheet when his attention drifted to the paperback book sitting on top of my things.
“What’s that?” he asked.
I glanced up, and he nodded toward the book. The cover featured a woman wielding a silver sword while a dragon burned an entire kingdom behind her. It was not subtle.
“A book,” I said.
The corner of his mouth lifted, “Yeah, I got that.”
I closed my fingers around the edge of it, resisting the instinct to slide it beneath my notebook.
“It’s a romantasy book.”
“Is it good?”
That was when I became suspicious. John Logan did not look like someone who wanted to discuss fictional kingdoms with me.
He was John Logan. Part of the famed ‘Briar University Hockey’ Four, consisting of him, Garrett Graham, Dean Di Laurentis and John Tucker. They were four of the most recognizable students on campus.
Even seated beneath the hall’s aggressive fluorescent lights, he seemed to occupy more space than everyone else. He was too tall for the chair, one long leg stretched beneath the table. His eyes were a soft brown with flecks of gold, and burned into your soul anytime he made eye contact with you.
I’d known enough about the hockey team (thanks to Fifth Line, the school’s gossip account) to recognize him before he’d introduced himself at our first session. Everyone recognized him.
Girls whispered when he passed them in the hallways, professors knew his name. Half of the campus seemed to have a story about him, though the details varied depending on who was telling it and how recently they’d been invited upstairs at one of their famous hockey parties.
I, meanwhile, was the girl stationed behind the tutoring desk three afternoons a week. People remembered me when they needed help calculating a grade or rewriting a paper. Otherwise, I tended to blend neatly into the background.
“It’s the fourth book in a series,” I told him.
He leaned back in his chair, “That didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes. It’s good.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I’m trying to decide why you’re asking about my book.”
“Maybe I’m looking for recommendations.”
“You haven’t even opened the economics textbook voluntarily since you got here.”
“That’s different. Your book has dragons.”
I laughed before I could stop myself, looking down at my notes quickly, a little embarrassed. Logan smiled, but he didn’t point out my embarrassment. He only tapped the pencil against his worksheet and said, “All right, Dragon Girl. Tell me why my answer’s wrong.”
That should have been the end of it; a passing moment. A joke that he likely forgot as soon as he left the building.
Instead, it became a pattern. He started arriving on time… mostly. He asked about the book series. He remembered when I told him I’d stayed awake too late finishing one and asked the next week whether the ending had been worth the exhaustion. He complained about economics, stole gummy bears from my bag, and once spent a full five minutes trying to convince me that hockey players should receive extra credit because they sustained regular hits to the head.
He was easy to talk to when there wasn’t an audience. That was the dangerous part.
It would have been simpler if he’d been arrogant, or if he’d treated me like an employee whose name he couldn’t quite remember. It would have been simpler if he’d spent our sessions texting girls beneath the table or bragging about whatever party the hockey house was throwing that weekend.
Instead, he thanked me every time. He held the door open when we left at the same time. He noticed when I cut my hair, even though I’d only taken off an inch. Somewhere between the worksheets and the gummy bears, I developed the kind of hopeless crush that belonged in one of the novels that I spent my weekends reading.
I never did anything about it; I wasn’t delusional. Logan might have liked talking to me for an hour during our sessions, but there was a difference between liking someone beneath the fluorescent lights of the tutoring center and choosing them when the rest of the world was watching.
We were from different worlds. Different social standings. I understood the difference better than most.
Which was why, when my roommate dropped a gold-edged invitation onto my comforter one Thursday evening in January, I barely glanced at it.
“No,” I said.
Amber planted both hands on her hips, “You haven’t even read it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Maybe it’s a summons from a faraway prince.”
“Then he should’ve emailed it.”
She snatched the invitation and held it directly in front of my face.
THE BRIAR WINTER MASQUERADE, the card announced in looping navy script. Beneath the title, smaller print explained that proceeds from the annual event would benefit a local children’s hockey program – The Hurricanes. The masquerade would be held in the ballroom of an old hotel near campus, with dinner, dancing, a silent auction, and a ceremonial unmasking at midnight.
I pushed the invitation away, “Still no.”
“You love masquerades.”
“I love them in books. Real-life formal events involve uncomfortable shoes and conversations with people pretending not to look over your shoulder for someone more interesting.”
“You’re exhausting,” Amber said, exasperated.
“So I’ve been told.”
Amber dropped onto the edge of my bed, “I won two tickets through the campus radio givway.”
“Take someone else,” I said.
“I want to take you.”
“You know I own exactly one dress, and it has tiny strawberries on it.”
“I have dresses.”
“You’re four inches taller than me.”
“I have safety pins.”
“Amber.”
She leaned in closer, “Everyone wears masks.”
“I gathered that from the word masquerade.”
“That means no one knows who anyone is. You can be whoever you want for one night.”
The words struck somewhere more tender than they should have. Amber must have seen it in my face, because her teasing expression softened.
“You don’t have to be the tutor girl,” she continued, “Or the book girl. You don’t have to worry about whether anyone expects you to say something clever. You can put on a dress, wear a mask, eat expensive food we didn’t pay for, and leave whenever you want.”
“I have to work early Saturday morning.”
“Then we’ll be hope by one.”
I looked at the invitation again. A masquerade. A night in which no one would know that I spent evenings shelving textbooks and my afternoons explaining academics to students who made more friends in a single weekend than I had accumulated throughout college.
It sounded ridiculous; it sounded dangerous. However, despite my better judgement, it sounded a little like magic.
“Fine,” I said.
Amber shrieked loudly enough that someone in the room above us stomped on the floor.
“But,” I added, raising my voice over her celebration, “we leave before midnight.”
Her excitement faltered, “That’s when everyone takes off their masks.”
“Exactly.”
She narrowed her eyes, “You know this is a fundraiser, not an actual fairy tale, right?”
“I’m serious. I don’t want to get stuck in the crowd and I have to work.”
“11:45.”
“11:30.”
“11:45.”
“11:40.”
She held out her hand, “Deal.” I shook it.
At the time, I thought leaving before midnight would keep the evening safely contained. One borrowed dress, one anonymous night. No consequences.
--
No one warned me that midnight only mattered when you were pretending that the spell had ended.
The dress Amber chose for me was dark blue. Not navy, exactly. It was more the color of the sky after sunset, when daylight had disappeared but the stars hadn’t yet emerged. The fabric skimmed my waist before falling in soft folds toward the floor, and the neckline rested slightly off my shoulders.
It was nothing I would have selected for myself. It was too elegant, too noticeable. When I told Amber that, she rolled her eyes, and continued pinning my hair into loose waves.
“You don’t have to apologize for taking up visual space.”
“I wasn’t apologizing.”
“You were thinking it. Loudly.”
She fastened a silver comb near the back of my head and stepped back. The mask was silver as well, decorated with delicate blue stones and tied behind my head with narrow ribbons. It covered my forehead, the tops of my cheeks, and enough of my nose to make my reflection appear unfamiliar.
I still recognized my mouth, and chin, but I looked like a version of myself that I had never met.
Amber appeared beside me in the mirror, dressed in green velvet with a matching mask covered in black feathers.
“See?” she said.
I laughed nervously.
--
The ballroom was already crowded when we arrived. Winter garlands wound around the columns, threaded in tiny white lights. Chandeliers cast golden patterns over the polished floor. A string quartet played near the front of the room, though the musicians had apparently agreed to perform orchestral versions of popular songs rather than traditional waltzes.
Everywhere I looked, I saw intricate costumes and people in masks. Gold. Black. White. Crimson.
Some were small enough to reveal most of the wearer’s face. Others were elaborate constructions of lace and feathers that nearly hid everything. Without familiar faces, the usual campus hierarchies became harder to recognize.
For once, I couldn’t separate the athletes from the honor students, the puck bunnies from the people who ate lunch alone hear the windows. The effect was disorienting, but liberating, too.
Amber linked her arm through mine, “Food first.”
