que sera sera.

call me alyssa! she/they — xviii 🧣 a trail mix of fandoms

[seventiesaces]

can't take my eyes off you

Summary: Despite catching feelings for each other, John Logan is still being a slut. His bad choices mean potentially losing you forever, and Hannah and Garrett help save your crumbling relationship.

Ahead: John Logan x reader, mostly fluff with hints of smut/steamy moments, slight jealousy, manwhore behavior

Note: I had to repost this bc I somehow deleted it (if anyone knows why this happens hmu idk how I did that)

Enjoy :)

John Logan is a slut. This is something you knew before you even spoke a single word to him. All the hockey boys were. They existed with the idea in their heads that they were God’s gift to the earth, like their dicks were specially crafted by the big man upstairs to please Puck Bunnies and sorority girls. 

You were neither a Puck Bunny or a sorority girl, not that there was anything wrong with either. You just didn’t have time for all the events and social standards they lived by. Instead, you worked double shifts on weekends and studied your butt off for the rest. Luckily, you made friends with the same point of view early on during your time at Briar U. Your roommates, Hannah and Allie, quickly became your rocks. Without them, college would be miserable but Hannah’s positive attitude and Allie’s adventurous tendencies kept you on your toes.

In your sophomore year, Hannah threw you for a loop. Suddenly, Hannah and Garrett Graham, star hockey player and known fuckboy, were attached at the hip. While you quickly learned of their scheme to pretend to date in order to boost Hannah's social status in order to catch the attention of Justin, Hannah’s longtime crush, that didn’t stop you and Allie from being dragged into the world of hockey. Without warning, you were at parties and the Hawk’s House nearly daily.

John Logan noticed you as soon as Hannah became Garrett’s tutor. He found your reluctance to fall for his charms endearing. Your ambition to succeed and make something of your life was even more endearing. As he was oftentimes surrounded by dreams of the NHL or girls with dreams of marrying a guy in the NHL, seeing you so determined to become your own person made you more attractive than you could ever know. Logan could never seem to get you alone. You clung to either Hannah or Allie at parties, or just didn’t show up.

His first chance to truly talk to you came about completely randomly one night while he drove home from his chemistry study group. It was already dark outside, the sun setting extra early as November entered and the cold had begun to worsen. His headlight caught sight of something ahead, a girl walking with a bike on the side of the street, pulling her jacket tighter with the wind rushing past her. Logan pulled over just in front of her.

“Need some help?” He called out, hopping out of his truck to help the stranger without thinking twice.

“My chain broke.” You grumbled, your lovely face coming into Logan’s view as he approached. 

Logan’s breath caught. What were the odds that the damsel in distress on the side of the road would be you? You, the ever allusive best friend of his best friend’s girlfriend. You, the girl who didn’t even humor him with a scoff when he made dumb joke at a party. You, the girl who was clouding his mind without even knowing it. 

“Oh,” You spoke, cocking your head as his large frame approached you. “It’s you.”

Logan smirked at that, unsure if that was a good or bad thing. “It’s me.” He held your eyes for a few moments, as though daring the other to speak next.

A strong gust of wind breezed past you, making the fallen amber leaves around you flutter. You shivered, tucking your chin into the collar of your jacket like a turtle. Logan was brought back to reality, stepping forward to grab your bike.

“I’ll drive you home.” He declared, picking up your bike like a toothpick and heading towards the bed of his truck.

You spluttered, you mouth agape. “You don’t have to-”

“And what,” Logan placed your useless bike into the bed of his truck. “Leave you here to freeze? Be rational, babe.”

You gulped at the nickname, a blush staining your cheeks that you could write off as being from the persistent wind. Logan didn’t give you anymore time to protest, opening his passenger side down expectantly. 

You scurried forward, plopping into the seat. As Logan shut the door, you whispered, “Thanks.”

He paused, giving you a genuine smile. “Anytime.”

After that night, Logan saw more of you. When Hannah or Allie weren’t available to cling to at parties or Malone’s, you hung around him. To Logan, it was an honor. He learned more about you, finding himself lost in your eyes nightly. Suddenly, you were willing to hang around longer at parties, Logan always volunteering to drive you home once you were tapped out. 

You realized that Logan was not that bad. There was more to him than just a devastating smile, superior hockey skills and glorious hair. He loved his family, even if they weren’t perfect by any  means. He ran a side hustle as a repair man as he didn’t receive any monetary help from his parents, unlike the other hockey guys. You respected his willingness to work hard, never one to give up easily or at all. 

In January, Briar Hockey had a huge win against Yale. The party was massive, taking over the Hawk’s House before the players could even arrive. You had attended the game alongside Hannah and Allie, finding the neck-and-neck win exhilarating and it was only logical to move over to the after party with the amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

In the past, Hannah was your sober buddy, but since Garrett became her guard dog she had left you high and dry. In the spirit of the night, you decided to partake in a few beers and a couple of shots of tequila with Allie. Soon, you were tipsy and breaking it down on the dancefloor with Allie.

You felt a warm, strong hand grip your shoulder. You glanced back, a wide grin splitting your face. “Logan!” You spun around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. “You were great tonight!”

Logan grinned, a beer in his hand, “You are sloppy drunk.”

You pulled back from the hug and booped his nose, “You bet!”

Logan laughed, officially joining you on the dancefloor. At first, he seemed apprehensive to dance with you in your drunken state, letting you do your twirls and hold his hand as hopped around. 

The song changed. “This is my song!” You shouted, a huge smile on your face. Without warning, your ass was pressed against his groin. Logan’s hands naturally fell to your hips, but you noticed his lack of movement and rigidness instantly. 

“What’s wrong, Logan?” You teased, batting your eyelashes at him in a way that made his breath hitch. “Where are those world famous hips all the puck bunnies talk about?”

Logan knew he shouldn’t, but the few too many shots from earlier were clouding his judgement. His hands tightened, and he bent down so his lips aligned with your ear. 

He spoke gruffly in your ear, making a shiver fall down your spine. “I don’t think you’re ready for all of that, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything back, just let your body take over. The music and heat of Logan’s hard body behind you took over your mind. You reached back, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck making his groan into your ear. His hands explored, experimentally squeezing your hips and running over your abdomen just below your breasts. 

“Logan…” You breathed, as lips ghosted your ear and down your neck. You turned in his arms, facing him fully and gazing into those big, brown eyes. “More.” 

Logan smirked, his hands finding purpose on your ass, squeezing encouragingly, “I’m gonna need you to be more specific.” 

You blinked up at him, and before you could lose your courage, you sprung up on your tip toes and pressed your lips to his. He responded instantly, moving one hand to your neck to pull you in further while the other remained on your ass. He tasted like beer and spearmint gum. You moaned as his tongue forced its way into your mouth, making you whimper with need. The heat coursing through your veins was made worse by a soft slap to your bottom as Logan broke the kiss to nip at your neck, leaving behind an array of multi-colored bruises in their wake. 

“God, you don’t know what you do to me.” Logan groaned, wanting nothing more than to take you to his room. “I’ve wanted this for a while.”

You breath hitched, tugging at his hair as his lips made their way to your chest where your dress exposed your soft skin. At this point, the music and fellow party goers had faded into just muffled noise. To you, Logan was the only one there.

“I’ve wanted this too.” You admitted, scraping your nails against his scalp. “But I don’t do hook ups.”

Logan pulled back slightly, looking at your eyes. “You’re not a hook up. You never will be.”

You smiled, gently running your thumb over the stubble on his jaw. “Good, but I’ll need a date before we go any further.”

Logan grinned. “Are you asking me out?”

You rolled your eyes. “If that makes you feel special, princess.”

Logan laughed, holding your waist and not letting go. “It does, actually.”

You rolled your eyes again, laughing at his stupid comment. Logan tugged you through the crowd of dancers towards a more quiet spot.

“I’m going to tell the guys I’m going to bed. You’re coming with me.” He asserted and you opened your mouth to protest. “Not for anything like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

You blushed, crossing your arms and snorting. “I can call a cab.”

“That will take forever. You can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the floor.” Logan stated, and you opened your again to protest but he shut you down by holding up a hand. “No choice, sweetheart. See you in a second.”

With that, he disappeared in the crowd to find the boys. You leaned against the wall, trying to will your heartbeat to return to a normal pace. 

“I can’t believe you hooked up with Logan in the bathroom.” A girl’s voice wafted up to your ears, you caught sight of her and a brunette leaning against a wall near you. You recognized them as puck bunnies from the games.

“He needed a reward for playing such a good game.” The brunette giggled, sipping on her drink.

The blonde girl laughed, nodding in agreement. “I might try to hop on that later.” 

The brunette smirked. “He’s probably down. You know how easy he is after games. All adrenaline and testosterone. He’s like an animal. He’ll fuck anything with a pulse.”

Your heart constricted at their conversation, your digging your nails into your palm to refrain from saying something to them. It wasn’t their fault that Logan was an animal, as they said. If their words were correct, his willingness to kiss you wasn’t due to genuine feelings, but a want to put his dick into something with a pulse. Although, according to the brunette, he had already done that earlier in the night. You felt red hot anger taking over as you pushed off the wall, heading for the door. He kissed you after hooking up with something merely an hour or two ago. He was willing to go out with you with some over girl’s nail marks probably in his back. 

You ignored all of Logan’s calls and texts over the next few hours. You walked 20 minutes in the cold back to your dorm, angry tears stinging your eyes. 

Him: Where are you?

Him: I went back to the spot and you were gone

Him: Did you go back to dancing lol

Him: I’ll wait for your upstairs

Him: Why are you ignoring my calls?

Him: Please answer the phone I’m worried

Him: Did I do something?

You refused to answer him. Not even giving him the relief of knowing you got home okay or where you went. You continued to ignore his texts and calls into the next several days, choosing to lay on the couch and eat Hot Cheetos while Allie and Hannah got ready to go to Malone’s with the boys.

“What is going on with you?” Hannah asked, plopping down next to you. “You’ve been super mopey since last Friday.” 

“Nothing.” You lied, pausing 10 Things I Hate About You. “I’m just not in the mood.”

Hannah paused, gnawing at her lip like she was building the courage to ask something. “Did something happen between you and Logan?” 

You couldn’t hide the surprise in your eyes. While Allie and Hannah knew of your mutual affection towards Logan, neither knew about your steamy encounter at the post-game party. They most definitely didn’t know about your overheard conversation between the puck bunnies or that you were attempting to mend a broken heart that somehow managed to be cracked by someone who was never your boyfriend. 

“Why would you think that?” You asked, trying to seem nonchalant, but just coming off like a cornered animal. 

“Logan might be super down too and asks about you everytime we see him.” Hannah admitted, waiting for your reaction. 

You stared at her, shocked by the news. You assumed Logan was continuing to call and text you because you were a new conquest that he hadn’t completed. Maybe he was bored when would call and text you. He without a doubt was still hooking up with other girls, that was given. Despite his willingness to go out with you, John Logan was not a boyfriend, he was a hook up. And you? You were a girlfriend. The two of you would never work, you had accepted that until Hannah informed you of his out of character attitude. 

“He’s been laying around all day, missing shots at practice and just not like himself at all. Garrett said he hasn’t left the house for anything but class and practice since Friday.” Hannah explained further, leaned towards you to ensure you were really listening. “He’s been clinging to his phone like a lifeline and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you’re both seemingly heartbroken at the same time.”

You bit your lip, casting your eyes to the ground. It didn’t seem like Logan was hooking up with anyone after all. Instead, he seemed as devastated as you were. 

Hannah continued, “I think you should give him a second chance. Whatever he did, I bet he would be willing to fix. Have you tried calling him?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t lie to Hannah. With a sigh, you spilled your guts, telling her the entire story. Hannah listened, nodding and holding your hand supportively. 

“I just don’t think he’s capable of being a boyfriend.” You admitted at the end of your story. “If he can’t be serious, I’m wasting my time.”

Hannah nodded, eyebrows crinkled like she was thinking too hard. “I get that. But it seems like he is really serious about you. I mean, even Garratt is worried about how he’s been acting. He said Logan has never been like this before. That has to say something, right?”

You shrugged, pulling the blanket on your lap up to your chin. “Maybe, but I’m not sure I’m willing to get hurt by him to find out.”

Hannah frowned, kissing your forehead as she stood. “I think you should give him a second chance. He might surprise you.”

“So Logan made a big fuck up.” Garrett nodded, pacing his bedroom as Hannah explained the whole story of what happened between you and Logan.

“Massive.” Hannah nodded. “But I think with the right moves Logan can fix this.”

Garrett paused, raising an eyebrow at his girlfriend perched on his bed. “Go on, Wellsy.”

“We need to get Logan to show her that he can be serious. A romantic gesture? Something that gives boyfriend material.”

Garrett fell backwards onto the bed, landing next to Hannah and staring at the ceiling in thought. “She’s super into romance movies, right?”

Hannah nodded, “Her favorite is 10 Things I Hate About You.” She paused, thinking and then gasped. “I know what he’s going to do!” She squealed, hopping off the bed and running to Logan’s room, Garrett in tow looking very lost.

Somehow Allie and Hannah had convinced you to leave the confines of your shared dorm to go out three days after Hannah had spoken to you about Logan. Your heart still ached. Everything reminded you of Logan. The strength of his arms around your waist. The feeling of his soft lips brushing your neck and chest. The taste of his tongue against your own. It was all too much. Yet, you were now shoved into a tiny top from Allie’s closet and some “fuck me” boots and placed into the backseat of Garrett’s Jeep.

When you arrived at Malone’s, you were begrudgingly disappointed to not see Logan. A little part of you wish he was here. You missed him, even if you were mad at him. 

Garrett brought you and the other girls drinks, seeming ansty. In fact, so did Hannah and Allie, who were glancing at the door every few minutes.

“What’s going on?” You spoke up, making all three head whip towards you.

“Nothing.” Allie spoke way too fast. She was an awful liar.

You scoffed, placing your beer down on the table and crossing your arms. “All three of you have been watching that door like you’re waiting for crime to take place. What is going on?” You repeated the question.

They shared nervous glances and as Hannah opened her mouth, the door of Malone’s opened and in walked none other than John Logan. You stared, surprised and unable to help the flutter of your heart as he walked in, a plaid shirt over his broad shoulders and his stubble more prominent than normal, like he hasn’t been shaving.

“Oh thank god.” Garrett breathed a sigh of relief, seeing his best friend enter the bar.

“Is this a set up?” You asked, an edge of annoyance in your voice.

“Well-” Hannah didn’t get to explain as John Logan made long strides to the stage. 

Logan grabbed the karaoke mic, speaking into it, “Hello, fellow Hawks.” A few people in the bar whooped and clapped. “I am going to do something that is meant to prove that I am willing to do anything, even humiliate myself, to get you to forgive me and know I am serious.” His eyes held your own. 

You sucked in a breath. “Hannah, what is this?” Despite addressing your friend, you didn’t take your eyes off Logan.

Music started playing. The beginning of “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” by Frankie Valli began to play, making you involuntarily snort and throw a hand over your mouth. Just like in your favorite movie, Logan began to sing the line of the song with the same passion as Patrick did for Kat. Garrett clapped and hollered for his friend while others laughed and cheered. Logan’s face was pink with embarrassment, a huge smile on it as he held your eyes the entire time. As the song ended, he approached you in the audience, held out a hand and you grasped his without a second thought. The laughter coming from you was uncontrollable as your eyes shined with mirth. 

“You are something else, Logan.” You spoke as he placed the microphone down.

He grinned, shrugging his shoulders. His hand refused to leave yours, like letting go would mean losing you forever. “What do you think?”

You laughed, standing up to face him fully. “I think you’re a dork.”

Logan rolled his eyes and chucked. “I get that, but do you think I’m serious now?”

You stared at his face, eyes full of hope and sincerity. “I believe you, Logan.”

Logan gave you a stupidly large grin, lifting you from the ground and making you yelp in surprise. He spun you around, kissing you with a smile still on your face.

“But!” You spoke up, making him freeze. You held his face, making him look you in the eyes. “No. More. Puck. Bunnies.”

Logan chuckled. “Trust me. I’ll never think of them again.”