We made our way toward the buffet tables lining once wall. I’d just taken a miniature pastry from a silver tray when Amber grabbed my wrist.
“The hockey team is here.”
My stomach tightened before I could stop it.
“Where?” I asked.
She subtly tilted her head toward the opposite side of the ballroom. It should have been impossible to recognize them beneath the masks, but it wasn’t.
Garrett Graham stood beside the silent-auction tables, tall and broad shouldered, gesturing animatedly as he spoke to someone in a black suit. Dean Di Laurentis was identifiable through posture and his blonde hair alone, leaning against the wall as though the building had been constructed solely to give him something attractive to pose beside. John Tucker stood next to Dean, his curly hair a dead giveaway.
Logan stood several feet away from them. His mask was black, edged with dark silver. It obscured the upper half of his face, but did nothing to hide his signature swooping hair, the line of his jaw, or the familiar shape of his mouth.
I looked away before he could catch me staring.
Amber’s fingers tightened around my wrist, “Is that your tutoring crush?”
“He’s not my tutoring crush.”
“Sure.”
“Please stop talking,” I begged.
“Are you going to say hello?”
“Not a chance.”
“He won’t know it’s you,” she said.
“That does not make it any less horrifying,” I added.
“It should.”
I reached for another pastry on the table, mostly so my hands would have something to do.
“I came here to eat free food and support the local youth team.”
“You came because I wore you down over a few hours.”
“That too.”
Amber opened her mouth to argue, but a man in a red mask appeared beside us and asked her to dance. She hesitated, looking at me.
“Go,” I said, “I’ll survive.”
“Don’t leave.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
“Don’t hide in the bathroom.”
“That I can’t promise.”
She pointed at me threateningly before allowing the stranger to lead her toward the dance floor. I watched until they disappeared into the crowd, and then let out a breath.
Being anonymous was easier with Amber beside me. Alone, I became aware of every movement, like where to place my hands, or whether I looked strange standing by myself next to the dessert table. I wondered whether the people around me could somehow sense that I didn’t belong in a ballroom wearing an elegant dress and shoes that pinched my toes.
I took a glass of sparkling cider from a passing waiter and moved toward the edge of the room.
The balcony doors of the ballroom had been opened despite the cold, allowing guests to step outside for air. I slipped through them and stepped out on the balcony, it overlooking gardens powdered with a light dusting of snow.
The music dulled behind me, and I rested my hands on the railing.
“You know,” a voice said behind me, “it’s like thirty degrees out here. Are you trying to get hypothermia?”
I knew the voice before I turned around. Logan stood in the doorway, holding a drink.
My heart lurched so sharply it almost hurt. Up close, the mask made him look older somehow. More mysterious. There was no mistaking him, though. He had the same crooked smile. The same unruly dark hair. The same broad shoulders.
I reminded myself that he didn’t know who I was. That was the entire point.
“I like the cold,” I said.
He stepped out onto the balcony.
“That sounds like something people say when they don’t want to admit they just wanted to escape,” he said.
The answer was so perceptive that I almost laughed. Instead, I lifted my glass.
“Maybe I’m both.”
“Fair.”
He moved to the railing beside me, leaving enough space between us that I didn’t feel crowded. For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Snow clung to the hedges below. In the distance, lights glowed through the trees.
“Are you drinking champagne or cider?” he asked.
“Cider, for sure.”
He smiled, taking a sip of his own drink, “Me too. I can’t stand the taste of champagne.”
A laugh escaped me, because I thought the exact same thing. The sound made something shift in his expression. Not recognition, I think, but interest, maybe.
The mask helped. Without my face attached to the tutoring center, and the weight of every previous interaction between us, I didn’t have to measure each word before I said it. I didn’t have to worry he would compare this version of me to the quiet girl who wore old sweatshirts and corrected his practice quizzes.
To him, I was no one. For once, no one felt like freedom.
“Did you come here with someone?” he asked.
“A friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Very subtle,” I laughed.
“I’m wearing a mask, I figured subtlety was optional.”
“No boyfriend,” I said.
He nodded, though the answer seemed to please him more than it should have.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Came with teammates.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“A date?”
“Also no.”
“Entourage of devoted admirers?” I asked, teasingly.
He considered it. “They were unavailable.”
“Tragic.”
“I’m coping,” he said, smiling at me.
I smiled into my glass.
He turned slightly, studying me through the narrow openings of his mask. “Have we met?” he asked.
The question made my heart skip. I forced myself to not look away.
“This is a university event,” I said, “Statistically, probably.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” I asked.
“You seem familiar,” he said, like he was trying to figure it out.
The safest response would have been to find an excuse to excuse myself. Instead, some reckless part of me said something else.
“Is that one of your usual lines?”
His mouth curved, “Do you think I need lines?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
“You asked,” you said, laughing as you took another sip of your drink.
“I’m beginning to regret it.”
“You’ll recover.”
“I don’t know, my ego’s pretty delicate.”
“That must make playing hockey difficult.”
His eyes narrowed behind the mask, and I realized my mistake a second too late.
“You know I play hockey,” he said.
You panicked a little.
“The entire team arrived together,” I said, “You’re not difficult to identify.”
“Is it the shoulders?”
“It’s the humility,” you quipped back.
He laughed, and the tension eased.
“You know who I am,” he said, “That hardly seems fair.”
“Fairness is overrated.”
“Tell me something about you, then,” he said.
“No.”
“One thing,” he begged.
“You don’t even know my name.”
“Exactly, give me something else.”
I looked out over the garden. The obvious answers felt dangerous; my major, my job, the tutoring center. Any detail that could lead him too close to the truth.
“I like books,” I said.
“That’s vague.”
“You asked for one thing.”
“What kind?”
“Fantasy, mostly.”
His head tilted, and for one wild moment, I thought he figured it out.
Then he said, “The ones with dragons?”
I stared at him. He laughed.
“Lucky guess.”
My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass. He couldn’t remember a simple conversation about my book; there were dozens of girls on campus who read fantasy novels. It was one of the most popular genres.
Probably.
“Sometimes,” I said carefully, “Dragons. Curses. Impossible kingdoms. People who spend four hundred pages refusing to admit they’re in love.”
“That sounds frustrating.”
“It is.”
“So why read it?”
“Because eventually they admit it.”
The smile faded slightly from his face, but not in a bad way. He simply looked at me more closely.
“Worth the wait?” he asked.
“When it’s well written.”
The quartet inside shifted songs, the melody floating onto the balcony. Logan glanced through the doors.
“Do you dance?” he asked.
“Not voluntarily.”
“Neither do I.”
“You’re at a ball.”
“So are you.”
“I’m here to support a good cause,” you said.
“I’m here because I helped throw this fundraiser.”
My eyebrows raised.
“That’s really nice of you.”
He nodded and smiled slightly.
“Not really what someone would expect me to do, right?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to imply—”
He shook his head.
“It’s okay. I know I have a reputation.”
“I don’t really judge a book by its cover,” you said quietly.
You both sat there for a minute.
“Sometimes,” he said, “it’s nice talking to someone who doesn’t want anything from you.”
“I’m fairly certain everyone wants something.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
The answer came with embarrassing speed. You.
Not the version of him that people whispered about. Not the hockey player beneath the arena lights or the name everyone recognized. I wanted the man who complained about economics and stole my gummy bears.
I could never say that.
“Dessert,” I said.
Logan laughed, “That I can help with.”
He led me back inside. I expected the conversation to end there. For Garrett or Dean or Tucker to wave him over. For someone prettier and bolder to take my place the moment we crossed the threshold.
Instead, Logan stayed.
We sampled tiny slices of cake from the dessert table, rating each one with an absurd seriousness. We wandered through the silent-auction displays, Logan explaining each one, and trying to convince me that a signed hockey stick would look sophisticated mounted above my bed.
“Absolutely not,” I told him.
“You lack vision.”
“I have a framed map of a fictional kingdom above my desk, isn’t that enough?”
“The stick would balance it out.”
He didn’t ask for my name, and I didn’t ask him to pretend I didn’t know his. The absence of names created a strange intimacy. We could tell each other things without having to imagine what happened tomorrow.
He told me he didn’t know what he wanted to do after college, which surprised me. I thought it would be the NHL. Not exactly.
He spoke vaguely about obligations waiting for him at home, responsibilities he didn’t know how to escape without abandoning someone he loved. I knew enough from campus gossip to understand pieces of it, but I didn’t interrupt.
It was the most honest I had ever heard him sound.
“Everyone assumes I’ve got it figured out,” he said as we stood near the edge of the dance floor, “Hockey, graduation, everything after. But half the time I feel like I’m walking toward a life I didn’t pick.”
The ballroom lights moved across his mask as dancers passed.
“What would you pick?” I asked.
“Probably the NHL with Garrett,” he said, “But I’m not sure if that’s feasible. But I’m not sure. That’s the problem.”
“It’s not a problem to go after what you want.”
“It feels like one.”
“Maybe you’re unsure because you’re trying to figure out what everyone else needs from you.”
His gaze lifted to mine, and I was worried I’d crossed a line.
Then he quietly said, “You do that a lot?”
“What?”
“Make people like you can see through them?”
“I don’t think most people feel seen by me at all.”
Something in his expression softened.
“You’re wrong.”
I smiled, but it was sadder than intended.
“You’ve known me for an hour,” I said.
“Maybe that makes it easier.”
“Maybe.”
A faster song ended, replaced by something softer and slower. Couples moved toward the center of the ballroom.
Logan moved in front of me, bowing and making me laugh, before holding out his hand. I looked at it.
“You said you didn’t dance,” I questioned.
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because you said you didn’t dance.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said.
“I didn’t want you to think I was asking.”
“But you’re asking now?”
“I changed my mind.”
My heart beat harder. Dancing with him would make the evening feel too real. It would become a memory I carried long after he forgot the anonymous girl in the silver mask.
But, midnight was coming. The magic had an ending. I placed my hand in his, and Logan drew me onto the dance floor.
He wasn’t an especially polished dancer, but he was confident enough to compensate. One hand rested carefully at my waist while the other held my hand between us. I focused on his tie because looking directly at him felt impossible.
“You can look up,” he whispered.
“I’m watching my feet,” I said lamely.
“You’re wearing a floor-length dress.”
“Yep, just making sure I don’t trip.”
His hand tightened slightly around mine. “Relax.”
“That is universally terrible advice,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because no one in the history of being told to relax has ever relaxed.”
He laughed softly. I eventually lifted my gaze, and the room seemed to narrow around us.
Beyond his shoulder, masks and lights blurred together. The music vibrated beneath my feet. I became aware of every place we touched; the warmth of his hand in mine, the steady pressure of his hand at my waist, and the occasional brush of his leg against mine as we moved.
“You’re good at this,” he said.
“I’m following you.”
For one song, I allowed myself to pretend. The mask and dress had allowed me to stop apologizing for wanting things. I wanted his attention. I wanted his hand at my waist. I wanted him to look at me as though the rest of the ballroom had disappeared.
And for one song, he did. When the song ended, neither of us immediately stepped apart. Logan’s thumb brushed once over the fabric at my waist.
“Come to dinner with me,” he said.
My breath caught, “We already ate dessert.”
“Not tonight.”
The answer I wanted hovered at the back of my throat. He didn’t know who he was asking.
Tomorrow, when the mask was gone, he might walk past me outside of the bookstore I worked at without looking twice. He might sit across from me at the tutoring center and mention the mysterious girl from the masquerade, not realizing I was in front of him.
“You can’t ask me that,” I said.
“Why not?”
“You don’t know me.”
“I’m trying to.”
“You don’t know my name,” I said.
“Then tell me.”
The clock displayed near the stage read 11:37. My stomach dropped. I had lost track of time.
Across the ballroom, Amber caught my eye. Her expression shifted from delight at finding me with Logan to alarm as the pointed at the clock.
“I have to go,” I said.
Logan’s face became concerned, “Right now?”
“Yes.”
“You said you came with a friend. Is she leaving too?”
“Yes.”
“Wait,” he said, his hand closing gently around mine before I could step away, “At least tell me your name.”
The DJ appeared on stage and tapped the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re only twenty minutes away from midnight!”
Applause rose from the crowd as my pulse thudded in my ears. Logan looked at me, waiting.
I imagined telling him. I imagined recognition spreading across his face, followed by surprise, and maybe even disappointment. Maybe polite confusion as he connected the woman he’d danced with to the girl who reminded him to explain his answers thoroughly on his exams.
The courage the mask had given me evaporated.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I slipped my hand from his.
Then I left.
I didn’t run.
Real life rarely allowed for graceful escapes, and sprinting in Amber’s shoes would have probably ended with an ambulance ride. But, I moved quickly through the crowd, ignoring Logan when he called after me.
Amber followed me as we rushed through the hallway.
“What happened?”
“We have to go,” I said.
“But—” she started.
“Please.”
Something in my face convinced her. We collected our coats from coat check and stepped into the cold before midnight.
There was no lost slipper, no forgotten earring. There was nothing left behind except the girl I had been brave enough to become for a few hours.
--
Logan missed our tutoring session on Tuesday.
I told myself I was relieved, but the lie lasted approximately five minutes. I spent the empty hour reorganizing my notes and imagining every possible explanation.
At 4:55, while I was placing my books in my bag, he appeared in the doorway. His hair was damp from the snow, and his breathing was slightly uneven, as though he had hurried across campus.
“Sorry,” he said, “Practice ran late.”
“You could’ve emailed.”
“I did.”
I checked my phone, and there was a message waiting from ten minutes earlier.
Logan: Practice disaster. Still coming. Please don’t abandon me.
“I didn’t see it,” I said.
“Clearly.”
He dropped into the chair across from me. For one terrifying second, I thought he was studying my face. I resisted the urge to hide my face. Then, he looked away.
“You go to the masquerade?” he asked.
My heart stopped.
I slowly pulled the economics textbook back out of my bag and onto the table.
“Why?”
“Just asking.”
“Were you there?” I asked.
His mouth twitched, “Everyone knows I was there.”
“Right.”
He twirled a pen between his fingers. Normally, Logan filled every silence. He complained about the assignment, or told me something ridiculous that had happened during practice.
That afternoon, he seemed distracted.
I opened to the assigned work, “Did you read the text for the assignment?”
“No.”
“Logan.”
“I had a weird weekend.”
“Did the weirdness destroy your textbook?”
“No.”
“Then I’m struggling to understand the connection.”
He smiled faintly.
For the next half hour, I guided him through the material while pretending not to notice how often his attention drifted toward me. Each time I looked up, he seemed to be studying something; the way I held my pen, or the book protruding from my bag.
Finally, he nodded toward it.
“Another dragon book?”
I looked down.
“Same series.”
His pen stopped moving.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I knew what was happening. He was noticing similarities. Not enough to recognize me. The knowledge filled me with equal parts hope and dread.
A foolish part of my heart wanted him to know. The rest of me remembered how quickly I fled.
At the end of the session, I gathered my things. Logan remained seated.
“Do people ever surprise you?” he suddenly asked.
I glanced at him. “Constantly.”
“No, I mean…” he dragged a hand over the back of his neck, “Do you ever realize you’ve made assumptions about someone without knowing them.”
The question landed too close.
“I think everyone does.”
“Does that make you a bad person?” he asked.
“Depends on the assumption.”
“What if you didn’t think anything bad? You just didn’t think… enough.”
I held his gaze. For one suspended moment, the room felt like the balcony again.
“What happened at the masquerade?” I asked quietly.
His expression changed. He leaned back in his chair, looking almost embarrassed.
“I met someone.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know who she was,” he continued.
“You didn’t ask?” I said.
“I asked.”
“And?”
“She left.”
“Maybe she had somewhere to be,” I said.
“She was gone before midnight.”
I nodded. “What did she seem like?”