I hope you enjoys and feel free to send me a request for Off Campus!

[alwaysforgr63]

Tears | JL22

Pairing: John Logan x Female!Reader

Summary: Logan loves going down on you. He lives for it, he craves it, he loves everything about it. But what he didn’t expect was your reaction when you were the one who goes down on him.

Warning/s: Minors do not interact. Smut. Mature. 18+. Oral sex (F and M receiving). Unprotected sex. Comfort. Crying. Established relationship. They are unhinged, horny, and thinking about sex all the time but they love each other too. Be responsible for your own media consumption. Grammar/Spelling. If I missed anything, let me know kindly!

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I’m in no way a pro when it comes to writing smut but I try and this is me trying (and probably experimenting on my writing too). Got inspired while listening to Tears by Sabrina and a conversation I had with my best friend.

I have another Logan fic in progress but it’ll be some time before it’s up since I’m not confident about it yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Like, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and appreciated!

MASTERLIST.

Please do not translate and repost.

Divider by chrisssiren.

Logan is sick, he’s sure of that. But the thing is, as cliche as it may sound, you are the only person who could cure him. He had known a long time ago that he loves going down on girls, he lives for it. But nothing ever prepared him for you and the changes you brought into his sex life.

He’d been with many girls before you, yes. What you and he are doing—at least, some of it—he had done it before. You knew it, having to be one of the witnesses of some of those sexcapades he did in the past. However, that’s never been an issue between you two. Sex with you is something that Logan has never experienced before. But no, it’s not some, “You’re different from other girls” kind of bullshit. It’s the feeling that was different.

You see, the girls he had been with? It was always rushed, short-lived. It was only for the sake of sleeping together. But with you? You build up the moment, but still make sure not to waste time. You make him feel hot and excited, but give him what he wants to balance it out. You let him do what he wants, but signals him when to stop. You make him crave for you, crave for it. And when you especially know when he needs it? You give it to him, no questions asked.

And Logan would always savor the moment when you just unfold your legs for him, when you let him lap at your center like a starved man, and when you encourage him to keep going; even stretching your legs further so he could have more space.

Logan loves your pussy, and he loves every single second of being down on you and if he could live between your legs, he would.

There’s something so addicting about having them wrapped around his head, or when you spread it for him so he could bite on your inner thighs, or the way it almost suffocates him when you’re on top of him, riding his face while he busies himself admiring the swell of your breasts; the way they move when you jerk forward because his tongue hits a certain spot, or the way your chest falls up and down so you can get enough oxygen in your lungs, or when your nipples hardened he just had to let go one of your legs so he could play with them.

Yet he loves it more when you tugs at his curls, moaning for him. The sound you make going straight to his cock, thrusting on the bed or in the air depending on where you got him eating you out. He loves the look on your face—how your mouth forms an o-shape when he sucks at your sensitive nub or when you cover it to muffle the sounds because his friends are sleeping, how your eyes glaze when you’re near, how your lips turn swollen from too much biting, and how your head falls backwards to reveal your neck, thinking about biting the flesh once he’s fucking you.

Logan swore he could cum by just eating you out, but looking at you enjoying yourself? That’s another thing he needs to control. He could combust with a single, “Making me feel so good, Johnny.” but he’d do his best to restrain himself. He’d only allow himself to finish once you do because for him, it’s you before everything else. There were times that even after making you cum three times, he’d hold it in because that won’t be enough. He’d wait for you to say, “Please, let me feel you. I want it.”, that he’d permit himself to let go and you’d be so full of him. Then, he would look at your face only to see you smiling at him, so lost in the pleasure and so fucking beautiful, and he’d take pride knowing he’s the one who made you feel that way—and he feels like cumming again, his cock hardening inside you once more.

He thought that would be it, nothing else could make him feel like he’s doing it for the first time aside from eating you out and you, looking so pretty for him. But boy, was he wrong.

It happened for the first time when Logan felt a little more beaten up after practice. Completely drained and exhausted from all the physical and mental challenges hockey takes from him. You knew the moment he slumped beside you on his head, dropping his gym bag on the side, that he’s spent.

“Hey, gorgeous. I missed you.” Logan’s hands automatically searched for your waist as his head hits your lap, his hair still damp from the shower. He relaxes the moment your hands massage at his scalp, down to the back of his neck, and to his shoulder blades. His usual protective guard is down and at that moment, under your gaze, he’s just a guy who needs comfort.

Your boyfriend needs comfort.

“I missed you too, baby. How are you?” Logan lifted his head a bit, his eyes cast downward, his body barely holding his weight, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at you before seeking your warmth again. You bit your lip and maybe, seeing him like that—sore, tired, worn out—is what triggered your desire to take care of him. He spends so much energy in hockey, in studying, in the garage, in everything that he does, including looking out for you without being asked that seeing him vulnerable makes you want to put him first. So an idea popped in your mind.

“Hey, come on, lay down properly.” Logan obliged, rather slowly. You were standing at the foot of the bed, supporting his movements. Once he’s comfortable, you start removing his clothes. He didn’t think much of it at first, he always sleeps with only his boxers on and you learned about it early on in your relationship. It even got to a point that you were the one undressing him and you’d cuddle under his covers.

However, Logan felt your hands caressing his legs as you crawled on top of him. Your fingers tugged down at his boxers until it reached just above his knees, but before you could take it off, Logan caught your hand, crease forming between his brows. He understands immediately what you were trying to do, and it’s not that he doesn’t want it. He’s just not sure if he could do any action tonight and he will never forgive himself if he allows it to happen only for you to not to feel good.

“Thank you, gorgeous, but I don’t think I can do—”

“Who said you’re doing anything?” You raised one eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curving into a tempting smile that had Logan heaving a deep breath. He knew it’s happening, you looked so good and while the rest of his body is tired, his cock sure isn’t as it slowly grows hard between his thighs, directly under you. “Just lay down for me, John, okay? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to be rewarded for it.”

And nothing ever prepared him for what happened next.

Logan never presented the idea of blowjob, nor you brought it up yourself. In the entirety of your relationship, you never went down for him. You never put his length in your mouth, you never gagged at the feeling of him hitting your throat, and you never knew what it was like to look up at him over your lashes. But just because it never happened, doesn’t mean you never wonder what it would be like.

It’s not like you never gave head before. You have a fair share of experience yourself like Logan, but you keep on wondering if it would feel like the way it made him feel. He told you about it, how going down on you made him feel like an entirely different person. That the way your pussy feels against his mouth was nothing like he ever felt before. That if your legs suffocate him and he dies accidentally, he’d still thank you for it.

You knew it wasn’t about the experience, you knew it was the feeling. Because you trust him, you allow yourself to be vulnerable and comfortable with him that the intimacy instantly feels different. So, you took advantage of the moment to test it out yourself.

“Are you sure about this? You know you don’t have to, right? We can just—”

But Logan’s head dropped back down on his pillow when he felt your hands around him, pumping him slowly, getting him to completely relax for you. A heavy and ragged sigh escaped his lips at the feeling, his broad shoulders sinking into the mattress, shutting his eyes close to regain some control. And he thought that he’s doing a great job at it, he’s getting used to the feeling of the slow movements of your hands that he willed himself to open his eyes.

“Fuck, that feels good, gorgeous.” He rasped, voice thick and rough at your ministrations. The exhaustion of the day leaving his body. The tension, the expectations, the brutality of the world outside his room fading behind him as he let you take care of him. His hands gripped at his bed, not wanting to pressure you to take anything further by putting them on your head.

You shifted your weight, finding a more comfortable place between his thighs. And then you see it before you feel it; the intimacy did feel different.

You saw how Logan does his best to keep his hands to himself, you feel how he tries not to thrust upwards in your hands, you feel from the way he remains so compliant with your touch that he’s not rushing you, and you saw how his eyes glint with encouragement to do whatever you want next—continue or stop, entirely up to you.

The moment was slow and heavy with trust. And that did something to you, probably the way it did something to Logan.

It made you feel good, confident, trusted, and loved.

When Logan felt your movements have slowed, he peeked at you to see that you got this dazed look on your face. He was about to reassure you that it’s okay to stop when you looked down at his dick and leaned forward, replacing your hands with the warmth of your lips. Logan choked on his breath, the words caught in his throat as he felt his self control leaving his body as he completely surrendered to you.

Logan’s entire body went still for a second, a low, guttural moan vibrated in his chest before he forced himself to relax again. His fingers gripped at the sheets again, tighter this time as his knuckles turned white. You saw this from the corner of your eyes and tapped at his thighs, reaching for one of his hands and guided it above your head. He had to fight every instinct to take over because of the action, but he reminded himself that tonight, this is what you want.

You moved over him, finding your rhythm as your eyes flicked up to look at him. His head was still thrown back, buried in his pillow, exposing his adam’s apple. His sweat glistened on his collarbone and you moaned at the sight, he looked completely undone and ruined by your touch. And the same feeling came back.

Looking at Logan, completely at your mercy and stripped of his usual protective and strong stance made you clench your thighs together. You continue pumping at his length while switching between sucking and lapping at the head, his tip leaking pre-cum. Logan’s grip on your head tightened and it should hurt, but you just took him further inside your mouth. You gagged slightly, the sound causing him to massage your jaw, motioning for you to breathe through your nose as he guided your head to stay in place.

“That’s it, gorgeous, don’t forget to breathe.” You understood what he said, you knew when to stop if it gets too much for you, but your mind started to jumble. Because how could he be so sweet and caring yet so filthy at the same time? When you felt your lungs needing some air, you pulled back, a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. And Logan was about to throw a praise when you lick from his base before taking him whole again.

“Fuck me—slow down, gorgeous. You’re killing me.”

It feels too good; the thickness in your mouth, the taste of his pre-cum oozing out directly on your tongue, the control he’s trying to gain, the way he grips at your head and caresses your cheeks just to feel himself bulging from it. Everything feels too good and without meaning to, a stray tear spilled over your lashes, tracking down your cheek and landing softly on his thighs. Logan snapped up immediately at the unwelcomed feeling, only to see you crying. The immense pleasure brought by your mouth dissipates in the air as he scrambles to seat. 

“Woah, woah, hey, talk to me.” He whispered, afraid that if he went a little louder, you'd cry even more. He wanted to move to your side, but for some reason, your hand is still wrapped around his length and you’re still between his legs. Logan tried his best to meet you eye-to-eye with the position, his hands gently cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away the dampness on your skin. “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it something I did? Was I too much?”

You only shook your head at him and Logan had to stop the sigh that wanted to escape his lips when he felt your hand gripped him, and instead focused on making sure that you’re okay. “Hey, it’s alright, we can stop now, hmm? It’s alright, I got you.”

But then you opened your mouth and Logan cursed at himself because maybe he heard it wrong, maybe he heard you wrong. There’s no way you’re crying because of that, right? His girlfriend, who is usually composed, independent, strong-willed, and doesn’t take shit from others, is crying.

All because of his dick.

He studied your face, your eyes that were blown out with lust, your lips hanging open in anticipation, your brows creased together awaiting his response. But above everything, he saw honesty and trust and it dawned on him that he didn’t hear it wrong. Logan heard you correctly.

“I don’t want to stop. I want your cock.”

Because that’s what you really said and you didn’t plan on taking it back.

Not when Logan’s eyes darkened with want as he held your face so softly, waiting for you to take your words back. Not when the words made you shudder when it left your lips, not when it caused you to rub your thighs together, not when your eyes basically watered again at the thought of it in your mouth, in your hands, in your pussy. Not when you’re pushing Logan back on the bed to hover above him, so sure of yourself, repeating the words.

“I love your cock, Johnny.”

Logan doesn’t know what to do. You are equally as obsessed as he was and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He never cried when he’s down on his knees, trapped between your legs, but he sure felt like it every single time. You make him addicted, you make him starve and crave, and you make him mad about it. And seeing you, like a reflection of himself, enjoying yourself, destroys him in a delicious way.

You spent the rest of the night sobbing at the feeling of his length in your mouth and Logan lives for it. He’d smile at you, comfort you, and praise you for it while anchoring himself to keep it together.

“Fuck, gorgeous, you take me so well.”

“You love it? Say it again, come on.”

And between his praises and the fullness of him inside your mouth, you’d look up at him just to ask, “It’s my dick now too, right?”

And Logan had to physically stop himself from pulling you back down his length, his grin widening with mischief and his eyes twinkle with something you’ve never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, his thumbs traced your lips before sliding it inside, your tongue automatically swirling around it as you await for his answer.

“So fucking right, gorgeous, it is.”

The night ended with both of you tangled in his sheets, satisfaction and pride swimming in your system. You were safely tucked beside him after your unexpected discovery, Logan peppering your head with kisses. And he thought, that was it. What he didn’t know was that behind your peaceful form, you discovered another thing.

You love Logan when he respects you in bed. But you love it more when he gets filthy.

He was on his way back to the hockey house when it happened the second time. He just bid goodbye to a classmate when his phone buzzed in his jeans. It was a message from you. An entirely unhinged message from you.

“I need it, please.”

Logan drove so fast back to the house and when he opened the door of his room, there you were, dressed in his jersey. But it didn’t take long for both of you to get undressed. The moment escalated so quickly as you dropped to your knees in front of him, tugging at his pants.

“Take it out, baby.”

And Logan never complied so fast in his life. Not even when Coach Jensen told him to do better with his moves, to skate faster. But you got him on chokehold with just your words and the next second, you were taking him in your mouth, the dirtiest words escaping his lips.

“You want it so bad, yeah? You missed it?”

“So pretty like this. Keep going. Come on, you got it.”

“Open your mouth wider, gorgeous. I thought you said you wanted it?”

And you’re equally as bad as him. The words you thought that you’ll never say are encouraged out of you because of Logan, and the way he looks at you with so much adoration and pride.

“This is only mine, right? It’s mine.”

“It feels so good in my mouth, Johnny, I don’t want to stop.”

“Yes, I wanted it. I can take it. Please.”

Logan thought—once again and he’s wrong—that would be it. But you’re sneaking into the shower room when you know he’s the only one using it and would join him. Saying how you could not wait any longer and you’d end up spending an extra hour in the showers because both of you couldn’t get enough of each other.

Or at Beau’s party, when he looks too good drinking with his friends and he’d throw teasing glances your way and he’d take it far by sending you a message, mentioning how one of the rooms was his for the night and he’d be waiting for you. Both of you would end up making out and eventually, him on top of you. He fucks you like he’s never done before, but you’re crying for it and he’d be damned if he doesn’t make it worthwhile.

And Logan is fucking sick. Because he couldn’t take the image of you crying for him, for his dick. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re thinking about it too, because he does. In the middle of the class, during practice, while showering. Any chance that he could get, he’ll think about it. During those times, he’d shoot you messages.

“Can’t stop thinking about you, gorgeous.”

“Bet you’re soaking wet for me right now.”

“So fucking hard for you, gorgeous. Is your class over?”

He’d smile so hard because your replies matched his energy, it matched his freak. He’d go over them, read them over and over again just to make sure that he’s reading it right.

“I dreamed of you fucking me and I want it now.”

“Can I come over before practice? I’ll just suck a little.”

“Do you think we can get a replica of your dick? Just for study purposes.”

Both of you are so obsessed with each other that even your friends noticed it right away. The changes in your relationship that weren’t there in the beginning, the stolen glances, the mischief behind the smiles, the sneaking in the middle of a conversation. When you and Logan disappear at the same time, they'll understand what’s happening quickly. When they catch one of you smiling at your phone, they know that you’re exchanging unhinged messages yet again.

But underneath all that—the sole reason why both of you are crazy about the sex, about each other—was the foundation you built together over time; the trust, the intimacy, the care, the love, and the understanding where the pleasure should end and begin. The respect you put into the relationship and the boundaries you’ve set, the communication between what you can cross and not.

So, yes, Logan is sick, but at least you cure him and he does the same to you—in more ways than one.

A/N: Thank you for reading, lovely! Stay safe always ♥️

[rosierecs13]

𝜗𝜚 John Logan Recs

⭒ Masterpost ⭒ 05/23/2026

⭒ Books Masterlist ⭒ TV Shows Masterlist

⭒ Off Campus Masterlist

⭒ Part 2

I think we're like fire and water | @mutantvampireearthquake

John Logan meet cute

Best Friends Sister | @bitchinbarzal

logan falls for garretts twin sister. garrett is not happy.

Find You | @/bitchinbarzal

you broke up but still call logan when you need help.

PUCK ME SIDEWAYS | @conradsmirrorball

John Logan and Dean Di Laurentis are special guest on Puck Me Sideways podcast after Y/n said in a lie detector machine that he was her crush.

The Deal With The Devil | @/conradsmirrorball

Y/n is tired of her friends keep assuming she has a crush on Garrett Graham, her best friend’s boyfriend. Her best solution? Make everyone believe she’s dating John Logan.

Idiots in love | @residentheartache

you are at party when you get cornered by a guy who can’t take a hint luckily Logan is there to save you

Death Wish | @g0ldendesiree

john logan may be in love with you, only problem? if your brother finds out then he’s a dead man walking.

Unclaimed Baggage | @/g0ldendesiree

what happens when you've got the right person in front of you, but your pasts haunt you to the point of holding back?

Mom and Dad | @/g0ldendesiree

what happens when the mom and dad of the group become, well, mom and dad?

NUMBER TWELVE | @edawgz

John logan was a firm believer that love at first sight was fake, then he saw you get checked into the boards at full strength. That was enough to convince him you were his soulmate.

My Brothers Best Friend | @saturx5

while watching your best friend and brother start to fall in love you try your hardest to hide that fact that you’re dating your brothers best friend

Jealousy | @writingsforfandoms-multi

reader gets jealous at a party

a rom com kind of love | @buckpunny1

You’re a hopeless romantic who loves romcoms. John Logan is determined, through a series of grand gestures, to prove to you that true love can be even better than the movies.

Forever | @/buckpunny1

Your exes have left you with a ton of trust issues. Lucky for you, John Logan is the most patient, perfect man for you.

Unparalleled | @/buckpunny1

Your relationship with John is freshly in bloom and you find yourself struggling with puck bunnies throwing themselves at him. Logan is right there, through it all, to prove your love is truly unparalleled.

Imagine | @sourcherryandsprinkles

Ruin the friendship | @alierecss

Falling for your brother’s best friend is already a terrible idea. Falling for John Logan, while Garrett Graham watches the two of you like a security threat, is even worse.

I said “I love you”. You say nothing back  | @/alierecss

the arrangement was simple: keep it casual, don’t catch feelings, don’t ask for more than what’s on the table. 338 days later, you’re starting to think simple was never really an option with john logan.

Night Skates, part 2 | @baby-alien11

as long as you want | @folkloure

the first time you stay with him until the morning.

good luck charm | @/folkloure

logan looks really fucking hot in a suit and it just makes you a little unhinged.

Late-Night Fuel | @andy-15-07

Bed on Fire | Masterlist | @natywrites

No one knew about John Logan’s crush on Hannah Wells except for Y/N L/N, because every time she was looking at him, he was looking at her.

unprofessional conduct | @puckingcuckbunny

The Briar hockey team treats the sports medicine clinic like their personal emergency room, Logan Tucker treats it like a second home. But the team can’t confirm nor deny your relationship… well until now

pretty little baby | @/puckingcuckbunny

It’s the end of finals week! that means that John Logan’s long time girlfriend can finally let loose at the first party post-exams, but letting loose, means a whole lot more for this man than he thought. OR you teasing Logan by calling him pretty alot.

clinical notes on loving him incorrectly | @/puckingcuckbunny

They were never casual enough to survive pretending they were

Mr. Dating Coach | @gwellsy

you pour your thoughts to logan saying you've never fallen in love and he says that you should open your heart to be able to find your person, yet when you do, he regrets giving you that advice

GRAHAM’S LITTLE SISTER | @darkkdamsel00

You return to Boston for spring break determined to keep your secret relationship with your brother’s best friend hidden, but one look from John Logan is enough to unravel every boundary you swore you’d keep.

happy thanksgiving, baby | @myfictionalcorner

logan never had a proper thanksgiving, and his girl is about to change that...

John Logan x Garrett!Reader, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 | @0miffytiffy0

ICE HEART | @beeewee

A frustrated figure skater who transferred from Illinois has only one goal: keeping her athletic scholarship this season, and she’ll do anything to change the way people on campus see her — especially if it means improving her image for pairs skating. Even if it costs her a fake relationship with the same person who spread the nickname that turned her into “Ice Heart.”

Seven steps, one word | @fezrus

from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.

Twelve Hours | @briarafterdark

Three weeks ago at Hannah's Halloween party, John Logan almost kissed you in a hallway. You panicked. You laughed. You stepped back. Neither of you has talked about it since. Now you're trapped in the hockey house during the worst snowstorm of the year — just you, just him, just twelve hours and nowhere to go.

NO HOCKEY PLAYERS | @jacksabbotts

Check Engine Light // Masterlist | @wildflowerxwords

What starts as a simple repair turns into late-night diner runs, coffee deliveries to the garage, and a growing attachment neither of you expects. Logan likes that you talk too much when you're nervous. You like that Logan becomes softer when nobody’s watching. But as pressure mounts with Logan's hockey career and real life starts pulling at you from opposite directions, you begin to wonder if you’re just a temporary stop in Logan’s fast-moving future. And Logan realizes far too late that somewhere between oil stains and midnight drives, you became the closest thing he’s ever had to home.

look at yourself | @ivysprophecy

[thebriarbunny]

A Corset… 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂, 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 ✄

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝒟𝒾 𝐿𝒶𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓈⁶⁶ 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

1.3K words

c/w ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ needy!dean, cutting corsets, unprotected p in v, backstage sex, tearing tights, praise, pet names (baby, beautiful + no y/n) + di laurentis is absolutely 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 for it

The corset clings to your body like it was painted on, teasing your curves with every shift. The shiny material of your skirt, the little wings, the fishnets stretched across your thighs—you knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself and that’s exactly what you wanted.

The second his eyes land on you, you know it’s game over. Dean hasn’t stopped staring at you since you stepped on the stage, his attention zeroed in on you whenever someone so much as breathes your air.

You’re halfway through the first act when your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, immediately having to bite back a smile.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚗𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

A second bubble appears before you can answer. You look up through the curtains, seeing him sitting in the crowd with the other hockey boys. His phone rests in one hand while he scans the stage looking for you, his thumb tapping against the screen when you make him wait a few seconds.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

He glances up, catching just a glimpse of you backstage, craning his neck for a better view. He drags a hand across his mouth and shakes his head to himself when he catches you looking, lifting his chin toward the stage, a grin tugging at one corner.

“Text me,” he mouths, his eyebrow arching. “C’mon.”

You bite your lip and roll your eyes, looking down at your phone.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 💕

The second it delivers, his gaze drops to the screen, the light glowing against his face. His mouth curves, that cute little dimple popping in his cheek.

He runs a hand through his hair before typing something, thinking better of it, then typing again when he just can’t let it go.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜?

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙻𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚍? 😂

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚙, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙱𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.

The lights flicker and dim, and the next act begins. You look up through the curtains again and catch him leaning forward in his seat, forearms braced against his knees.

The rest of the hockey boys are laughing about something beside him, but Dean doesn’t even glance over. His eyes stay fixed on the stage for another second before he finally looks down at his phone.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜?

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚕 𝚠𝚑𝚢?

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙰𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙰 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍.

The after party rages around you and every time someone leans too close—every time a drunk college boy makes a comment to him about how good you look, he winds up a little tighter until his hand catches your wrist.

“Let’s go. Now.”

Dean wastes no time pushing you into the backstage room, shutting the door with a slam, pressing your back against it. His fingers tilt your chin up, his grip a little rough as his eyes burn into yours.

“You kidding me with this?” He murmurs.

“You don’t like it—”

“I love it,” he stops you before you can even start. His hand skims down your body, over the fabric stretched across your waist and ass, gathering the material in his big hands. “Me and every other guy here.”

“You seem jealous.”

“I am jealous,” he corrects you before his mouth crashes against yours, starved and desperate. You kiss him back just as hard, fingers twisting and tugging at his hair; gasping when he grinds his hard cock against you.

Dean squeezes your ass, dragging his rough hands up your hips before smacking the satin stretched across your skin, letting that satisfying crack fill the room.

The corner of his mouth twitches as he presses his fingers against your clit, cursing under his breath. Sure, you’re in panties, but those little shorts and fishnets are still in his way. That little gasp and a moan don’t tumble from your lips like they usually do. Easy fix.

You break for air, chuckling breathily against his lips. “What’s wrong?” You whisper.

“Can’t get to you,” he pushes out a sharp breath, tugging your shorts off your hips, yanking down your panties between rough kisses, looping his fingers around the fishnets between your thighs just enough to yank a hole.

“Dean!” You gasp and he chuckles.

“Beautiful.” A rough breath leaves him and he rolls his neck once, jaw flexing as his eyes drop to the torn fishnets stretched across your thighs. “Yeah,” he says under his breath. “That was even better than I thought it was gonna be.”

His hands slide to your hips as he kisses you, your heart leaping when he flips you, your hands slapping quickly against the wall.

His lips brush along the side of your neck, chuckling deeply against your skin, pressing wet kisses as his fingers work open the bow of the corset.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans when he feels your ass press back into him, his fingers working at the ribbon faster and faster when it refuses to cooperate. “M’getting—Holy shit,” he mutters. “How do I get you out of this?” His words come out clipped with frustration.

You hear him rummaging through the clutter beside you long enough to snag a pair of scissors. He grabs your hip, huffing out a laugh when you giggle, arching your back to get a better view before—snip!

“Dean!”

“Spare me,” he rasps.

The sound of the blades snapping together makes you gasp as he cuts the ribbon crisscrossed up your back.

He tugs the top ribbon away with a satisfying slip, baring hot skin to the cool air when the corset pulls away. The scissors fall to the dressing room floor with a clatter—the zipper of his pants already down by the time he turns you, lifting you up into his arms, your bare back pressed to the cool brick wall.

Dean pushes his dick into you in one slow, steady stroke. A strangled sound catches in your throat and your hand flies back, grabbing a fistful of his hair while your other hand clamps over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Pussy’s so damn good.”

Your head falls back against the wall as he stretches you wide, his big hand tightening on your ass. He rocks back, making you whimper, his lips pressing against yours to swallow your sounds as he pushes back in again.

“Lucky I’m not teasin’ you. Needed you too bad,” Dean sighs, smiling against your lips as you breathe out, hearing just how wet he has you, the sounds of your pleasure filling your room. “These fuckin’ tights, huh? Buying you another pair so I can do this shit again.”

His tongue drags across his bottom lip as his eyes stay locked on yours. Your eyes soften as he slows down, letting gravity do the work, your body sinking down on his cock with his arms locked around you.

“You have any idea how good this feels?” He whispers, burying himself in your neck, thrusting up into you. Your fingers twist into his shirt as he grips you by your hips, drilling into you again and again until your back arches into him, and your pussy gushes, cumming around his while he does everything he can do to keep his pace, but it feels too fucking good.

He grits his teeth, not stopping until he feels your body melt in his arms, his heavy head falling to your shoulder as he breathes out a sigh of satisfaction and relief.

“I was so well behaved, you know that? I could have been so, so much worse,” he says softly, his voice breaking with pleasure as he leans in and presses a slow kiss to your mouth, tender and deep as his rough thumb traces your cheek. “Put on my sweatshirt. Let’s get out of here, huh?” He asks, quiet now, a smile pulling against your lips.

“The after party’s not over,” you tease through a breathless giggle as his nose nuzzles against yours.

He sighs, his big body pressing you up against the wall again, his head falling back with a smirk on his lips when your nails slide through his hair.

“It is for us.”

🍷🎭 taglist on my pinned post 🏒 @rafesthroatbaby @liss2709-blog @sushi-girl04 @judesgfirl @cdiaz18 @abbottjunior01 @obsessedwrafe @vanillaiceyhot @maialopez23 @rexit-mo @georgiastars13 @princessaaa13 @dragonvalyria @livlovesfastcars @thebitchylibra @corvusmorte @st8rkey @imperfectlyperfect78 @winchestersbgirl @glitterandviolence13 @miramindlesslywriting @slut-4-rafey @emelia07 @maybankslover @archxve @jujuonthatbeat1357 @parker-barnes-af @aria1108 @magcon7280 @kristenm74 @dancerbailey3 @phoebesatoru @purplerainx1 @simp4f1 @at-arax-ia @ihatepeanutss

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ he just comes running over to me

john logan x reader

summary: logan scores the winning point on a game, and you can’t help but run to him. inspired by the "the alchemy" by taylor swift. short fic, fluff. requested!

You think this might be the loudest this place has even been. 

All the people screaming, the players on the bench banging on the acrylic wall, the narrator’s voice booming over your heads through the sound system, it’s all nearly deafening. The Briar U Hawks just managed to make a comeback over the opposite team, and with just a couple minutes for the game to end, you’re sure you’re screaming louder than everyone else.

“Let’s fucking go, Logan!”

“Jesus,” you hear Jules saying, hand over their ear, “Careful or you’ll need your cords removed.”

You don’t care, genuinely. You know better than anyone the extent of how fucking hard Logan has been working for this very moment — all the nights he would go on and on rambling about the team’s struggles, the times he’d seclude himself to focus on practicing, the way his furrowed eyebrows would frame his worried eyes as he rested his head on your chest.

“You’ll find a way to work this out,” you’d say, hands fixing his hair out of his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, “I think we’re in a flunk. Maybe I’m flunking the team.”

“No, you’re not, honey,” you say, “Logan, you’re one of their greatest players. You know how much your team counts on you.”

He huffs, “I guess.”

“Hey,” you pull his face up, forcing him to look at you, “I’m serious, okay? You’ll turn it around. You’re winning this thing.”

He offers you a sad smile, then a quick peck on your face as he lies back against you.

It’s hard to watch him getting self conscious whenever the team hits a bad spot. Not only because you know the stakes for him, but because you know it’s objectively not true. So to see them play like their lives depend on it, to watch them thrive with him on the ice — you don’t think you’re screaming loud enough, actually.

Like he could read your mind, you hear your boyfriend’s name echoing through the place, 

“Logan goes for the puck, he steals it from St. A—” The narrator's voice screams, and you whip your head towards the rink, watching Logan flying over the ice. “He’s moving fast, he’s going for the goal— Oh, St. A’s defense is coming for him!” 

You think for sure he’s going to speed past them. Instead, you watch as Logan body slams not one, but two guys, heading for the goal and scoring another point, “John Logan scores another one for the Hawks!” 

In a matter of seconds, an electric buzzing sound cuts the room. A roar explodes around you, and Jules seems to forget about what they just said, joining you in your screaming, both grabbing each other for a hug as you jump, “The Briar U Hawks secure the win with an amazing comeback over their biggest rival!”

The team flungs towards Logan, jumping over him and throwing him against the acrylic in excitement. You slip away from Jules’ arms, going down the stairs to reach the rink as well, banging on the shield to catch his attention, watching as Garrett grabs Logan by the shoulders, turning him around to face you. 

Logan is a vision of pride and joy, with sweat running down his neck and a smile that splits his face open, and you desperately want to kiss him. 

He tilts his head, gesturing for you to go to the door by the player’s benches as he skates to meet you, and you run to him. You cross the threshold, grabbing Logan’s face and pulling him down to catch his lips on yours, kissing and kissing and kissing him. 

“I told you,” you murmur against his mouth, pressing quick pecks over the corner of his lips, reaching his nose, his cheeks, right under his eye, “I fucking told you, Logan.”

“You did,” a breathy laugh coming out of his mouth, reaching for you again, his salty kisses hitting you in a way that you never want to let go, staying there until his teammates pull him from you, “Move out the way, lovebirds. We all got girlfriends to kiss.”

You move to the side to let them cross the door, hiding your face on Logan’s shoulder when they walk by your side, smirks splattered over their faces making your face burn up. 

“Never again,” you whisper to him.

“What?” Logan chuckles, “No, no. I’m expecting you to give me a kiss like that every time I score something.” 