The question was a mistake. I knew that before he answered.
Logan looked out toward the windows, where snow had begun to softly gather against the glass.
“Real,” he said.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
“She was wearing a mask,” I said.
“I know.”
“You spoke to her for one evening.”
“I know that too.”
“Then how do you know she was real?” I added.
He looked back at me.
“Because she didn’t care who I was.”
The words should have made me happy, but instead, guilt pressed against my chest. I had carried every private detail that I’d learned during tutoring onto that balcony and let him believe we were strangers meeting on equal ground.
“She might have cared,” I said, “Maybe she just didn’t show it.”
“Maybe.”
His gaze fell to the fantasy novel in my bag again.
I forced a smile, “Good luck finding her.”
I left before he could see that I wasn’t sure I had meant it.
--
Over the next two weeks, Logan began appearing everywhere. At first , I assumed it was coincidence. Briar was a large campus, but routines created overlap. Students used the same pathways, got lunch from the same mess halls, and studied in the same buildings.
Still, I had never previously encountered Logan three times in four days.
He came into the bookstore during my afternoon shift on a Thursday and spent twenty minutes browsing a fantasy display that he clearly had no intention of purchasing from.
“You lost?” I asked from behind the register.
He picked up a hardcover and examined the back.
“Expanding my interests.”
“That’s the third book in a trilogy,” I said.
“So?”
“You should start with the first one,” I said, smirking.
“Which is?”
I stepped from behind the counter and selected another book from the display.
“This one.”
He accepted it, glancing between the cover and me.
“You’ve read it?”
“Yes.”
“Dragons?”
“Only one.”
“That’s disappointing.”
He bought the book anyway.
The following Monday, he was outside of the academic hall after the tutoring center closed and offered to walk me toward the dorms. He claimed he was heading in the same direction, though he lived off campus.
On Tuesday, he brought hot chocolate, which in passing I had mentioned I liked better than coffee, to tutoring.
“They gave me an extra,” he said.
“They accidentally gave you two separate cups?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.
“Call it a customer service miracle.”
I accepted it anyway.
Each interaction left me more and more confused. He was searching for the girl from the masquerade, that much was obvious. Somewhere during that search, he seemed to be discovering me. Not recognizing me, I thought. Not quite.
He asked questions he’d never asked before, like why I worked at the bookstore, why I was a tutor, what I wanted to do after graduation, and whether I had always been quiet.
“I’m not quiet,” I told him as we crossed the snowy quad after a late tutoring center.
“You are in groups.”
“That’s because groups are exhausting.”
“You talked to me,” he said.
“That’s because you were failing economics and you came to the tutoring center.”
He laughed. Our breath clouded in the cold between us.
“What are you like when no one knows you?” he asked.
I nearly stumbled. The snow crunched beneath our shoes.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A real one,” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never thought about it?”
“Have you?” I quipped back.
“All the time.”
I glanced over at him. His hands were buried in the pockets of his tan coat, shoulders a little hunched against the wind. Without the hockey crowd around him, or the constant awareness of other people watching, he looked almost like the man from the balcony.
Not Logan. Just… John.
“I think,” I said slowly, “I’m probably more brave when no one knows me.”
He stopped walking. I took another step before realizing he was no longer beside me. When I turned, he was staring at me. Snow was catching in his hair.
“What?” I asked.
His expression was unreadable.
“Nothing.”
“That’s clearly not true.”
He started walking again.
“You ever feel like people only notice you when they want something?”
My heartbeat thudded in my chest. The words were close to what I had told him at the masquerade. It wasn’t exact, but it was close to the same sentiment.
I looked out toward the dorm buildings ahead of us.
“Sometimes,” I said.
“Like when they need homework help?” he asked.
I forced a laugh, “That’s oddly specific.”
“Is it wrong?”
“No.”
He waited. I understood he was giving me an opportunity to tell him, to admit I was the girl from the masquerade. I couldn’t do it.
“It’s not that I’d need everyone to notice me,” I said instead, “I just think It would be nice if one person did without being told.”
Logan’s footsteps slowed. For several moments, only the wind moved between us.
Then, he said almost too quietly to hear, “Yeah.”
We reached my dorm. I turned toward the entrance, desperate to escape before I revealed anything.
“Thanks for walking me,” I said to him.
“Anytime.”
I started to walk, before he spoke again.
“Hey.”
I looked back. His eyes were burning into me.
“Did I walk past you at the masquerade?” he asked.
The truth pressed hard against my throat.
“You probably walked past a lot of people,” I said to him.
“That’s not what I asked.”
His gaze moved across my face, searching for something hidden in plain sight.
“I should go,” I whispered.
He didn’t stop me.
--
The following Friday, I worked the closing shift at the bookstore. By nine, campus had emptied into bars, parties, and the hockey arena. Briar had a home game tonight, which meant most students had abandoned any stores or buildings hours earlier.
I listened to the game through one earbud while shelving returns.
Not because of Logan.
That was clearly a lie.
The announcer’s voice rose and fell as I climbed the small ladder near the back of the store. Briar was tied in the third period. Garrett had scored with four minutes remaining, and Logan added a goal near the end.
I smiled before I could stop myself. The final buzzer sounded as I finished locking the register.
The store manager had already left, trusting me to close up. I cleaned up around the store for about forty minutes, making sure everything was clean and ready for the opener. I switched off the front display lights, and pulled my coat from the staff office.
When I stepped outside, making sure to lock the door, snow had started gently falling again. Not heavily, but just enough to give a light dusting.
As I turned around, Logan stood on the sidewalk in front of the bookstore.
I froze.
He wore Briar hockey sweats underneath his coat. His hair was still damp, though I wasn’t sure if it was from being freshly showered or from the snow.
I took a second to collect myself.
“Nice game. You won,” I said.
“So you were listening.”
“The bookstore was empty, I had to do something to pass the time,” I said.
His mouth lifted slightly.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
He held something in one hand that I hadn’t noticed. It was a black mask edged in silver.
My breath caught.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, Logan stepped closer.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what I remembered,” he said.
I looked at him carefully.
“About her,” he said, “the girl from the masquerade.”
Snow gathered on the shoulders of his coat as he stepped closer.
“I kept thinking it would be something obvious. Her voice. Her eyes. Maybe she had left something behind on her way out.”
I looked away.
“But it wasn’t.”
His voice softened.
“It was how I felt when she talked.”
My throat tightened.
“Logan…”
“She made me feel like she understood what I was trying to say, even when I didn’t know how to say it. It felt like she saw me.”
He stopped in front of me.
“And then you kept doing the same thing.”
I forced myself to meet his eyes. There was no accusation in them, only certainty.
“You don’t know that it was me,” I said.
“Yes, I do.”
“She was wearing a mask. You never saw her face.”
“I didn’t need to.”
A trembling breath left me. He looked almost nervous, an expression I had never expected to see on John Logan.
“You talked about seeing people,” he said, “At the ball, you said almost the exact same thing.”
The exact words I had said were different, but I knew then that it was similar. The feeling and intention was the same.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“I’m sure a lot of people feel that way.”
“Probably.”
“Other people read fantasy novels, I’m sure,” he said.
“Definitely.”
“It’s a popular genre, right?” he said, anticipating what I was going to say next.
A small laugh escaped me.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Your laugh.”
The smile faded from me.
“I knew it before I knew anything else,” he said, “I just didn’t trust myself.”
I stared at the mask in his hand.
“You were looking for someone else.”
“I thought I was.”
“That night wasn’t real.”
“It was to me,” he said.
“You didn’t know who I was,” I reiterated.
“I knew more than you think.”
“You knew a version of me who was wearing someone else’s dress and hiding under a mask.”
“No,” he said quickly, “I knew the version of you who wasn’t scared I’d decide you weren’t worth listening to.”
The truth of it hurt. I looked toward the empty pathway behind him.
“I left because I didn’t want anyone to know who I was.”
Logan went still.
“I knew that masks would come off at midnight. And then when we talked, I knew it was even more important I left before then. I thought you’d see me and realize I was just the tutor girl.”