“Oh, well,” you roll your eyes in a playful way, pressing another quick peck to his lips, “If that’s what it takes to make you win again, then I guess I’ll have to do it.”

notes: thank you for reading! requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are very much appreciated! <3

john logan masterlist

[sunnydilaurentis]

you're it for me | john logan ✶

summary: in which john logan spends an entire night accidentally proving that he's completely and utterly whipped for his girlfriend.

pairing: john logan x fem!reader

notes: this fic is based on this request! thank you so much for this idea! <3 i hope you enjoy 💌

ꪆৎ

the thing nobody tells you about john logan is that his reputation had existed long before you were with him.

before you ever met him, before you'd ever stepped foot in the hockey house, before you'd even known his name, there were already stories.

stories about parties, stories about girls, stories about john logan being john logan.

he had always been confident, social, charming without even trying. he was the kind of person who would walk into a room and somehow know everybody by the time he left.

people gravitated towards him naturally, they always had, which was why even now, nearly a year into your relationship, people still occasionally had the wrong impression.

especially people who didn't know him. especially those who only knew the version of him they'd heard about. the version that existed before you, the one his friends found hilarious because it no longer existed at all.

it starts after a friday night home game. a good win, the kind that leaves everybody in an incredible mood. the team heads out afterwards, claiming a cluster of tables at malone's, the music loud enough that half their conversations are shouted just to be heard.

you'd texted earlier saying you'd meet them there after finishing something with allie. logan had responded with a simple message.

logan 💌

i can't wait to see you.

which, according to dean, was embarrassing enough on its own. logan had told him to give it a rest, dean naturally hadn't listened.

now, nearly forty minutes later, logan is sitting in a booth, nursing a beer while absentmindedly checking his phone for what has to be the twentieth time. not because you're late. you aren't. you'd told him approximately when you'd arrive.

he knows that, he's fully aware of that.

he simply just misses you.

which is apparently enough to make him act like he hasn't seen you in weeks instead of a few hours.

"you know y/n isn't arriving any faster because you keep checking."

logan doesn't bother looking up, he knows exactly whose speaking before the sentence is even finished.

dean.

"i know."

"then stop doing it."

"no."

dean sighs dramatically. "garrett, tell him."

garrett glances over from his conversation, takes one look at logan and immediately shakes his head. "i'm not getting involved."

"coward."

"i just know an unwinnable battle."

before dean can continue, a group of girls approach the table. it's not unusual. it happens after almost every game, especially after wins. they recognise a couple of the players immediately and start talking, introducing themselves, asking questions about the season.

normal stuff, harmless.

except somewhere along the way, two of them end up sitting beside logan, and unfortunately for everyone involved, they've mistaken basic politeness for interest.

logan, meanwhile, remains completely unaware.

he isn't paying much attention, completely oblivious to the obvious advances from the girls beside him. he answers questions when asked, nods occasionally, offers the odd smile, but his attention keeps drifting elsewhere.

towards the entrance, towards his phone. towards literally anything other than the conversation happening before him.

"waiting for someone?" one of the girls asks eventually.

logan glances up from his phone. "yeah."

the answer comes immediately, without hesitation, without thought, like it's simply a fact.

the girl's smile begins to fade. "girlfriend?"

for the first time all evening, logan looks genuinely interested in the conversation.

"yeah." his smile appears instantly, small at first, then bigger.

"she's meeting us here."

dean groans, actually groans, loudly.

"don't encourage him."

logan frowns.

"encourage me to what?"

"talk about her."

"i wasn't."

"you were about to."

"i wasn't."

"you literally smiled."

"because i like my girlfriend."

"exactly."

tucker nearly chokes on his drink. garrett looks down at the table, visibly smirking. the girls laugh, assuming they're joking, assuming they're exaggerating.

because surely they have to be.

"your girlfriend must hate hockey season."

logan finally looks away from the entrance, turning his gaze onto the girl beside him. "why?"

"because you're busy all the time. it sounds like a pretty intense schedule."

his entire expression softens immediately, the change is almost ridiculous.

"nah." he shakes his head. "she's pretty great about it."

"she sounds perfect."

logan smiles into his beer. "pretty much."

dean makes a strangled noise. garrett immediately buries his face in his hands.

"there it is."

"what?"

"nothing."

"she is perfect."

"there it is again."

logan shakes his head, a small smile gracing his features. "you guys are annoying. am i not allowed to express my love for my girlfriend anymore?"

"you can..."

dean gestures vaguely towards him.

"it's just that you genuinely talk about y/n every hour of every day."

logan considers arguing, he really does. then he shrugs. "that sounds about right."

the girls exchange a glance, slightly confused now. this isn't what they expected. they'd approached john logan, the john logan they'd heard about. the sweet, charming one. the guy everybody seemed to have a story about. instead they've somehow ended up listening to him talk about his girlfriend for the last ten minutes.

the worst part is that nobody at the table seems surprised, if anything, they seem exhausted by it.

-

logan hasn't checked the door in almost fifteen minutes. he hasn't looked towards the entrance once.

it's the longest his attention has stayed anywhere all evening. not because of who's asking the questions, but because they're asking about you.

dean notices first, the way logan suddenly goes quiet, the way his eyes drift past the table, over the crowd, until they land on you.

the smile appears instantly, effortlessly, like breathing.

"here she is."

the words are quiet, almost to himself, but everybody hears them.

everybody watches him stand. he doesn't hesitate, doesn't finish his drink, doesn't excuse himself. he simply gets up and starts walking.

you spot him halfway across the room and your entire face brightens immediately. the second you smile at him, dean lets out the loudest groan imaginable.

because somehow the idiot smiles even wider.

"look at him."

tucker laughs. "it's actually kind of sweet."

"it's disgusting."

"you've said that every week for eleven months."

"and i'll say it again."

across the room logan reaches you. his hand settles instinctively against your waist, pulling you into his side without even thinking about it, you lean into him just as naturally.

from where they're sitting, his friends watch every remaining trace of attention he might have given anything else disappear completely.

you're talking, telling him about your day, about allie, about something that happened in class and logan is looking at you like you're the most fascinating person in the room, the most important person in the room, the only person in the room.

one of the girls watches for a moment before finally turning towards garrett.

"...he really loves her, huh?"

garrett doesn't even hesitate. "more than hockey." the entire table laughs in response, because that's the highest level of commitment john logan is capable of.

the truth is, people see john logan and assume they know him. they see the confidence, the flirting. they hear the stories.

they see a guy who enjoys attention and assume he must still be looking for it. the people who actually know him know better. because the second you walk into a room, his attention belongs entirely to you.

they know that no matter who's talking to him, who's flirting with him, who's trying to get his attention, his eyes are always searching for the same person.

while they tease him for it relentlessly, while they roll their eyes every time he somehow manages to bring you into a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with you, the truth is, none of them really mind.

for the first time in a long time, logan is happy, truly happy, and a lot of that has to do with you.

[broodingboysimp]

Drive Safe

John Logan x Female!Reader

Warnings: car accident, drunk driving, graphic description of accident/wreckage, overall intense angst tones

Summary: When you borrow Logan's truck for a late-night rehearsal, a drunk driver changes everything - and Logan spends the worst hours of his life learning exactly how it feels to almost lose someone he loves.

Author's Note: I read the Garrett version of this fic (linked here) and LOVED it, so I had to take a shot at writing a John Logan one. I am almost done reading The Mistake and it has seriously confused me on my stance between Garrett or Logan. Perhaps both? Perhaps even at the same time... lol...

"Are you sureeee it's okay if I borrow your car?" You drew the word out, hovering by the door with your bag slung over one shoulder and Logan's keys dangling from two fingers like you were holding a live wire instead of a key ring. "I know it's like your baby."

Logan didn't even look up from where he was crouched in front of the TV, untangling a controller cord that didn't need untangling. "Take the truck, Y/N."

"I'm serious. If I so much as scratch it, I feel like you'd actually leave me."

That got him to look up. He grinned at you, that lazy, lopsided grin that still did something stupid to your stomach even after you'd seen it approximately four thousand times. "Babe. I built that engine with my own two hands. I've replaced the transmission. I know that truck better than I know most people." He stood, crossed the room, and looped his arms around your waist. "And I'd still rather you have it than take the bus in this weather."

"The bus isn't that bad."

"The bus is practically a crime and you know it."

You laughed, leaning into him. "Okay, fine, the bus is pretty nasty. But you love that truck more than you love Garrett."

"Hard to say," Garrett called from the couch, not looking away from the screen where he was loading up whatever game they'd decided was going to eat their Thursday night. "I'd say it's close."

"It's not close," Logan said. "But Y/N's not taking the bus to rehearsal in the snow, so." He shrugged like it settled the matter, because to him, it did. He pressed a kiss to your temple. "Me and Garrett are staying in tonight anyway. Full video game lineup. Garrett bought snacks that are concerning in quality."

"They're concerning in quantity," Garrett corrected. "I only bought the good kind."

You rolled your eyes, smiling softly. The kind of smile that came easy around him these days, easier than it used to come around anyone. Six months in and John Logan still looked at you like you'd personally hung the moon, like letting you borrow the one material possession he actually cared about was the simplest decision in the world.

"You're a sap," you told him, grabbing your bag again.

"I'm aware."

You kissed him on your way to the door. Quick, easy, the kind of kiss you don't think twice about because you assume there will be a thousand more just like it. He caught your wrist before you could pull all the way back.

"Drive safe," he said.

"Yes, dad," you said, smirking, and ducked out before he could swat at you.

He laughed, shaking his head as the door shut behind you, and turned back to Garrett and the controllers and the concerning amount of snacks, already thinking about absolutely nothing important at all.

---

It was snowing harder than the forecast had promised, the kind of fat, fast snow that turned headlights into smears and made every taillight ahead look like it was floating. You drove careful. Drove the way you always drove when it wasn't your car. Slow on the turns, hands at ten and two, radio low enough that you could hear road noise change under the tires.

You did everything right.

You just couldn't control the truck that came through the intersection against the light, going twice the speed the weather allowed, driven by someone who'd had more to drink than they should have before they got behind the wheel.

It happened too fast to be anything but a blur. A blur of headlights where there shouldn't have been headlights. A blur of sound, metal folding, glass giving way all at once.

Then there was nothing.

---

Back at the house, the TV glowed blue against the dark living room, gunfire and explosions filling the silence between Logan and Garrett's trash talk. It was a good night. An easy night. The kind of night where nothing was supposed to happen.

Logan's phone had been buzzing on the couch cushion for almost a full minute before he even registered it.

"You gonna get that?" Garrett asked, eyes still on the screen.

"It's not important." Logan glanced at it without picking it up. Couldn't be Y/N. You'd be deep in rehearsal by now, phone shoved in your bag.

But the phone didn't stop. It rang out, went silent for three seconds, and started right back up again.

"Dude," Garrett said, finally looking over. "That's like the third time."

Logan sighed, paused the game, and grabbed the phone off the cushion, already annoyed at whoever was about to ruin the one quiet night he'd had in weeks.

DEAN.

Logan answered. "Dude, what-"

The sound that came through the line wasn't words at first. It was breath. A long, shaking exhale, the kind you make when something terrible almost happened and didn't, the relief so big it comes out sounding like it hurts.

"Logan. Oh my god. Logan, you're okay. You're actually-" Dean's voice cracked, words tripping over each other. "Tucker and I were driving back from the rink, man, and there was this accident, this horrible accident, the one car was wrapped around the pole, it was - I swear to god it looked exactly like your truck. I thought - I genuinely thought it was you, I've been calling for like five minutes straight, I thought-"

The words were coming too fast, tumbling over one another, but Logan's brain had already snagged on one phrase and gone perfectly, horribly still.

Your truck.

"What," Logan said. His voice didn't sound like his own voice. "What car. What - Dean, where."

Something in his tone must have shifted, because Dean's rambling cut off mid-sentence. "Logan?"

He couldn't answer. His chest had gone tight in a way that didn't make sense, in a way his body understood a full beat before his brain caught up, because Y/N had the truck. Y/N had taken his truck to rehearsal tonight. Y/N was somewhere out on those roads, in the snow, in his car, and Dean was talking about an accident, an accident that looked exactly like-

"Logan?" Garrett's voice this time, closer. He'd set down his own controller, was watching Logan's face do something he'd clearly never seen it do before. "Logan, what's wrong?"

Logan couldn't speak. The phone was still pressed to his ear, Dean saying his name over and over on the other end, and Logan's vision had gone strange and tunneled, like the room had tilted three degrees to the left.

Garrett pulled the phone gently out of his hand. "Dean, it's Garrett. What's going on."

Logan watched his best friend's face change as Dean explained. Watched it go from confused to alarmed to something carefully, deliberately calm, the kind of calm Garrett only put on when something was actually, seriously wrong.

"Where," Garrett said. A pause. "Okay. Okay, listen to me. Y/N had the truck tonight. She took it to rehearsal." Another pause. Logan watched Garrett's jaw tighten, watched him glance over with an expression he was clearly trying to keep from cracking. "Yeah. Yeah, man, I know. We're coming, we're coming right now."

He hung up. Looked at Logan, who hadn't moved from the couch, who was staring at nothing with his hands shaking in his lap.

"Logan. Hey. We have to go right now."

Logan didn't remember standing up. Didn't remember his shoes, or the door, or Garrett's hand wrapped around his arm steering him toward the car because Logan's legs weren't entirely cooperating, weren't entirely sure how walking worked anymore. There was a roaring in his ears that wouldn't quit, a single thought looping over and over with nowhere to go and no way to make it stop:

You could be gone. You could already be gone and he let you take the truck and he told you to drive safe like that would be enough, like saying it would actually protect you.

He didn't know what to do with that thought. He'd never had to know what to do with a thought like that before.

The drive to the accident site took eleven minutes. It felt like eleven years.

When they pulled up, the scene was lit up in flashing red and blue, snow falling sideways through the lights, and Logan's whole body went cold the second he saw it.

The truck, his truck, crumpled in on the driver's side like a soda can, the front end accordioned around a light pole, glass scattered across the asphalt in a wide glittering fan. The driver's door was completely caved. The roof had buckled on one side.

He was out of the car before Garrett had even put it in park.

"Logan-!"

He didn't hear him. He was walking toward it, faster, then running, some animal part of his brain refusing to accept what his eyes were telling him until he was close enough to see every detail. The caved door. The spiderwebbed windshield. The dark stain on the snow beneath the wreckage that he refused to let himself look at directly.

His knees gave out.

He didn't decide to fall. The ground just came up to meet him, and then he was on his knees in the snow and the cold and the wreckage of the only thing in his life he'd ever built with his own hands, and the sound that came out of him didn't feel like it belonged to him at all. Something raw and wrecked, a sob ripped loose from somewhere underneath every other feeling he'd ever had.

"Logan." Garrett was there, hands under his arms, hauling him half-upright even as Logan's whole body shook. "Logan, hey. Look at me. You gotta breathe, man."

"That's my car," Logan said, and it didn't come out as words so much as a gasp, splintered and wet. "That's - Garrett, that's my car, she was in my car, Y/N was-"

"I know. I know." Garrett's voice cracked too now, holding him up even as his own eyes went glassy. "We don't know anything yet. You gotta breathe."

Headlights swung in behind them. Dean and Tucker, out of the car before it had fully stopped, and then there were four of them in the snow, the boys flanking Garrett, all three of them holding Logan up like he might shatter if they let go, because he might.

He genuinely might.

Tucker peeled off toward one of the officers standing near the wreckage. Logan watched him through a blur of tears and snowfall, watched him talking, gesturing, watched the officer's expression shift when he glanced over at Logan.

Tucker came back. His face was pale and carefully empty.

"They took her to Hastings General," he said quietly. "That's all they'd tell me."

"We have to go," Logan said, except his voice barely worked. "We have to go, we have to-"

"We're going," Garrett said. "Right now. Come on."

Logan didn't remember the drive to the hospital. Not really. He remembered being in the back seat, wedged between Garrett and Dean like they thought he might try to climb out at a red light, like he was something fragile that needed containing. He remembered staring at his own hands and not recognizing them. He remembered Tucker driving too fast and nobody telling him to slow down.

He felt like a shell. Like someone had scooped everything out of him and left the outline standing.