“Just the tutor girl?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t.”
I laughed once, without humor, “You’re John Logan.”
“So?”
“So everyone knows you. Everyone wants you. Girls go to hockey games carrying signs with your name on them.”
“Some of those are for my teammates.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“What is the point?”
“The point is that girls like me don’t get chosen by men like you.”
His expression changed, and I wished I could pull the words back. They sounded childish and insecure spoken out loud. They were like the kind of belief that I should have outgrown years ago. But, the feeling beneath them had roots too deep to remove with logic.
Logan stepped closer.
“What does ‘girls like me’ mean?”
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“Quiet girls. Girls who work on Friday nights and own more books than shoes. Girls people call when they need something from them, not when they want them beside them at a party.”
“I don’t want you beside me at a party.”
The words landed like a slap. I flinched. Logan swore under his breath.
“That came out wrong,” he said.
“It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. I don’t mean I wouldn’t want you there. I mean it’s not the part I care about.”
I said nothing.
“I want you at the diner after a big game,” he said, “I want you making fun of me when I order the same thing every time. I want you tutoring me even after I pass the class. I want to know why you always carry three books when you can only read one at a time.”
“They’re for different moods.”
“I want to know what the moods are,” he said.
My eyes burned as he continued.
“I want to walk you home. I want to bring you hot chocolate and have you insult my taste in books. I want the version of you in the dress that night, and I want the version of you wearing that sweatshirt you’ve had for years.”
I looked down at myself. The faded Briar sweatshirt that had a small ink stain near the sleeve.
“I was afraid,” I whispered.
“What?”
“That you’d find out it was me and be disappointed.”
He stared at me as though the possibility had never occurred to him. Then, his shoulders lowered.
“You think I fell for the dress?”
“I think it helped.”
“It didn’t.”
“You didn’t notice me before.”
The words hung between us, and that was the part he couldn’t deny. Logan looked away briefly, jaw tightening.
“No,” he admitted, “Not enough.”
The honesty hurt me. He looked back at me.
“I knew your name. I knew you were funny. I knew you were smarter than me.”
“That’s a low bar.”
His mouth twitched, “See? That.”
I tried not to smile.
“I knew you were beautiful,” he continued, “But I only knew the pieces that you showed me during tutoring. I never stopped to wonder what else there was, and that’s on me.”
Snow continued to softly fall around us.
“The mask didn’t turn you into someone else,” he said, “It only made me shut up long enough to listen.”
My chest ached.
“What happens now?”
“Now, you stop trying to convince me I found the wrong girl.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“You are.”
He placed the mask on the windowsill of the bookstore beside us.
Then, he held out his hand. I looked at it.
“What are you doing?”
“Asking you to dinner.”
“It’s after nine.”
“Late dinner.”
“You just played a game,” I said.
“Exactly. I’m hungry.”
His hand remained extended between us. I stared at the familiar lines of his palm. At the masquerade, taking his hand had felt safe because the night had an ending. I could walk away and preserve the memory before reality interfered.
This was different. There was no mask, no borrowed dress. There was no promise that I could disappear without being known.
“What if this is different?” I asked.
“It will be.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
He moved closer, lowering his hand.
“It’ll be different because this time, I know your name.”
“And tomorrow?” I asked.
“I’ll still know it.”
“When the whole team is around?”
“Yes.”
“When people ask why you’re with me?”
His face hardened slightly, “They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I mean, they won’t ask why. Garrett already knows.”
I blinked, “Garrett knows?”
“He figured it out, too.”
“How?”
“I was talking about the books.”
I nodded.
“I’m not embarrassed by you,” he said, “I need you to believe that.”
“I’m trying.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t demand more. He simply stood with me beneath the awning while snow drifted through the darkness.
Logan’s gaze dropped to my mouth, and the world grew quieter. Or, perhaps, I only stopped hearing anything beyond the beat of my own pulse.
He stepped closer, leaving enough distance for me to move away. I didn’t.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
The question felt more intimate than if he had simply done it.
I nodded.
His hand rose to my cheek, warm against my skin that was chilled by the snow.
The first brush of his mouth was gentle, almost cautious. Then I curled my fingers into the front of his coat, and he kissed me again.
The second kiss held everything that the first had restrained. His hand settled at my waist, pulling me closer. I felt the warmth of his breath, and the way he smiled when I rose onto my toes to deepen the kiss.
There was no ballroom. No music or dress or masks. There was only us, the snow, and the darkened bookstore behind us.
This was so much better.
When we separated, Logan rested his forehead against mine.
His thumb brushed my cheek.
“Dinner?” he asked again, stretching his hand out again.
This time, when he offered it, I took it.
--
Three weeks later, Briar’s hockey team was back at home for an important game.
Amber sat on my left, and Garrett’s girlfriend, Hannah, sat on my right, patiently explaining penalties that I pretended I needed to hear explained.
The game, similar to the one she had listened to that night at the bookstore, was tied in the third period. Garrett stole the puck and slid it over to Logan, who was racing down the ice. With a flick of the wrist, Logan landed the puck in the top corner of the net.
The arena erupted.
I stood with everyone else, shouting and hugging Amber and Hannah.
After Logan celebrated with his teammates, his gaze swept the crowd, and found me. Even from several rows away, I saw the smile.
After the game, we waited near the tunnel while the stands emptied. The players eventually emerged, carrying equipment bags and talking over one another.
Dean spotted us first and called something to Logan that I couldn’t hear. Logan shoved him with one hand and kept walking. People greeted him as he walked, girls glancing up and someone calling his name from down the tunnel.
He didn’t slow down until he reached me.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“You wore my number.”
I glanced down at the jersey he’d given me, “Pure coincidence.”
“Obviously.”
He dropped his bag and leaned down to kiss me. There was nothing dramatic about it; no one gasped. His hand settled at the back of my neck, and I smiled against his mouth while Tucker groaned beside us about public displays of affection.
When Logan pulled away, he kept his arm around my shoulders.
“Malone’s?” he asked.
“Malone’s,” I nodded.
We walked toward the exit together. Outside, the campus was covered in snow, the sidewalks shining beneath the streetlights. Logan kept my hand in his as we passed groups of students leaving the arena.
No mask. No borrowed dress. No reason to disappear before midnight.
Summary: Logan and the reader had a massive fight a week ago and haven't spoken to each other since. They cross paths at a party in the hockey house and Logan loses his shit watching you talk to someone else.
Pairings: john logan x gf!reader
Word Count: 5.4k (not proof-read)
Warnings: filth. absolute porn with some plot, MDNI (stay away children) little bit of angst. angry sex turned mushy. edging.
💌: I watched a video of angry logan and it made me lose my shit y'all. This is based on what i think angry logan would be like. This might have some plot holes pls ignore i was in the pits. (If y'all wanna watch the video, i reblogged it right before this post 😋) Also might write a short prequel to this, like what exactly happened in the fight, angst central station babayyy
The music from the off-campus hockey house wasn’t just simply filling the room, it was pulsing through the walls, rattling the windows, and vibrating through Logan's boots, the bassline matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. The bass was loud enough to blur conversations into background noise, but somehow every laugh, every shout, every burst of drunken cheering only seemed to increase his irritation.
The hockey house was packed full of drunk students, who were definitely going to regret the decisions made under the influence.
Someone was winning a beer pong game in the kitchen, their teammates erupting into cheers loud enough to make Logan lose his mind; another group was singing terribly to music that wasn't even playing. Couples squeezed past one another in narrow hallways, red cups spilling onto hardwood floors that had long since become sticky with alcohol.
The entire hockey team was there.
Garrett had his arm lazily slung around Hannah while Dean argued with Allie over some ridiculous card game. Tucker was laughing so hard he nearly dropped his drink, and Birdie was already halfway to being completely hammered. To everyone else, it was another Briar party.
But for John Logan, it was pure torture.