The waiting room was too bright. Fluorescent and humming and smelling like antiseptic, every chair the same shade of blue. Logan sat in one of them with his hands clasped so tight between his knees his knuckles had gone white, staring at a spot on the floor like it might tell him something.

Allie and Hannah arrived not long after. Garrett had texted them from the car, hands shaking too badly to call. Hannah went straight to Garrett, and Allie crouched in front of Logan's chair and took both of his hands in hers without saying anything at all, because there wasn't anything to say yet.

Your family was three states away, too far to do anything but wait by a phone for updates Allie had promised to send the second there was something to send. Which meant in that waiting room, in that moment, Allie's hands wrapped around Logan's were the closest thing to family in the building.

Nobody spoke much after that. There wasn't anything to fill the silence with that didn't sound stupid. So they just sat.

Hours passed in the kind of slow, syrupy way that only happens in hospital waiting rooms. Someone got coffee at some point. Nobody drank it. Garrett had his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Dean kept checking his phone and then putting it face-down. Tucker stared at the wall across from him like it was the most captivating thing in the world.

Logan didn't cry again during any of it. He didn't have anything left. He just sat there, hollowed out, running the same loop: drive safe, drive safe, I told her drive safe, like the words had failed some sacred duty he hadn't known he'd given them.

It was well past midnight, everyone's eyes red-rimmed and swollen, when a doctor finally pushed through the double doors and scanned the room.

"Family of Y/N L/N?"

Every single one of them stood up at once.

The doctor's eyes found Allie. "You're listed as her emergency contact?"

Allie nodded, voice already cracking. "Yes. That's me."

"Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Logan watched them step aside. Watched the doctor talk low and measured. Watched Allie's hand fly up to cover her mouth. Every second felt like a year. He didn't breathe the entire time.

When Allie came back, her face was wet and streaked with mascara.

"She's-" Allie's voice broke immediately. She tried again. "She's in pretty bad shape. Broken wrist, broken leg, some internal bruising, a lot of cuts from the glass. She's still not conscious. But-" she pressed a hand flat to her own chest like she needed to hold something in, "-the doctor said given how bad it looked, she's going to be okay. She's going to be okay."

Logan's knees buckled for the second time that night. Garrett and Dean both caught him, lowering him back into the chair, and his whole body shook with something that wasn't quite crying and wasn't quite laughing and was somehow both at once.

The relief was so enormous it felt indistinguishable from grief.

"They said we can go back, a couple at a time," Allie said, wiping her face. She looked at Garrett, then at Logan. "Take him first."

The hallway felt impossibly long. Logan's legs barely worked, Garrett's hand steady against his back the entire way. When they reached the door and the nurse pointed them inside, Logan stopped in the doorway.

You looked so small in the bed.

Smaller than he'd ever seen you look. Swallowed by white sheets and the soft mechanical beeping of monitors, a cast running up your left leg, another cast cradling your left wrist. Cuts crossed your face and neck in thin red lines, some of them stitched, all of them stark against skin gone pale from blood loss and shock. There was a bruise blooming dark along your jaw.

The sob came up out of him before he could stop it.

"Hey." Garrett's hand tightened on his shoulder. "She's okay. She's right here."

Logan crossed the room and sank into the chair beside the bed. He took your right hand, the unbroken one, as carefully as if it might shatter too, and held it. He ran his thumb slowly over your knuckles, over and over.

Some old animal instinct: if he just kept touching you, kept feeling the warmth of your skin and the faint pulse under his fingers, his body might finally believe that you were still here. Still real.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, even though you couldn't hear him. Even though there was nothing for him to apologize for and he still needed to say it. "I should've driven you. I should've never let you take it in the snow."

His breathing started to even out eventually. Slow and ragged, then steadier. Grounded in the feel of your hand in his. Garrett stood quiet in the corner and didn't say anything because there wasn't anything that needed saying.

It was almost an hour later when your fingers twitched.

Logan's head snapped up. "Y/N?"

Your eyes moved first, slow and heavy, fighting against whatever they'd given you for the pain. When they finally found him, hazy at first and then sharpening, something in Logan's chest cracked open all over again.

"Logan?" Your voice came out wrecked, barely there. Confusion clouded your face as you took in the room, the machines, the cast on your arm. "What - where am I, what happened-"

"You were in an accident." He barely got the words out. His free hand came up to brush hair gently back from one of the cuts on your forehead. "Someone ran the light. You're at the hospital. You're okay."

Your eyes filled. Tears slipped down over the cuts on your cheeks, and your grip on his hand tightened as much as it could.

"Your car," you whispered. The horror dawned across your face almost immediately, cutting right through the fog of painkillers and shock. "Logan, your car. I wrecked your car. I'm so sorry. You built that whole engine, I-"

And Logan, despite everything, despite every awful hour of that night, laughed. An actual laugh, involuntary, and completely disbelieving. Because of course. Of course that was the first thing out of your mouth. Half-conscious, covered in stitches, and already worried about the truck.

"Are you serious right now," he said.

"It was your baby," you mumbled, fresh tears slipping free, which only made it worse somehow.

"Yeah." He exhaled, shook his head. Looked at you. At the cuts and the bruises and the cast, and at the fact that you were awake and looking back at him, which was the only thing that actually mattered. "It's also just a truck, Y/N."

"That you built."

"That I can rebuild." He said it flatly, like it was obvious, because to him it was. "I know how to fix the truck. I had no idea what I was gonna do about the other thing."

You stared at him for a second. "The other thing."

"You. The other thing is you."

You let out a short, wet laugh and immediately winced. "That's the most you've ever said about your feelings in six months."

"Don't push it. You're on drugs."

"I'm retaining every word of this."

"You're really not," he said. "Go back to sleep."

"I just woke up."

"Go back to sleep anyway."

You laughed again, quieter this time.

Outside the door, Garrett slipped out into the hallway to tell the others. Down toward the waiting room, the group of exhausted friends with red-rimmed eyes would fall apart all over again, this time in relief. But Logan didn't think about any of that. He just sat there holding your hand, listening to the monitors beep their steady, boring rhythm.

"Drive safe," Logan murmured, "really does mean something, you know."

"I'll remember that," you whispered back, "next time I steal your truck."

"There's not gonna be a next time."

"There's absolutely gonna be a next time."

And despite everything, Logan laughed again, soft and full and real, because you were here, and as long as that stayed true, he figured he could survive just about anything else.

[linaaawrites]

Hi love, I don´t know wether you´ve watched Off Campus or not but if you´re willing I would love for you to write a smutty fic about one of the guys (I really don´t care who). Thank you!!!!

I didn't finish the series yet, but I read all of the books and loved them!

Talk You Through It

pairing: John Logan x female reader

description: Logan teaches you how to suck him off.

TW: MDNI, Smut, oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, inexperienced reader.

masterlist

The waves are still rippling through your body when you force your eyes open. Logan is hovering above you, his expression a mixture of awe and satisfaction as he watches you come down from your first real orgasm. Your chest heaves, skin tingling, and a new desire begins to build in the pit of your stomach.

"I want to... I want to make you feel good too," you manage, your voice raspy from your cries of pleasure.

Logan's brows furrow slightly. "You don't have to, baby. This was about you."

"No, I want to," you insist, pushing yourself up on your elbows. "I just... I don't really know how."

A slow smile spreads across Logan's face. "Oh, I can definitely teach you." He shifts to sit back against the headboard, patting the space in front of him. "Come here."

You crawl over to him, your movements still slightly unsteady from your orgasm. The confidence you felt moments ago wavers as you kneel between his legs, facing his very obvious erection straining against his boxers.

"Hey," Logan says softly, tilting your chin up. "We'll go slow. Just do what feels natural. I'll guide you."

You nod, taking a deep breath as you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help you pull them down and his cock springs free. Your eyes widen slightly, you've seen him before, touched him before, but never like this, never with the explicit purpose of giving him pleasure.

"Start with your hands," Logan instructs, his voice already a little breathy. "Just explore a bit. See what I like."

You wrap your hand around him, surprised by the heat and weight of him in your palm. You give a tentative stroke and his hips buck slightly.

"Fuck, yeah," he groans. "Just like that. A little firmer."

You tighten your grip, stroking him from base to tip. A bead of precum gathers at the tip and without thinking, you swipe it away with your thumb. Logan hisses at the contact.

"Sensitive?" you ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Very," he admits. "Now try using your mouth. Just the tip at first."

You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock before letting your tongue dart out to taste him. The salty, slightly bitter flavor isn't unpleasant and you take him into your mouth, just the tip at first.

"God, your mouth," Logan groans, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. "Take a little more. Use your tongue."

You obey, taking him deeper and swirling your tongue around him. You find a rhythm, bobbing your head as you stroke him with your hand. It's messy, saliva drips down your chin, you accidentally scrape him with your teeth once, earning a sharp intake of breath from Logan, but his moans and praises encourage you to keep going.

"Such a fast learner," he praises, his hips thrusting slightly to meet your mouth. "Look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth."

You moan around him, the vibrations making his thighs tremble beneath you. You're getting braver now, taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat. You gag slightly but don't pull back, instead swallowing around him.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," Logan groans, his grip tightening in your hair. "You're going to make me come if you keep that up."

You redouble your efforts, wanting to see him fall apart the way he made you. You hollow your cheeks, sucking harder as your hand works in tandem with your mouth.

"Look at me," he commands, and you lift your eyes to meet his. The sight of you, lips swollen, eyes watery, cheeks flushed, seems to be his undoing.

"Close," he warns, his voice strained. "Gonna come."

You don't pull back, instead taking him as deep as you can. With a guttural groan, Logan spills down your throat. You swallow what you can, some of it escaping to drip down your chin.

When he's finished, you release him with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Logan collapses back against the headboard, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

"Come here," he says, pulling you up to straddle his lap. His lips find yours in a deep, passionate kiss that tastes faintly of him.

"That was..." he trails off, searching for the right word. "Incredible. You're incredible."

You blush, burying your face in his neck. "I was a bit messy."

Logan chuckles, rubbing circles on your back. "I like messy. Means you were enjoying yourself." He pulls back to look at you, his expression soft. "That was fucking amazing."

A smile spreads across your face. "Thank you."

"I am so proud of you, baby," John says, kissing your forehead.

He shifts, settling you more comfortably against him as he pulls the blankets around you both. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as his fingers trace patterns on your skin.

[iceyngi]

Just Good Friends

☄︎ Warnings: logan puts reader in a headlock (not during smut). smut. alcohol drinking. both being oblivious af. nipple play. reader needy af. missionary (legs on shoulders)   ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut. ☄︎ Words: 6175 ☄︎ Summary: Logan’s been your best friend for two years now. And it takes you way too long to realise that you both want more.

💭: john ‘closed cans are safer’ logan. i love you bad! i'll come back to readover this one again as it's a long one and i feel like i missed sth! if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc, it means a lot xx

Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here. 〣 Logan Masterlist here.

If you were asked to explain your relationship with John Logan, you’d probably tell people that he’s your best friend. Your person. The Mark Sloan to your Callie Torres, without the sex and baby part, of course...

The point is; he was a true friend. You supported one another through messy breakups, study meltdowns, hockey losses, and family drama all throughout your Freshman and Sophomore years. Sure, there were a few alcohol-induced kisses scattered across the past 24-months, but you did that with all your friends. It was Briar culture. It didn’t mean anything.

You were just best friends.

You didn’t believe in blurring boundaries. However, tonight, the foundations you’d spent the last two years building felt like the were being held together by nothing more than scotch tape and silly string.  

The Hawks’ house smelt like a mixture of sweaty men, cheap citrus air freshener, and the greasy takeout that you and Logan had half-eaten and left on the kitchen island hours ago. You were slouched down on the sofa, scrolling through TikTok on your phone. Sprawled out next to you, with his heavy head resting on your lap, was Logan.

It was a position you’d found yourselves in a thousand times before. He was exhausted from the last practice, and you were his designated safe zone. The hand that wasn’t holding your phone was buried in his thick curls, your fingers absentmindedly massaging his scalp in the way that always got him to relax. His legs were dangled off of the opposite armrest, his eyes closed and breathing slow.

You glanced down at him. His eyelashes were annoyingly long, “why are men always blessed with long eyelashes?” you thought to yourself. There were faint bags under his eyes from a week straight of college essays, early morning ice time, and his shifts at the garage.

Without thinking, your thumb brushed the edge of his cheekbone, sweeping away a stray eyelash.

He smiled faintly but didn’t open his eyes, his breathing still calm and measured and you turned back to your phone screen.

The next video on your for you page had you snorting. You took your fingers out of his hair to forward the video to your group chat with a message.  

That had Logan’s eyes cracking open. He blinked against the dim light coming from the lamp in the corner, his dark eyes looking up at you from your lap. “What’s so funny?” he grumbled.

“Nothing,” you smiled, looking down at him. “Just a funny video.”

Logan grunted and reached up, his calloused hand gently wrapping around your wrist to pull the phone down closer to his face. “Let me see.”

Angling the phone so he could watch, you cringed internally. He was not going to get this. The text on the screen read: “When he knows how to handle you”. In the video, the guy had his massive forearm around a girl’s neck, trapping her into a headlock while she giggled. Logan watched the video loop twice, then he looked up at you, his brow furrowing before he looked back at the screen and watched it loop once more.

“What the fuck are you watching?” Logan asked, a genuine chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Don’t judge,” you said as you gave him a light slap on his shoulder. Your fingers then slid back into his hair, resuming their massage of his scalp. “It’s actually really hot.”

“Girls like being put in a headlock?” He scoffed.

“Yeah, it’s hot,” you retorted, standing your ground. “Especially when a man has like... thick arms.”

The sleepy look in Logan’s eye was completely gone. He slowly sat up and swung his legs around to face you.

“Why do I feel like you’re giving me dating advice that’s going to get me arrested?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t tell you to go and find a random girl on the street to tackle, Jonathon.”

It annoyed the hell out of him when you called him that, which is precisely why you called him that when he annoyed the hell out of you. you got the reaction that you were hoping for. His eyes squinted at you, his jaw clenching as his lips pressed together in a tight line.  

“Anyway,” you continued as you tried to suppress your laugh. “It’s obviously only hot when you trust the man.”

“You trust me.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer him. You turned back to your phone, suddenly hyper aware that he was still looking in your direction.

Logan just stared at you, a serious expression settling over his face as he contemplated your words. The gears were turning in his head, his gaze dropping briefly to your neck before snapping back to your eyes.

“Right,” he said, abruptly standing up from the couch. “I still think you’re weird, but okay.”

“It’s not nice to kink shame, Jonathon.”

He paused mid-step, turning back to look down at you. “If you call me that again, I’m going to pull you into a headlock.”

“I’ll run,” you challenged, shifting your weight to the edge of the cushion.

“I’ll chase you.”

“You are not going to chase me around this room.”

“Try me.”

He looked serious. Really serious. And you had no reason to believe he was bluffing. But, looking up at him and that challenging glint he had in his eyes, you found a reckless part of yourself desperate to test him.

You stood up slowly, backing away a step. “I don’t believe you ... Jonathon.”

The last syllable of the name had barely gotten out before he essentially pounced on you.

Your shriek dissolved into laughter as you bolted around the couch. But, as fast as you were, he was faster. He closed the distance with barely any effort. Before you could reach the edge of the living room, two pairs of heavy hands clamped around your waist.

He manhandled you with ease, pulling you back and flush against his chest.

In the next second, his forearm slid over your shoulder, hooking dominatingly around your neck. You could feel his chest rising and falling against your shoulder blades.

His face buried in the crook of your beck, his warm breath brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I told you I’d chase you.”

A sharp gasp caught in your throat. You were locked against him. Even if you wanted to move, which admittedly, you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to.

The moment your body collided with his, Logan lost all sense of self. He had honestly expected this to be a joke, a stupid thing he did where you’d both laugh it off and you’d go back to scrolling on your phone as he napped. But, the second your back hit his chest, the second your hips pressed firmly against his crotch, his brain basically shut down.

You shifted against him slightly, trying to find your footing and get comfortable in his tight grip. The friction of the movement sent an aggressive jolt of heat right below his stomach.

‘Oh,’ Logan thought, a wave of panic flooding through his system even as his grip subconsciously pulled you closer against him. “This is bad. Really, really bad.’