He stood near the kitchen island, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket while the other loosely held a sweating beer bottle he had long forgotten, opened twenty minutes ago. His beer was warm and untouched. His jaw had been clenched for so long it physically hurt.
He had plans to get absolutely hammered tonight, a small break after a whole week of extra practice, but all that went down the drain the moment he entered his living room.
Garrett noticed before anyone else did. Every few minutes, his eyes flicked toward Logan with increasing concern. He knew the expression that Logan had written all over his face. Logan wasn't just quiet, he was dangerously quiet, his shoulders completely locked and his jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the beer bottle so hard his knuckles were turning whiter by the second. It meant he was on a warpath.
Eyes fixed on one thing, he wasn’t listening to the music or whatever bullshit Dean was spewing in a drunken haze, his eyes were focused towards the corner of the living room, refusing to look away.
Garrett followed his gaze. ‘Oh, shit.’
His entire universe had narrowed down to a single corner of the living room.
To you.
You looked beautiful without even trying, a simple outfit that somehow made every other girl at the party disappear. Your hair was slightly messy from dancing; your cheeks were flushed with the light pink colour he loved.
For the first time in the past seven days, you looked happy, carefree, and peaceful.
A whole week.
Seven days since your fight.
Seven days since you both screamed until neither of you had anything left to say.
Seven days since he convinced himself that walking away was the mature thing to do.
For one brutal, agonizing week, Logan was trying to do the right thing. He was staying away. After that massive, exhausting fight about his erratic training schedule, the constant media pressure of the upcoming NHL draft, and the heavy cloud of your own insecurities, he convinced himself that you needed space. He thought he was being unselfish. He thought he was protecting you from the chaotic vortex of his life.
He repeated those excuses so many times that he almost started believing in them.
Almost, almost being the key word.
As he stared down at you, he was getting more and more pissed, not at you, rather, at the guy standing next to you.
He was some guy from a fraternity, probably rich, Logan could tell by the perfectly styled hair, the pearly white sneakers, and the expensive casual jacket. He was leaning in way too close, his mouth practically brushing your ear, to be heard over the speakers. He said something to you, flashing a dazzling practiced smile, and you giggled. Not the polite little laugh you gave to strangers. This was a real laugh, your head tilting back, your smile actually reaching your eyes.
The insides of Logan’s stomach twisted violently.
The guy smiled wider, looking at your lips. He said something else. You playfully rolled your eyes before nudging his shoulder slightly. It was innocent, most probably, but Logan couldn’t tell, he was already raging because jealousy had already painted everything in him red.
It felt like a physical blow to his chest. A toxic, overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated jealousy flooded his veins, turning his blood to fire.
Watching another man step into the vacuum he had left behind, watching someone else try to make you laugh, try to catch your eye, try to charm his way into your life.
‘Who the fuck is he?’ the question echoed inside him.
‘Get the fuck away from her.’ The thought screamed through Logan’s head, obliterating every shred of his logic, his patience, and his self-control.
Garrett quietly appeared beside him, ‘You okay?’
Logan didn't answer.
‘Logan.’
Still nothing.
And then, the frat guy reached out. It was a casual, fleeting movement where he just had his hand resting on the bare skin of your forearm to emphasize a point, but to Logan, it was no less than a declaration of war.
It was gasoline thrown onto an open flame. His breathing had gone frighteningly slow.
The kind of calm that always came right before he lost every ounce of self-control.
Garrett looked from Logan to you, then back again. ‘Oh no, don't do it, Logan.’ Garrett muttered, trying to get him to stop.
He set the beer bottle down on the counter with a heavy clink and started moving.
He didn't politely navigate the crowded room, he cut through it. People instinctively stepped aside as the 6’2 hockey player cut a straight line across the living room, his broad shoulders forcing a path through laughing strangers who suddenly stopped laughing the moment they saw his face. He bumped a freshman out of the way without looking, his eyes locked entirely on the target.
His eyes never left yours. Never leaving the man standing far too close.
Before the guy could slide his hand down to your wrist, Logan stepped directly into the space between you and him, physically blocking the guy from your line of sight, his broad shoulders creating an impenetrable wall. A solid wall of muscle, anger, and barely restrained jealousy, his shadow falling over you.
The conversation around you died instantly.
‘Hey,’ Logan's voice cut through the noise like a blade; it was low, dangerous, and deep with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly thin. ‘We need to talk. Right now.’
Not a request. A demand.
You gasped, stumbling back half a step as the sudden, overwhelming scent of cedar cologne, and familiar warmth filled your nostrils. Your eyes traveled up his chest, past the silver chain resting on his tense collarbone, only to find Logan staring down at you. His dark eyes were flashing, wide and wild with a possessive anger that made your stomach do a violent flip. You knew that look very well, ‘Logan?’, you breathed, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Then, your own defensive walls flew up, ‘What the fuck? What are you doing? I'm in the middle of a conversation.’
‘I don't care,’ Logan breathed, not breaking eye contact with you for even a fraction of a second. He tilted his head just enough to address the guy behind him, his tone dropping into a lethal, quiet growl, ‘Walk away, man, right now. Unless you want a problem.’
And every person standing close enough to witness it immediately understood one thing, the party was about to become the least interesting thing happening in the house.
You stared at him in disbelief. Every muscle in his body looked coiled so tightly you thought he might actually snap.
The guy beside you awkwardly cleared his throat, looked at Logan’s rigid posture, the clenched fists at his sides, and the terrifying look of the massive hockey player ready to tear someone apart. He raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, ‘Uh man, I was just- easy man, no trouble,’ he muttered, quickly melting back into the safety of the crowded living room. He disappeared into the crowd so quickly it almost looked like he had been swallowed by it.
You rounded on Logan immediately, ‘Are you completely insane?’, you yelled, the words hitting hard as the sheer audacity of what he just did hit you. ‘You don't get to do that Logan. You can’t just march over here, act like a caveman, and scare off people who I'm talking to! We are on a "break" Logan! Isn’t that what you wanted?’
‘A break does not mean you let some idiot frat guy put his hands on you, in MY house!’, Logan yelled back, his voice thick with a mixture of rage, desperation, and suffocating jealousy.
Garrett leaned against the kitchen doorway with Hannah beside him, both of them watching carefully. Dean muttered something under his breath. Allie stood there with a hand on her mouth. Tucker was in the backyard, tending to a puking Birdie.
The room suddenly felt far too aware of the two of you. Logan noticed it too. He exhaled sharply through his nose.
‘We are not doing this out here’, he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. ‘Come with me.’
Before you could fire back another retort, ‘I'm not asking.’
‘And I'm not agreeing.’
His hand found your wrist, his fingers curling loosely around it. His palm was warm against your skin, his grip firm enough to stop you from storming off but loose enough that you could've pulled away if you'd really wanted to.
‘Come on,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, giving an exaggerated tug against his hold.
‘Logan.’
‘Five minutes.’
‘You don't get to-’
‘I'm asking for five damn minutes.’
‘John.’
‘Please.’
The word stopped you. Not because it was loud. Because it was broken. He sounded broken and he never sounded like that before.
‘I'll walk.’ you said quietly.
He yanked you forward, turning on his heel and pulling you up the stairs of the hockey house.
He reached the end of the hall, kicked his bedroom door open with the heel of his boot, pulled you inside, and slammed the door shut behind him. He threw the lock with a sharp, definitive click, instantly silencing the outside world in the safety of his room.
The sudden silence in the bedroom was heavy; it felt as if you would explode any given moment, charged with electricity.
‘Don't you dare touch me when you're acting like a lunatic,’ you breathed, pulling your arm back the moment he released his grip. You backed away until the edge of his wooden desk pressed against your lower back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. You were trembling, a mix of adrenaline, anger, and a deep, agonizing hurt threatening to spill over. ‘You don't own me, Logan. You don't get to dictate who I talk to, who I smile at, who I want.’
‘You think I want to feel like this?’ Logan exploded. He couldn't stay still. He began pacing the length of the hardwood floor like a man losing his bearing, his fingers aggressively gripping and dragging through his dark hair, disheveling it.