Despite the alarm bells ringing in his head, he didn’t let you go. He couldn’t. in fact, he leant in slightly closer, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of you. It filled his lungs, making his chest ache with a wave of possessiveness that he had absolutely no right to feel over a ‘best friend’.

Underneath his arm, you were frozen.

You had hugged Logan a thousand times. You had leant on him during late night study sessions, had fallen asleep on his shoulder during road trips, you’d even shared a bed with him after varous movie marathons. It had never, ever felt like this.

You could feel his heart beating frantically against your back. It was racing. You hand went up to his forearm, your fingers wrapping it. You held onto him, not even attempting to pull his arm away, even though every rational bone in your body told you that you should.

In a normal friendship, this is the part where he would laugh, call you a loser, and let you go. But he was holding you for far too long for it to be a joke. His forearm was pressed firmly against your collarbone, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your shirt at your shoulder. He had zero intention of letting you go.

‘Since when were his arms THIS big?’  you thought, mind dizzy and overwhelmed.

A knot of heat coiled deep in your stomach. You felt an ache in between your thighs. The kind that was desperate and dizzying and you had no right to be feeling towards your ‘best friend’.

‘’Get it together!’ you screamed at yourself internally.

“Ummm, Logan,” you choked out, your voice coming out embarrassingly breathless. “You should probably let go now.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.”

Logan’s breath was ragged as he slowly, almost relucatantly, unraveled his arm from your neck. He immediately stepped back, clearing his throat roughly and refusing to meet you eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I guess... I get the hype,” he muttered awkwardly.

“Ha! Awesome,” you replied, just as awkwardly.

You practically sank back down onto the couch, your knees feeling like jelly, while Logan moved toward the kitchen island. He began aggressively clearing up the food containers, his back turned to you as his shoulders tensed.

The silence that was in the living room now was no longer comfortable. It was heavy, dripping with something you were too scared to contemplate about now. the invisible boundary had been crossed and you weren’t sure if you could even go back now. or, if you wanted to.

⋆꙳⛸❅*‧

The shift was almost immediate. For the next two weeks, even being in the same room as him sent you into a panic. It was made much worse by the fact that that was also his reaction. You tried to be normal, chilling in the hockey house as you usually did. But, when you both reached for the remote at the same time and your fingers brushed, Logan pulled his hand back as if he’d been brunt.

When you sat on the coach, Logan stayed on the opposite end. When you turned to speak, Logan kept his eyes on his book, even though you’d noticed that he hadn’t turned a page in almost 30 minutes.

But then, there were times where you’d catch him staring, watching your mouth as you spoke. When you caught him, he would look away immediately.

You felt like you were losing your mind. You couldn’t tell if he was acting like this because he felt awkward, or if he was just reacting to your awkwardness.

You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, trying get the imagines of him that kept flashing up out of your mind. It mostly involved his biceps wrapping around you as he fucked-.

“Okay, no, I’m obviously just sexually oppressed,” you muttered to yourself. It had been a while since you’d last been with someone, longer than you realised until this moment. “Logan is objectively hot and my brain is just playing tricks on me.”

That was the lie you told yourself. And, to prove it, you finally said yes to Lyle.

He was... nice. He had bright blonde hair, played lacrosse, and had been asking you out at nearly every party you went to for the last few months. You never really turned him down, and he took that as encouragement to keep asking. Truthfully, you hadn’t much minded the attention, even if you had previously never planned to do anything with it. But now, he was the perfect, and safe, distraction you needed from your newfound fixation on your best friend.

The following Thursday afternoon, you walked into the hockey house to drop off a textbook that you had borrowed from Tucker. You weren’t even sure if Logan would be there, as he hadn’t exactly been texting you much.

When you turned the corner, Logan was sitting at the kitchen island, shaking a protein shake in one hand as he scrolled through something on his iPad.

“Hey,” you said, making an effort to keep your voice casual. You tossed the textbook onto the counter.

Logan’s head snapped up instantly. The second his eyes took you in, his posture straightened. At least he was looking at you now. “Hey. You’re dressed up.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very self-conscious in your ‘dressed-up’ clothes. “Yeah. Um. I actually have a date in like, twenty minutes so I need to go–.”

“A what?” Logan froze; the protein shake in his hand stopping halfway to his mouth. “A date? What do you mean a date? With who? Sorry, what?”

Logan’s voice didn’t even sound like him.

“It’s just with Lyle. From class,” you said. Despite how your heart was currently doing backflips in your chest, your voice was steady. “We’re just getting drinks downtown. It’s no big deal.”

Slowly setting the shake on the island, Logan stood up. You blinked in surprise as you realised, he looked... angry?

“Lyle?” Logan scoffed, the name tasting like poison on his tongue. He stepped around the island and walked over to you, the closest he’s willingly come in months. “The lacrosse guy? The one that wears his cap backwards on his head like an absolute douche.”

You wanted to respond that Logan also wore his cap backwards on his head, but now didn’t seem like the right time to bring that up.

“He’s not a douche, Logan!” you defended instead. You weren’t even sure why you felt the need to defend Lyle this hard. But you did. “He’s nice, and I’m allowed to go on dates. You’re supposed to be happy for me, as my friend.” You emphasised the last word. He was being incredibly selfish right now.

“Well, I’m not. I’m not fucking happy, okay?” he snapped.

“Why?” Your voice trembled, your eyes watching him take deep breaths. “Why are you not happy for me?” you pressed.

Logan closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling sharply. When he opened them again, you saw the old Logan, your best friend who had beautifully brown doe eyes. But then, it’s like he pulled the walls back up.

“Because he’s... an idiot.” Logan deflected. “He’s just trying to get you into bed.”

“Okay, and who says I’m not trying to get him into bed?” You fired back in a tone you weren’t proud of, the frustration boiling over inside of you.

Logan flinched, jaw tightening. “I just think you deserve better.”

“Well, that’s not your call to make.”

“Yeah. Clearly it isn’t,” Logan growled. “Go have fun.”

You stood there for longer than you should have, before you turned and practically bolted out of the door.

The date with Lyle was a, for lack of a better word, disaster.

It wasn’t even his fault. He was funny and charming. He listened to you when you spoke, and actually asked you questions. But, every time Lyle smiled, you wondered why his eyes didn’t shine like Logan’s did. Every time he laughed, you missed the sound of Logan’s.

He did nothing wrong, except not be Logan.

The date forced you to face that fact that you were becoming hopelessly in love with your best friend. and that it was ruining your life.

⋆꙳⛸❅*‧

By the time the next hockey party came around, you still hadn’t spoken a word to Logan. Nor had he reached out to you. you were too stubborn, too deeply afraid of your own feelings, to break the silence first.

When you walked through the front door of the crowded house, your hand casually looped through Lyle’s arm, your eyes instinctively scanned the room for Logan anyway. You hated yourself for it. Hated how looking for Logan in any crowded room was still your default.

It took you an embarrassingly short amount of time to find him.

He was leaning back against the kitchen counter, a red cup in his hand. He wore a flannel shirt with the first few buttons left undone, the parted fabric showing some the top of his toned chest. His thick curls were framing his face in a way that made him look effortlessly, infuriatingly, handsome.

He was locked into a conversation with a notorious puck bunny who was practically throwing herself at him. And he was eating it up. Logan was listening to her, his head tilted down, his dark eyes locked onto her face with a focused stare that made your stomach violently turn over.

You froze, watching as the girl leant further into him. Her manicured hand slid up his bicep, her fingers scratching lightly against his arm as she whispered something into his ear. Her lips inches from his neck.

It infuriated you that Logan didn’t pull away. Instead, his eyes began to scan the room, clearly searching for something, or someone. His eyes stopped on you when he spotted you, still stood by the front door. The smile on his face vanished instantly. He pulled back from the puck bunny, his posture freezing as he took in the sight of you standing beside Lyle.

You gave him the coldest look you could muster before turning away. You pulled Lyle over to the makeshift bar, immediately pouring you both a heavy drink.

For the next two hours, you put on the performance of a lifetime.

You dragged Lyle to the living room floor and danced on him. You laughed way too loudly at a stupid joke that Garrett had made. You let Tucker convince you to line up a row of tequila shots, intentionally standing directly in Logan’s line of sight so he could see how much fun you could have without him.

But it was a miserable victory. He still didn’t approach you and he didn’t even look that bothered.

Eventually the heat of the house was too much. Ditching Lyle on the sofa, you slipped out into the cooler air of the backyard, heading toward the secondary bar area. You grabbed a bottle of water, pouring yourself a fresh drink, trying to stop your hands from shaking.

The sound of deep laughter had your shoulders squaring. You knew that laugh better than you knew your own name.

Logan and Dean walked over to where you were standing. The moment Logan noticed you there, alone, his laughter died. While he went silent, Dean got louder, shouting your name and pulling you into a hug.

Dean looked between the two of you. “So,” he drew out. “I take it we’re still going this miserable silent-pining thing then?”

Both you and Logan snapped your heads toward him, glares locking onto him.

“God, even your reactions are the same,” he laughed. “I don’t know why you guys are looking at me like that.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Logan mumbled.

“Look, you two either need to fuck and get it out of your system or just confess how you feel about each other. It’s painfully obvious at this point.”

“Dean. Shut. Up,” Logan practically begged.

It wasn’t lost on you that he didn’t deny anything to Dean.

“You’ll thank me for that later,” Dean laughed, patting Logan’s shoulder before turning on his heel and walking back inside, leaving the two of you there.

You stared at Logan, waiting for him to say something, anything. to apologise. To clear the air. But, he didn’t. he just stood there, his eyes burning into yours.

You let out an annoyed sigh and turned to walk past him, done with the games.

His hand shot out, his finger clamping around your wrist. “Wait, don’t go. Can we walk?”

“About what, Logan?” you snapped, trying to pull your hand back.

“Don’t be like that.”

“If you don’t like the way I’m ‘being’, you can go back to your girl.” You gestured toward the house. “You seemed real interested in her.”

Logan looked down at you. You were stubbornly looking away, your jaw set, and you probably would have had your arms crossed if he didn’t have a vice grip on your wrist.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”  He asked suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“I saw you at the kitchen island with Tucker,” he said, his grip firm but careful. “I saw the tequila. How much have you had?”

“Why are you asking me this?”  

At this point, you weren’t even being purposely defiant, you were just genuinely confused at the sudden shift in conversation.

“Please, it’s important.” For the first time in a long time, he really looked at you. You saw the plea in his eyes.

“Fine, if you must know. I had like one drink, plus those shots.”

“So, how do you feel? Tipsy? Drunk?” his eyes scanned your face, checking the focus of your pupils, needing to be absolutely sure.

“I’m not drunk, Logan. Why are you asking me this?”

A visible wave of relief washed over him, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Good, come with me.”

Without waiting for your response, his grip slid down from your wrist to capture your fingers. His palm felt cold against your warm one. He dragged you back toward the back door of the house, navigating the way through the crowd, and all the way up to his room.

Logan let go of your hand and stepped back, running a frustrated hand through his curls. He began to pace the length of his floor. “I need to say something and I just... I want you to hear me out.”

“Okay...” you said softly, going to take a seat on the edge of his mattress.

“I need to... I want to apologise to you.” Logan stopped pacing to look down at you. “I didn’t realise I was hurting you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Well, you did know. You knew exactly how he’d hurt you, but you couldn’t admit that.

“With Sarah,” Logan explained, stepping closer to you. “I was flirting with her because I was trying to get over you. I wasn’t purposely trying to make you jealous. Although, I won’t lie and say I’m not enjoying it just a little.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you lied.

Your brain was choosing to ignore all the other things he said. While you weren’t drunk, you also didn’t have the brain capacity to try decipher what he was saying. What he really meant by ‘trying to get over you’.

He laughed, and God you’d missed that sound.

“I think you were jealous,” he said. “And that’s good cause it might mean you’ll hate me a little less when I say this.”

“Logan, I–.”

“Please, just let me finish,” he interrupted softly, taking another step until he was towering over where you sat on the edge of his bed. “Remember in freshman year, you told me that story about the guy who got close to you in high school only cause he wanted to sleep with you?”

You nodded, not a pleasant memory.

“I swear to you on my life, that’s not what this is,” Logan whispered. He sank down to his knees on the floor directly in front of you, bringing his face level with yours. “You’re my best friend. The most important person in my life. I didn’t plan for this, it just happened. I just–.”

“You what?” You asked as he trailed off.

“I didn’t plan to fall for you,” he confessed. “It was so easy. Too easy, actually.”

When you were silent, he continued rambling, “And I’ve been thinking about what I would do to you if I had the chance. Every single night, I think about it. So... that’s why I was with Sarah. I’m trying to block it out so I can be there for you how you need me to. I’m sorry I couldn’t just be the friend you needed.”

There was too much to process, your mind scrambled. It felt too good, too terrifying, too much like a fantasy you’d conjured up in the middle of a touch-starved night.

“Logan... how much have you had to drink?” It was like you were trying to find a loophole, a reason to protect yourself just in case this was all a joke.

He smiled up at you. “Unfortunately, I am extremely sober. I could do with a drink, honestly.”

You let out a deep breath. So, this was real?

“I think you should lock the door,” you said, your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. “Quickly.”

He scrambled up from the floor and practically ran to lock the door. When he turned back around, his breath caught in his throat.

You were sitting on the edge of his bed, your eyes locked onto his as your fingers slowly slipped the straps of your dress down over your shoulders, letting the fabric pool around your waist.

“Show me,” you commanded softly. “You have the chance, show me what you’ve been thinking about.”

Standing up, you stepped out of your dress and shoes, the fabric pooling on the floor. You were about to take your bra off when Logan stopped you.

“No,” he said, voice thick with need. “I want to do that. Lie back on the bed.”

Doing as you were told you, you got comfortable on the bed. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation as you watched him strip down to his boxers, his eyes never leaving yours.

Once bare, he climbed onto the bed and sat between your open legs. He leant over you, his palms resting flat on the mattress on either side of you. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with lust and adoration.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” Logan whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “There are so many things I want to do to you.”

You reached up to rest your hands against his shoulders. It should have felt weird, the shift from being his friend, to thinking about him, to being here, under him. It didn’t. He looked down at you with the same expression he had been for a while, and you were sure your expression mirrored his. Maybe Dean was right, it was painfully obvious.

“Can I kiss you?” Logan asked.

“Yes, please,” you plead.

He leant down slowly, so slowly that you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down into you. While his every movement so far was dripping with patience, his kiss was anything but. The transition from his gentle hesitation to starved desperation was instantaneous.

As soon as your lips parted, he groaned deep in his chest as he swept his tongue along with yours. He caught your tongue between his lips, sucking on it heavily. His tongue slid back into your mouth, tangling with yours over and over as he demanded more from you.

Logan’s hand found your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

Your fingers knotted deep into his curls, pulling him down closer, matching his desperate pace as a spark ignited deep in your stomach.  

“Shit,” he shuddered, as you wrapped your legs around his waist and ground up into him, desperate for the friction.

You whined as he sat up and unwrapped your legs from him. “If you keep grinding into me, I’m going to cum in my boxers. Is that what you want?”

Too dazed on the feeling of him, you couldn’t even tease him for the confession. “No.”

“Right,” he said, “then be patient.”

“Yes, Jonathon.”

You giggled softly under him as he leant down again. His nose brushed slowly against your neck, inhaling deeply as he found the exact spot where you were the most sensitive. He parted his lips and bit down on the soft slope of your neck. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough.

A loud whine was dragged from your throat, your fingers digging into his thick biceps, as he bit down on you. his tongue swept over the bite before his lips locked onto the skin, sucking deeply enough to leave a semi-permanent mark.

Your head fell back against the pillow as he moved to the other side of your neck, feeling happily helpless against the marks he was bruising into your skin.

With one last kiss to the marks he’d etched into your skin, his kisses drifted downward. Logan took his time, his jawline grazing your collarbone as he pressed a kiss to the base of your throat. He used every touch, every kiss, to show you how badly he wanted you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between the trail of wet kisses he was leaving across your chest. “How lucky am I, that I get to learn exactly how you like to be touched?”