He stopped abruptly, pivoting to face you, his chest heaving violently under his shirt. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind for the goddamn week! I haven't slept a full night. I can't focus on the ice, Jensen chewed my ass out twice today because I'm completely checked out. And why? Because every time I close my eyes, I wonder what you're doing. And then I walk into my own living room and see you smiling at some guy who doesn't know a single real thing about you? Some guy who looks at you like you're some prize he can just casually win for the night?’
‘He is my classmate, Logan! We were literally talking about the syllabus for a group project!’, you shouted back, tears of frustration and hurt stinging the backs of your eyes. ‘But you wouldn't know that, because instead of talking to me like a normal human being, you just explode! You panic, you push me out, you tell me you need to focus on your future, walk out on me and then you get mad when I try to just exist in the same room as you!’
‘Because the thought of you not being in my life is killing me,’ Logan bellowed, his voice cracking on the last word. His admission hung in the air, raw and bleeding.
In two long strides, Logan closed the distance between the two of you. He didn't stop until he was looming over you, his shadow completely enveloping you. He was so close you could feel the radiating heat of his body, could see the tiny amber flecks in his dark eyes, wild with an agonizing vulnerability.
‘Even the thought of it makes me physically sick to my stomach,’ he whispered, his jaw trembling, ‘I saw him touch your arm, and I lost my shit, I wanted to destroy everything in sight. I'm sorry I'm a mess. I'm sorry I don't know how to handle this perfectly or calmly. But don't you dare stand there and act like what we have is just some casual thing you can walk away from.’
God, he looked so hot. Jealousy was such a good look on him, it practically made your mouth water. It was as if he sensed you being turned on by his outburst, or maybe he just saw the way you squeezed your legs together when he came closer to you; nothing went past this man.
‘You're mine,’ he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, turning rough and gravelly. ‘I don't share, baby. You know that very well.’
Oh, this motherfucker knew all right. He knew what he was doing; he knew what this was doing to you.
Your breath hitched. The anger in his eyes wasn't a turn-off for you, not even close, and he knew that. The raw, possessive intensity of it sent a thrill straight down your spine, going places that made you want to jump his bones. Your eyes dropped to his chest, focusing on the way the silver chain rose and fell with his heavy breathing. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers hooking around the cold metal of the chain, tugging him just a fraction of an inch closer.
‘Then do something about it, John,’ you challenged, your voice a sultry whisper, ‘Stop pacing and show me. Prove it to me. Prove that I’m yours.’
The anger was still there, buzzing like a live wire between your bodies, but it was twisting, morphing into a desperate, passionate hunger that neither of you could fight anymore.
Logan’s eyes darkened to black. He clenched his jaw so hard, you could see the muscle tense, and for a split second, the room went entirely still. And then, he snapped.
In one fluid motion, his hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your supple bottom. He didn't just pull you in, he lifted you completely off your feet from the table, your legs wrapping around his waist like clockwork, and crowded you back onto the mattress. The impact wasn't enough to hurt, cushioned by the heavy blankets, but it was authoritative enough to make you gasp. Before you could even blink, Logan was hovering over you, pinning your wrists on either side of your head with a grip like iron.
‘You want me to do something about it?’ he growled, his face inches from yours. His chest was pressed flush against yours, the ribbed cotton of his tank top hot against your skin. ‘You think this is a game, baby?’
‘I think you're all talk right now,’ you rasped out, intentionally baiting him.
Logan let out a low whisper, ‘Yeah, baby?’ that vibrated directly against your ribs. He released one of your wrists, only to slide his hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into your cheek to tilt your head back. He stared at your cheeks squished between his fingers, and suddenly he came down on your mouth with a ferocity that stole the oxygen right out of your lungs.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was punishing and demanding. He tasted so good. Oh! How much you had missed him.
His tongue parted your lips with zero hesitation, claiming your mouth with a rough dominance that made your toes curl. You tried to arch up into him, but his weight was like a heavy anchor pinning you down. The feeling of his tongue exploring the crevices of your mouth made you unbelievably down bad for him, you moaned against his mouth.
When he finally pulled back for air, his lips were wet and his breathing ragged. The silver chain dangled down, the cold metal brushing against your collarbone, creating a shocking contrast to the burning heat of his skin. Fuck, him looking like this was doing things to you. ‘Logan, off’, you whimpered, your fingers instantly finding the hem of his black tank, wanting it off, wanting to feel him against you.
‘No honey’ he muttered, grabbing your hands and pinning them back above your head. He looked down at you, a wicked smirk playing on his lips despite the lingering tension in his shoulders. ‘I'm still mad at you. You don't get to dictate the pace tonight, you're going to be a good girl tonight and you're going to listen.’
He shifted his weight, his knee forcing your legs apart as he wedged himself between them. The friction of his jeans against you felt unbearable. Logan reached down, his fingers working the button and zipper of your skort with a rough impatience. He didn't bother being gentle as he tugged the fabric down your legs and tossed it carelessly onto the floor, along with your revealing top.
You were left in your underwear, completely exposed to his burning gaze. Logan took a moment to look at you, his eyes sweeping over your body with an intensity that made you flush from head to toe. ‘Beautiful,’ he muttered, though his voice was still rough around the edges, ‘So fucking beautiful and all mine.’ His lips find your neck, finding your sweet spot almost instantaneously, sucking softly which unravels you even more as you wither under him, trying to get a semblance of relief.
‘John, please’
‘You drive me insane, you know that?’, his mouth crashes onto yours as you gasp into him, fingers curling into his black tank which is fitting him so well that it makes your mouth water. You tugged on his hair, eliciting a guttural groan from his throat, his mouth moving from your now swollen lips to your neck, then chest , leaving a string of deep red marks, his hands feeling up your body once more, your nerves heightened with every grab and squeeze. You're whining, teeth clashing as he's biting at your bottom lip.
Your hips moving against him, grinding softly against him and he pulls away, ‘What did I tell you baby? It sure is a shame that you acted out today, you could've gotten my mouth or my fingers, I know how much you love those’ he begins, crawling on top of you, the dip of his weight pushing you back down.
‘But you're just going to get my cock, deep and rough until I make sure you aren't able to walk for a week straight.’
With that, your legs are pulled apart, panties practically ripped from your lower half as he throws them to the side like he's tearing open a christmas present.
Your bra is gone in what feels like seconds, making things easier and a lot more satisfying for him. His hands on your body feel hot and rough, but so right in so many ways. His aggressiveness only turns you on more, you're soaked and practically leaking down your thighs, moving and clamping your legs together to get some sort of relief from the emptiness you've felt all week.
His hands grip your tits vicariously as he starts to knead them, suck and bite them, making you whimper out as he runs his hands down your hips. He is latched onto your chest as if it's something he has been craving for so long, leaving red harsh hickeys all over.
‘Such a pretty body baby. I'm going to prove just how much you're mine, can't wait to ruin you.’ Your heart is hammering in your chest so loud you can hear it beating in your ears, and suddenly he's leaning up, one hand cupping your cheek, covering the side of your face as his lips harshly connect back to yours.
‘Will you let me?’ he almost whispers, eyes darkened with desire and hunger. You can't help but to feel warmth wash over your entire body as you look up at him. You know that he's asking for your permission, your consent king. Only John can make angry sex consensual, and the thought makes you giggle a little.
‘Yes john, I want you.’ He didn't waste any more time. He stripped off his own sweatpants, leaving him in all his glory. The sight of him, broad, muscular, clad only in that black tank and the damn silver chain, was enough to make your mouth go dry. He looked completely feral. As he took off his boxers, you saw his cock spring up, looking so hard, all red, angry and delicious.
And in an instant, your legs are being wrapped around his muscular torso, heels digging into his tailbone as he places one arm to your side and the other gripping the swell of your soft hip as teases your clit with it, you arched into his touch, a choked sob escaping you as his dick found your clit, rubbing softly, making you wither under him with a soft string of curses leaving your mouth.