“Logan,” you said breathily. You raised your chest slightly, a silent and desperate plea for him to keep going.

His hands slid up from beneath your waist. His palms were no longer cold; they blazed against your skin as he traced up your ribs, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands then moved to your back, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra.

Logan stopped, he kept his eyes on yours as he asked, “Is this okay?”

When you nodded, he moved to unhook the clasp. It took him a few attempts to get it, not helped by the awkward angle with your back flat against the mattress and the way his fingers were shaking with anticipation. His nervousness only made this hotter for you. Once undone, he pulled the straps down over your shoulders, peeling the fabric off of you and throwing it onto the floor.

His gaze raked down your torso, taking you in completely.

For a split second, you wanted to wrap your arm over yourself, a sudden wave of vulnerability hitting you when you remembered that Logan’s never seen you like this before. But the way he looked down at you with breathless awe filled you with an intoxicating confidence.

With your bra out of the way, he leant down, this time his warm mouth closed over one of your erect nipples. He sucked softly at first, his tongue swirling in a slow and deliberate circle. Your nails dug into his back, scratching at the skin there as he rolled your other nipple between his fingers.

He hummed in satisfaction, encouraged by your reaction. He increased the pressure, his lips pulling at your nipple in tight suction as his thumb grazed over your other nipple in synch with his mouth.

“Logan, I’m so wet.” You loved this, loved the attention, but he was talking his time and, between your legs, you were aching for him. “I need you now, Logan. Please.”

“Oh, but there’s so much more I need to do with you.” Logan would be lying if he said he wasn’t right there with you, his dick was painfully throbbing between his legs, straining against the constraint of his boxers. He had ignored it, wanting to give you the attention you deserved.

“Next time,” you whimpered.

“Okay, baby, whatever you need.” Logan shifted slightly so he was straddling one of your legs. He kept his mouth on your nipple as he pressed his thumb to your clit through the cotton of your panties. He dragged his thumb down over your clothed folds, earning a loud moan from you.

“Fuck, you are soaked.”

Reaching down, you tugged at the waistband of his boxers. He helped you pull them down, wiggling out of them before he helped you wiggle out of your panties.

A thick lump in his throat formed as he spread your legs. “You’re even more beautiful here than I imagined.”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliment, but he didn’t give you much time to think about it as his dick edged at your hole. He eased himself into you, only giving you a bit more once you fully stretched to accommodate him.

“Is this still okay?” He said through clenched teeth as he bottomed out.

You hadn’t ever been stretched like this, the burn so good. “Yes, Loge, feels so good.”

With your confirmation, he began to move. He pulled out just as slowly as he went in, then drove his hips back into you. he did that a few times, relishing in the feel of your walls around his dick as he moved.

He manoeuvred you so that both of your legs were resting against his shoulders. The new angle had him reaching deeper into you with every thrust. Pulling back slowly, he watched your face as he thrust back in. his dick twitched within you as he watched you sharply inhale, your mouth falling partly open.    

“Talk to me,” he rasped. He could see you were enjoying it, but he needed to hear how wrecked the words were when they came out of your mouth. “Keep telling me what feels good.”

There was so much you wanted to say, but instead you settled on, “This. You. Everything.”

He let out a dry chuckle as his thrusts increased in pace. His hand slipped between your legs, coating his fingers in your arousal before moving to your clit. Your hips bucked into his touch.

“Yeah? You like that?”

“I do,” you sobbed.

All you could hear was the sound of your heart pounding in your ears as your vision faded to black. Every thrust now was hitting that soft spongy wall within you.   

“Yes! Right there~ don’t stop, Loge,” you begged.

It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. He gasped, feeling you slowly expand and then tightly contract around his length.  

You felt his hips falter, his orgasm quickly approaching. “Your pussy is perfect, baby. I’m gonna–.”

“Fill me up, Loge,” you begged, interrupting him so he didn’t even think about pulling out. “Cum in me, please.”

He let your legs drop from his shoulders as he pressed himself onto you so that you were chest to chest. He kissed you as he came into you, his thrusts turning into slow grinds of his hips.

As he came down from his high, he wiggled his hand between your bodies to circle at your clit again.

“I’m so close,” you muffled into his shoulder. “Keep doing exactly that.”

He listened, keeping the same pressure and intensity. You bit into his shoulder, nails digging into his back as you became a mess under the force of your orgasm. Your entire body buzzed as pleasure rippled through you.

Logan groaned against your neck as you squeezed around his softening dick. He lifted his head, eyes still dark and heavy, and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before he slowly slid out of you.

He rolled over, lying flat on his back with a deep exhale. Your body mourned the loss of him, already feeling cold without him surrounding you. a second later, he reached out and pulled you flush against his side.

“As first time’s together go... that was pretty...” you trailed off, tracing a lazy circle on his chest.

“Mind-blowing?” He finished for you, a smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

You both laughed then. The sound was bright and easy. it felt so good to just laugh with him again.

“Yes, mind-blowing. Round of applause to you.”

You laughed again as you both started clapping in synch.

“We can never let Dean know he was right by the way,” Logan said as he turned his head to look at you.

“I mean, he probably knows. Knowing him, he was listening through the door the whole time,” you retorted.

You were only half-being serious, but the thought made you both freeze. You simultaneously held your breath, eyes darting to the locked bedroom door, listening to see if you could hear the creak of the floorboards over the bass of the music.  

When you heard nothing, you laid your head back on his chest, you knew you should get up and go to the bathroom, but you just wanted to be in this moment for a bit longer.

“We should probably talk about this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his hand moving to rest on your waist. “Like... what this means. For us. For our friendship. Are you okay with everything that just happened?”

“I’m more than okay, Logan,” you whispered. “And we will talk about all of it. I promise. But can we do that tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, “tomorrow is fine. I just want to say that I’ve been your best friend for two years, and I’m going to keep being your best friend if you’ll have me. I’ll just also be the guy who loves you.”

You lay in his arms for a little while longer, wanting to just stay in a world where John Logan loved you.

[torturedpoetism]

Goodnight, sweet prince ❤️‍🩹🕊️

[hauntedsilences]

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they don't know about us

tag: fic:they don't know about us pairing: john logan x fem!reader (garrett's sister) trope: brother's best friend, secret romance tldr; you have always had a crush on john, and then everything changes when you both realize the feelings you have for one another. now you must navigate a relationship, hiding it from garrett, and everything that comes after. part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 8.5, part 9, part 10

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now i got somethin' to lose

tag: fic: now i got somethin' to lose pairing: john logan x fem!reader trope: found family, the dad that stepped up, tldr; meeting john was accidental, but him integrating into the lives of you and your daughter was intentional as ever. it has been about a year now, and the two of you are happily dating. you and your daughter have become more like family to him than anything else, and you are navigating school, love, and motherhood all at the same time. part 1

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i'm not easy to lose

tag: fic: i'm not easy to lose pairing: john logan x fem!reader trope: tragic ex's that haunt the narrative, found family, second chance tldr; it was two years of a beautiful relationship, falling into one another was the easiest thing to do. everything in your lives warped around the two of you, from your friends to your day to day lives. when that all came crashing down four months ago, everyone forgot how to act. people began falling silent when they mentioned your names around one another, and the room forgot to breathe if you were in it together. now you must navigate unresolved feelings, the lose of love, and how to accept moving on. part one, part 2, part 3, part 4

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and i never ask for much

tag: fic: and i never ask for much pairing: john logan x fem!reader (garrett's sister) warning: this will include mentions of physical abuse (visible bruising), verbal & mental abuse, abusive relationships, and mild discussion of child abuse, accidental cut (cooking accident) & blood trope: hurt/comfort, love after abuse, brother's best friend, found family tldr; you had always been this magnetic, addictive person. the kind that people can't help but be around. logan once said that you had this special effect of making everyone fall in love with you. what no one knows is what goes on behind closed doors in the relationship that you have described as "perfect" for two years. now that the truth is beginning to boil over, how will you manage? part 1

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requested:

tag: req imagine

boy aquarium

[hauntedsilences]

and i never ask for much

pairing: john logan x fem!reader (garrett's sister)

warning: this will include mentions of physical abuse (visible bruising), verbal & mental abuse, abusive relationships, and mild discussion of child abuse, accidental cut (cooking accident) & blood

word count: 2.6k

summary: you had always been someone loud and confident. the kind of person who is so magnetic that it's hard not to be drawn into you. it's hard not to love you, to not want to be loved by you. that was the first thing that any of the hockey boys noticed when garrett graham introduced them to his "annoying" twin sister. you fell into step with them easily, just as you fell into step at briar easily. the popular graham sister with a heartstopping smile and magnetic personality. you met your boyfriend quickly into your freshman year, a st.a's hockey player who slid into your dm's after the first game of the season. it's been about two years now, and everyone thinks you are perfectly in love. you lead them to believe, truly. what you don't show is what lies underneath, a secret begging to be exposed; a girl screaming for help.

author note: this series will be heavy, and i ask that u please take caution as you read it! if you can't tune in for this one, that is okay! all that matters is that you are safe & taken care of!!

taglist: @sue-me-i-wanna-be-wanted

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚

the hockey house is alight with energy and chatter when you open the door and give a quick, "hello!" there is a chorus of greetings that come to follow, and you can't help the gentle laugh that falls from your lips as you make your way through to the living, "dean, good to see that you are still always shirtless," you say with an eyeroll. the very comment gets you a middle finger in response and a devilish grin from him.

it had been 3 months since you had seen them all last, a term spent studying abroad in spain. it was a great experience, but you missed the boys more than you cared to admit. they had become such a constant in your life the last couple of years, and even the weekly (sometimes more) facetime calls couldn't make up for seeing them in person.

the chunky heel of your boots clicks against the floor as you make your way into the kitchen. logan sits at a stool against kitchen island, and tucker seems to be fussing over something at the stove. you laugh gently at the sight, walking up to logan and running a hand through his hair, "i like it," you say softly, hand settling onto the back of his head for a moment as you look tuck, "please tell me you have more than just beer in that fridge."

you catch logan's smile then before he responds, "of course, princess, we got seltzers just for you." your eyes roll then before your hand falls from him and he remarks, "and it hasn't changed that much since you last me. you act like it's been years."

there is another eyeroll as you make your way to the fridge, opening it to immediately find the seltzer. you turn then, body leaning up against the counter as you remark, "it feels like years since i have seen my boys," the your eyebrows furrow, "speaking of, where's the idiot?"

that gets a laugh out of all three of them, dean walking into the kitchen finally wearing a shirt, "upstairs with wellsy, i think," he says with a shrug.

this immediately piques your interest, and a wicked smile takes over your face "wellsy? why didn't you lead with the fact that she is here?" then you push your body away from the counter and begin to march up towards the stairs.

"i wouldn't do that," tucker yells after you.

you wave a hand in the air before stating, "it'll be fine, he could do with the humbling embarrassment." that illicit's a laugh from them all as you quicken your pace to the stairs. you half jog up them before making your way down the hall, and slamming your fist against the door, "gare bear," you say sweetly, and the sound of rustling in the room matched with a very quiet 'gare bear?' in a girls voice causes you to laugh, "hurry it up will you? we don't have all day."

then his voice, annoyed and husk breaks through the room, "you are literally two hours early."

there is an eyeroll, not that he could see it, "just hurry up before i send dean in to intervene," then there is a pause, "nevermind, he might like that too much. i'll send tuck."

there is more rustling, but you figured that your point had gotten across enough that you turn on your heel and march back down stairs. you are matched with three different versions of the same laughter, filling the room and the hole that had been left in your chest from missing them.

it's about 15 minutes later that garrett enters the kitchen, leveling you with a glare as he does, "you always did know how to make an entrance," he mutters under his voice as he makes his way to grab a water from the fridge.

your eyes, however, immediately zone in on hannah. there is a wide, magnetic smile that takes over your lips the moment that you spot her, "hannah," you say then, words dripping with honey as you cross the room to bring her into a hug, "girl, it is so good to finally meet you! i have heard so much about you." you hug her tight, and there is this way that her body goes tense before it immediately eases into your embrace.

"i have heard so much about you too," she says softly, as the both of you pull away from the hug. however, your arms stay loosely around her in order to keep her close.

there is an wicked sort of grin that overtakes you then as you say, "all bad, i hope," with a wink. you step back then, and make your way back to the frige, "do you want a seltzer? you should totally have a seltzer. then we can ditch these meatheads and go sit outside! we have so much to catch up on."

"oh, sure," she replies softly, her words stuttering just a bit. it isn't something that you pick up on, too busy grabbing another seltzer from the fridge. you don't notice any of the way that she is looking at you. how there is this amazement twinkling in her eye, and a weird fluttering in her chest. how your confidence and magnetic smile seemed to overtake her for a moment, something that was definitely a surprise.

you turn around and hand her the seltzer, "here you go," you say then before remembering something, "oh, i forgot something in my car! i'll meet you out back in a sec." then, you rush out the house and outside, leaving chaos in your wake much like that of a tornado.

"garrett," hannah says then, "i think i have a crush on your sister." her eyes look to them all then, and all the boys can do is laugh.

"yeah," logan says with ease, "she tends to have that effect on people."

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

you stand outside the sigma tau house, arm linked through hannah's. on the other side, garrett holds onto her hand tightly. he had asked if you had to link arms with her, and you had quickly told him that it was a non-negotiable given that you were best friends now. "okay," you say head turning to hannah, "i'm assuming you have been to one of these keggers before?" she nods in response, "well going with me me is a bit different, because i have some rules."

hannah's eyebrow quirks then and she turns to look at garrett before turning back to you, "rules?"

"yeah, basic party safety kinds of things," you add with a shrug, "text me your location, and we will keep each other tracked throughout the night. if you get separated from everyone just text me sos, and i'll fine you. garrett is shit at checking his phone, and i believe that no girl should be at a frat party alone." you then grab your phone from your back pocket and check the time, "if we don't hear from one another by 1am, we send a check in text. if we don't respond, we find one another."

there seems to be this smile that overtakes hannah's face, and a gleam in her eye as she nods along to what you were saying. "i don't plan to be separated from garrett, but the rules sound good to me," she says softly before grabbing her own phone to share her location with you.

you gleam back at her, "safety first, girlfriend. we girls have to stick together." you don't want to read into it, but you can almost see her perk up at the mention of safety. as if it was an affirmation that she needed.

it was easy to get separated from the group. it wasn't a stretch to say that you were popular, and people were pulling you left and right. it was normally how these things went, you would have a minimum of five conversations before you are even able to make it to the kitchen for a drink.

two hours had passed before you link up with hannah again, "oh bans, i'm so happy to see you again," the words come out happily, the smell of alcohol lingering on your lips.

her eyebrows furrow for a moment as she asks, "bans?"

there is a laugh that escapes you, "like banana. like hannah banana, you know? it's my cute new nickname for you." there is a soft smile that seems to take over her lips then, and you can't help looking around her and not seeing garrett around, "where's the big guy?" you ask.

hannah turns around before looking back at you with a shrug, "i told him that i was going to come find you to make sure you were doing okay," she explains before reaching forward to the cooler on the counter and grabbing a seltzer.

"well, isn't that sweet of you," you say softly, adjusting the st.a's hockey jacket that had shifted a bit on your shoulders.

hannah isn't sure if she hallucinates it then, but she is sure that she saw the faint coloring of a bruise on your shoulder. her eyebrows knitting together as she thinks it over, but she is quick to shake it from her head. surely, it wasn't what she thought it was. instead of focusing on that, she asks, "why do you have a st.a's hockey jacket?"

your eyes shift down the jacket and there is a gentle smile on your face as you explain, "my boyfriend plays for them."

hannah furrows her brows again before saying, "i don't mean to sound rude," she starts slowly, "but garrett has said they are all brutes."

there is a flicker of emotion that takes over your face. a cloud that hovers over you for just a second before you straighten it out and replace it with a forced smile, "some of them are, but luke is sweet. we have been together for two years," you explain gently.

then, as you reach forward to grab a seltzer, the jacket shifts just enough that hannah swears she see's another faded, purpling bruise. her head tilts and the question falls out almost instantly, "what happened to your wrist?"

your eyes snap to her, and that clouded expression flickers across your face again. just as before, you cooly correct your expression. as you crack open the seltzer, you offer an slight shrug and explain, "oh, i burned it with a curling iron a little while ago."

there is a moment where she thinks for a bruise and a burn don't often look the same. however, hannah has no reason to not believe you. no reason to doubt the words that come out of your mouth, and so she simply believes that perhaps she didn't see it correctly and it was a burn.