‘John, please,’ you begged, your hips moving instinctively.
He hooked his hands under your knees, pushing them back toward your chest, opening you up completely to him. Taking his cock into his hands, he positioned himself, eyes locking onto yours. There was no hesitation, no slow teasing anymore as Logan pushed forward, driving himself deep inside you in one heavy thrust; he slammed into you.
A loud gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instantly flying up to grip his shoulders as your fingernails dug into the taut muscles of his back, but he didn't even flinch from it. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his chest heaving against yours. The silver chain swung gently, resting against your throat. You wrapped one hand around the metal links, holding him close, his cock stretching you out and filling you up with a sweet stinging sensation as you got used to the feeling.
‘Fuck, you're so tight,’ Logan groaned, his eyes closing for a brief second as he fought for control, pulling himself out and glancing down at the glistening wetness that is coating his dick before pushing himself back in, your hand clawing his back and holding him even closer by the chain.
The only thing you can focus on is the gorgeous man on top of you, his sturdy body hovering over yours as he begins to pound into you. ‘John, oh god fuck’, you cry out, feeling so full of him. The pace he set was punishingly fast and rough, a brutal, driving rhythm, his hips slamming against yours with a raw force that had the bed creaking loudly against the wall. Every thrust was deep, hitting the exact spot that sent electric shocks of pleasure through your entire body. You were completely at his mercy as he gripped your waist, his large fingers digging into your skin to hold you as he hammered into you. He was taking all his frustration, all his jealousy, and pouring it into you.
‘Look at me baby, I bet you talked with him on purpose huh baby? Just to feel my cock? Just to get me riled up into fucking you till you're shaking like a mess under me? Sneaky princess, ’ he coos, reaching up to stroke your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb as he looks at you as if you're the best meal he's had all week.
You can't even muster any words, not when he's fucking you like this, so hard that the bed is practically moving off its hinges and if you tried to speak, all that came out was whimpers and moans. Your eyes are rolled back as you arch your back, feeling him even deeper inside. He then glances down, slowing his pace as he takes one of your hands off his shoulder and places it on your lower abdomen. He looks back up at you with cocky, treacherous eyes, his large hand placed up on yours as he presses down against your belly, resuming his pace fucking you into the mattress. ‘You feel that baby? I’m all the way up there, princess. Pussy is made for me, isn't it?’
You can't contain the whimper that spills out from your throat as he lets you grip his shoulder again. He takes full pride in seeing you quiver and shake under him, cheeks all red and flustered, eyebrows pulled together as your eyes roll back in pleasure. ‘Please, please don't stop baby, fuck’, you beg, needing to feel full of him for as long as possible. You felt him hit the soft spot inside you and let out a hard whimper, crying out his name.
‘Am I gonna make you cum, baby? Are you gonna make a mess around my cock?’ He's kissing your neck now, warm wet lips on your skin as he nips and sucks at your sweet spot.
‘Yes, y-yes! Fuck, Lo, please let me cum.’, you whimper, trying to hold on to him as best as possible as he fucks you exactly how you like.
‘If you can hold out, I'll let you cum the second.’, he says back, voice husky and rough as his forehead gleams with the layer of sweat making him look ethereal, as his painfully handsome face hovers only inches away from yours. You squeeze out a small yes, one of his hands moving in between the two of you. You suddenly become hyper aware of what he's about to do.
Two fingers are placed on your sensitive clit, before he begins rubbing in harsh, sharp circles. ‘Fuck, Logan, I can't last when you, oh fuck’, you moan, nails digging into his bulging biceps as he holds himself up, one arm between your bodies as he continues to make your mind melt into a puddle.
‘Hold it.’ his voice is demanding and serious, eyes looking into yours with such intensity. Your bottom lip is between your teeth as you struggle to hold in your orgasm. ‘That's it, baby, hold it for me, ’ he encourages, taking his hand off and watching you come back down from the edge.
He dips down, taking your breasts in his mouth to keep you preoccupied before he denies you another orgasm. You moan out, hands flying to his dark array of curls. You nearly cry as he takes his mouth off and brings his hand back down between your legs, taking a hold of your clit. ‘Logan, please, I can't-’ He interrupts you with a rough kiss. You can't help but nod as you look at him, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, pupils blown out in a feral state as his heavy body ruts against yours, hips working at an impossibly fast pace.
Even with how rough he's being, you can still feel warm on the inside from the closeness between the two of you. You can feel every muscle flexing underneath his skin, his tummy pressed up against yours and his thighs rubbing up against the outside of your own. Your walls stretch around him, and wetness makes his movement so utterly smooth, coaxing his cock deeper. He wont admit but he has needed you this whole meek. It felt as if it had been ages since he had you under him like this, a quivering mess. He needed to let out some of the anger, and hell, even the fear.
You are the only thing that makes him feel better, nothing else will ever or could ever put him at ease like you do.
‘Logie fuck, please let me cum.’ you were so wet and incoherent, your wetness leaking all over him, making it so slick and easy.
He clenched his jaw, trying to stay focused as the effects of his own pleasure were getting the best of him. You simply have something no one else does, the feeling of you is not only one of a kind, but something he won't ever be able to get enough of.
‘Hold it baby, just a little bit longer.’ and you did, you tried your best to hold it together, your lower abdomen screaming for release, the build up was such a euphoric high, that everything around you felt unreal, especially Logan, until he stopped for the second time. Leaving you with an empty feeling as his pace shifted once again. You whine at the feeling of another edge that he left incomplete.
He slings your legs over his wide shoulders, the new position allowing his cock to hit the bundle of nerves resting deep within you.
‘Oh, yes Loge- fuck.’, you cry out, his massive hands gripping your thighs as he looks down watching himself disappear in you.
‘Look at how beautiful you are baby, can't even stay mad at you, can I?’ he coos, kissing right above your left knee as he fucks you into oblivion. At this point he couldn't even hold up his act.
You feel that burning pressure in your abdomen again, tingling prickling you in your oversensitive areas. You can tell he's close too, just by the way his face pouts, and his cheeks get sucked in. He gets this look in his eyes and starts making some noises which are music to your ears. The sight of him fucking you with such relentlessness and rigour does something to you, you start to unravel, the buildup becoming too much to handle.
‘I cant- please Logie please- please-’ he cuts you off, rubbing up and down your thighs softly, still fucking you at a pace too hot to handle, ‘Come for me, my sweet girl’
And you're completely done for, your legs attempting to clamp together as the blissful feeling washes over you, hitting you so so hard after two denied orgasms, radiating up your spine as your walls convulse around him. Looking at you unraveling under him, he can't hold it in any longer either, not with moans escaping your lips and his name rolling off your tongue in such a sweet way.
He holds you tight as his chest heaves up and down, body stiffening and breath halting for a moment as his hips bucket into you, filling you up.
‘Oh fuck- Oh fuck baby’, he groans his eyes squeezing shut and lips parting with laboured breaths as his voice becomes shaky.
He slowly pulls out of you, leaning down, taking your body into his arms as he lays down on the bed, as soft kisses are pressed to your shoulder and neck.
‘Baby, you okay? Was that too much?’ he coos in your ear as you pull up to reality, your face cupped in his hands.
‘I'm okay Logie, just a little spent.’ you nuzzle your face in his neck, taking in his warmth.
‘I missed you so much,’ he whispered as his fingers intertwined with yours.
‘I saw him making you laugh,’ he admitted. ‘And I realized something.’
‘What?’
‘I would rather fight with you for the rest of my life than spend another day pretending I don't love you.’
You looked down at your joined hands and then looked back up at him, ‘You don't get to fix this overnight. I'm still very mad at you y’know’
‘I know, you should be.’
‘No disappearing, No deciding what's best for me without talking to me.’
‘Never again baby.’
Outside, the party carried on.
Inside, neither of you cared.
For the first time in a whole week, the silence between you wasn't filled with anger.
It was filled with the promise that this time, neither of you was walking away.
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