"anyway," you break in, a chipper tone overtaking your voice as you link an arm through hers, "let's go find everyone else, yeah?"

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿

it's later in the week, and you are standing at the kitchen chopping vegetables as tucker cooks something on the stove behind you. logan is sitting on the stool across from the table, watching as you chop and telling some story that you were having a hard time tracking. no, rather, your mind was somewhere else entirely.

it had been 30 minutes since your boyfriend had last texted you, and your eyes kept shifting to the phone that was face up next to you. he had been angry about a picture of you and beau maxwell that he had seen from the sigma tau party. it wasn't anything much, just beau and you celebrating after you made a cup while playing pong.

however, luke had gotten so angry. the day had started with a lengthy phone call, him talking about trust and inappropriate behavior. his voice so tense and loud that it had brought you to tears. it ended with him saying something about space, but you couldn't remember the exact words.

he was always like this, and you had gotten used to it by this point. used to the way he used words to cut like knives and how angry he would get over the smallest things. it was something you had gotten used to, knowing what to avoid to not set him off.

things were different, though, since you got back from spain. as if more things angered him, and it was hard to predict.

since that phone call, he had been texting you off and on. a barage of texts coming through every now and again to remind you of how terrible of a girlfriend you were.

the knife collides with the bell pepper when your phone lights up, and your eyes immediately flicker to see his message on the screen. logan's eyes also flicker to the phone, and there is an immediate furrow in his brow as he reads the display. his eyes shift up to you, but your expression is unreadable as you try to focus on vegetable that you were trying.

it happens quickly then, the way that the knife nicks your finger. blood immediately begins to leak from the cut and a quiet, "shit," falls from your lips as you move to the sink to run your finger under the water. logan is quick to get up, grabbing a few paper towels from the rack and moving to your side.

he doesn't speak as he grabs on your wrist, pressing onto an old bruise that he didn't know you had and causing you to wince. he lifts up your hand to inspect the finger before wrapping it in the paper towel and saying, "come on, we have stuff in the bathroom," and then louder so tuck could here, "she's off knife duty." tuck turns and sees the scene and immediately nods in agreement before calling dean down from his bedroom.

you grab your phone with your other hand as logan begins to pull you behind him and up to the bathroom. the phone slides into your back pocket, and you try not to think about what luke would have to say if he saw logan's hand wrapped loosely around your wrist.

once in the bathroom, he lightly pushes you towards the closed seat of the toilet and motions for you to sit down before grabbing the first aid stuff from under the ground. he then kneels before you and begins tending to your finger in silence. the silence isn't uncomfortable, but rather something that just was. though, that's how it always tended to be with him. a comfortable way of existing around one another that feels faintly like home.

as he wraps the bandaid around your finger, you can't help but notice the crease that was etched in between his brow. his eyes shift up towards you then, hands resting on your knees, as he asks "does he always talk to you like that?"

there is an uncomfortable, burning sensation that takes over your chest as the question settles between you. your eyebrows are furrowed, and your eyes are focusing so intently on his own for a moment. then, without much thought at all, you push his hands away from your legs and stand, "thank you," you say soflty, attempting to push past him.

however, his hand grabs onto your arm, and he pulls you back towards himself, "you didn't answer the question," he states, eyes boring into yours with unfaltering intensity.

a sharp, heavy exhale leaves your body then as you snap, "mind your own business, logan."

[athousandblunts]

underwater (part ii) | john logan

john logan x f! reader | part i

premise: after he confronted you at your first diving meet, you managed to successfully avoid logan for a few weeks. it becomes harder to stay away from him when your professor puts you in a group project with his best friend. category: enemies (exes) to lovers, pure angst word count: around 4.7k content/trigger warnings: cursing, yelling, garrett's a dick at the beginning but he learns his lesson, logan's still an asshole (for now). brief mention of a hospice. brief mention of hoarding. brief mention of feeling suffocated (reader is panicking in that moment.). i can't think of any other warnings, but please let me know if there are any that i missed. context/author notes: thank you guys for the engagement on the previous part, i really appreciate it! this chapter sets up the foundation for this story imo. there's not a lot of interaction between the reader and logan, but it will build after this. slowly foreshadowing why reader had to come back to massachusetts. we'll get more details about their breakup later on. as always, feedback is much appreciated. and if you want to be added to the taglist, you can comment on this post or message me! also, if i previously tagged you in an earlier chapter and now you do not want to be tagged anymore, please lmk. if you don't, i will assume that you still want to be tagged. not proofread as of 06/19/26. sorry for the typos.

When you manage to execute four horrible dives in succession, you’re surprised that Coach Alvarez is not tearing your head off in front of your teammates. Maybe she took pity on your disastrous form and decided to grant you some mercy, considering it’s only 6:00 AM on a Monday. Nobody wanted to be here.

Instead, as one of your teammates practices their forward somersault, your coach gently pulls you aside to a small corner of the Aquatic Center where nobody else could hear you.

“You good, Y/L/N?” Her eyes are lasers as they scan over your face, and you feel exposed uner her gaze. But you also detect the underlying tenderness in her tone. “You’ve been off since the meet against Northeastern. And the one against Georgetown. And the one against Eastwood.”

You tap your fingers restlessly against your thigh as she lists off the schools. You hate that she’s right.

Even though you’ve been consistently scoring in the top three in your category, you’ve been making silly, rookie mistakes at each single meet. Whether you rushed your entrance, or you didn’t pull your knees in all the way, you always received some deduction in your score.

But during your time at Berkeley, you never made any of these mistakes.

Sure, you were always anxious at meets. Even though you’ve been participating in diving competitions for more than ten years, the glaring stares from both the crowd and the judges continue to distract you.

Additionally, as if you needed another distraction, some blonde guy named Dean tried hitting on you after the Georgetown meet. He was attractive and charming, but the cockiness exuding from his presence was suffocating. You weren’t going to go out with him anyways, and you were trying to figure out a way to let him down nicely.

But as soon as he mentioned that he was hockey player, you immediately shut him down with a terse, “I don’t date hockey players. Sorry.”

Dean was left slack-jawed at your curt response, and how briskly you walked away from him afterwards.

When Coach Alvarez clears her throat, you bring your attention back to her, eyes focusing on the whistle hanging from her neck.

“Yeah, it’s just been hard coming back here,” You pause, trying to figure out the best possible way to convey your emotions. “I don’t have the greatest memories of Massachusetts.”

Understatement of the fucking year.

A wildfire burns throughout your body, heating up your skin and sending flames straight to your chest, almost reaching your heart.

It’s been five weeks since the start of the semester and three weeks since your ex-boyfriend shook you to your very core. His words echo in your brain every time you close your eyes at night.

“Of course!” The pure animosity in his eyes is forever seared into your memory. “Walk away, it’s what you do best.”

The wildfire swells and grows, quickly and ruthlessly scorching your heart into a pile of ashes.

“I see. I’m sorry to hear. We can set you up with a counselor if you would want,” Coach Alvarez offers. “But you do need to get your head in the game. You can’t be making these rookie mistakes as a junior.”

You restrain yourself from flinching at the harsh words, but you know that she ultimately has good intentions. Even then, you’ve heard much worse from your high school coaches.

“Understood, Coach.”

“Good,” She sighs, before gesturing at you to follow her back to the pool. When the two of you head back, she directs the team to the weight training room next door, ordering everyone to do their cool down and stretching routines before leaving for class.

Luckily, all of your teammates have been nice and welcoming to you so far. You’ve even hung out with some of them after practices and meets. However, after weeks of analyzing all of their interactions from the sidelines, you can clearly see that the girls have such a tight-knit bond formed after years of going to Briar together. You awkwardly smile at their inside jokes and remain silent whenever one of them brings up a cherished memory. Since the start of the school year, a pit has slowly developed in your stomach, growing wider and deeper with each passing day.

Maybe you are an intruder. One person already seems to think so.

“Could’ve given me a warning at least, you know. Before you fuck up my life for the second time.”

You don’t want to fuck up his life. Or anyone’s life. You didn’t even want to come back, but you had to—

“Hey, Y/N!” A friendly voice snaps you out of your trance, grasping your attention. Gorgeous blonde hair shrouds your vision. “Hey, Y/N, you good?”

You look up to your teammate, stretching your lips into a fake smile. She must have been calling your name for a while. “Oh, sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

“I feel you. Midterms are coming up and everyone’s on edge,” She reassures you, propping a towel behind her back. “All of us are in need of a fucking break, so the girls and I are thinking about going to some other Briar games this weekend. You know, take our minds off diving for a bit.”

Her kindness overwhelms you, especially after spending however many minutes convincing yourself that you don’t belong here. You swallow a lump in your throat, pushing away the tears that are already welling in your eyes.

Kendall has stuck by your side since day one, and you’re incredibly grateful for her.

“That would be great,” You shakily reply, and your teammate beams at you. “I heard there was a soccer game against Emerson coming up on Saturday, if you guys were planning on going to that.”

“Actually, we were planning on going to the hockey game against Brandeis! Nour and I go to pretty much every game, we’re such big hockey fans…”

You tune her out after she mentions the hockey game, hoping your face doesn’t reveal the panic rushing through your body. God, you thought your time at Berkeley would’ve desensitized you to that word, but your nerves still send you into fight-or-flight mode whenever someone mentions hockey.

You have nothing against the sport itself, of course. But after four years of attending every single one of his games and buying him Bruins jerseys and tending to the injuries on his chest, your brain automatically associates hockey with John Logan.

Hockey reminds you of the times you fooled around in his truck before practices, or the times you went to sleep wearing his high school jersey, his arm arms protectively wrapped around your waist, never wanting to let you go.

And hockey also reminds you of the time when you yelled and cried and pleaded with him to just fucking listen to you. It reminds you of his heartsick eyes and tear-stained face.

It reminds you—no, it taunts you with the last text he sent you two years ago.

I fucking hate you.

“Does that work with you?” Kendall’s question brings you back to your present setting, where you’re sitting with her in the locker room benches and not bawling your eyes out in your childhood bedroom.

Judging by the worried look on her face, you suspect that you failed at hiding your emotions. But you take a deep breath in, nodding and giving her a tight-lipped grin.

“That might work,” You spur out a lie, having no fucking clue what she said to you in the past minute. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’m heading to the shower now,” She gets up, and before she leaves, she places a gentle hand on your shoulder, soft brown eyes full of sincerity. “And let us know if you need anything, okay? We got your back.”

Despite only knowing you for a few weeks, Kendall really knows how to tug at your heartstrings.

You haven’t yet told the girls the reason why you had to come back. You were planning to, though. And all of them were more than understanding, encouraging you to take your time warming up to them.

“Thanks. Same goes for you, Kendall,” You give her a small, but genuine smile, and she moves her hand to her forehead in a mock salute before leaving you alone in the locker room.

There is no way in hell that you are going to that hockey game.

Later in the day, your TA in Sociology hands back your exam from last week. Your eyes light up when seeing the 94 on the top of the paper, allowing yourself to take some pride in your hard work.

Your good mood instantly dampens when your professor announces that your next assignment will be a group research project.

And she has already assigned the groups.

In a way, you’re a bit thankful that she assigned the groups beforehand, given that you don’t know anybody in this class. However, you’re also terrified, and you hope that your groupmates are solid.

Your professor sent an email to the entire class listing out the groups. You finally see your name, along with two unfamiliar names written right under yours.

Garrett Graham Beau Maxwell

Yup. As you expected, you have no idea who these people are. Fortunately, your professor also wrote down every one of your classmates’ email address next to their names.

You’re about to draft an email when you suddenly hear your name being called out.

“Y/N! Hey!” Turning around, you notice two guys walking down the stairs to meet you at your seat. One of them has a wide smile on their face, and the other one has…a bit of frown?

“Hi?” You ask as they come closer to you, trying to subtly look at them up and down to see if you recognize them. “Do I know you guys?”

“Oh, no. But we know you,” The smiley one explains, friendly eyes remaining in contact with yours. “We went to your meet against Northeastern a few weeks ago. You fucking killed it.”

You weren’t expecting those words to come out of his mouth, but you’re pleasantly surprised. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“We first heard about you from Dean, if you remember him? He was super impressed by you. He dragged us all to the Northeastern meet. I think he asked you out.”

Of course you remember Dean.

“Yeah, I remember him,” You chuckle nervously, trying to forget how fucking awkward your interaction felt with him. “And he did ask me out, but I’m just…I’m just not looking for anyone else at the moment. He’s cool.”

There’s a moment of silence after you utter those words. You wish there was a trapdoor underneath your feet.

Luckily, the smiley one breaks the silence.

“We’re athletes as well, actually,” He says, gesturing to himself and his friend. “I play football.”

“And we’re your groupmates,” The other one finally speaks, responding in a rather low, sharp voice.

“Ah yeah, I should’ve started with that. I’m Beau,” The smiley one courteously extends his hand out for you to shake, and you eagerly offer your hand as well.

“Nice to meet you. And I assume you’re Garrett? Do you play football too?”

“No, I’m a hockey player.”

Beau clasps a hand on Garrett’s back. “He’s the captain, actually. Pretty fucking cool, isn’t it?”

No. It’s pretty fucking awful.

Now, at least you have some inkling as to why Garrett is staring at you with a stony expression. You list a series of premises in your head.

The logic thus presents itself simply:

Premise one: Garrett is the captain of the hockey team. He knows his teammates well.

Premise two: Hockey teammates are like brothers. You know that from high school.

Premise three: Your ex is on the hockey team. He definitely knows Garrett.

Premise four: Your ex hates you.

Conclusion: Garrett, by association, hates you.

Not to mention the fact that Garrett most definitely knows Dean. And who knows what Dean told him about you.

However, Beau is nothing but cordial with you. Though he's not on the hockey team, you assume that Dean also told Beau about how you rejected him. Yet, he's still treating you with kindness.

“That’s awesome,” You bring yourself to utter a weak response, hoping that Garrett does not see the dread plastered across your face. “Anyways, we should start this thing soon. Maybe this week?”

“Works for me,” Beau replies, and Garrett nods. “What’s your number? I’ll make a groupchat.”

You list off a series of digits to Beau while Garrett just scrolls on his phone. You’re thankful for his shift in focus, especially since you weren’t sure how long you could continue to stand upright under his intense glare.

“Anyways, I need to head to my next class,” You walk towards the door, giving them both a small smile. “I’ll text you guys.”

You don’t stay to hear their responses, intent on leaving the lecture hall as quickly as possible.

Finding a time that worked with all of your schedules was challenging. Eventually, the three of you decide to meet at the library on Wednesday night.

As you make your way to one of the private study rooms, your phone buzzes with a text from your groupchat.

(7:04 PM) Beau: Sorry guys, running late. Practice went on for fucking forever. Be there in 15.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you register Beau’s message. So far, you felt comfortable with Beau. He was nice and always sent a barrage of memes in the groupchat.

But Garrett continued to intimidate the fuck out of you.

And when you enter the study room, you see that the broody hockey player is already seated. He doesn’t even look up from his laptop when you come in.

You would rather reject Dean for a million times than be in this claustrophobic room with Garrett.

“So, uh, Beau’s running late,” You attempt to strike up a conversation, sitting down and taking out your laptop.

“Yeah, no shit,” He mutters, and your heart drops even more. “He texted both of us, you know.”

The smartass comment tips you over the edge. Now, you’re not hurt anymore. You’re fucking annoyed.

Because why is this man treating you like the devil when he barely fucking knows you in the first place?

“Jesus fucking Christ,” You blurt rather loudly, and he turns to look at you, finally deeming you worthy enough of his attention. “I’m sorry, did I do something to offend you? What’s your problem—”

“Logan’s my best friend,” Garrett cuts you off with a straight face. You can’t exactly pinpoint the emotion displayed in his tone. “He’s the closest person I have to a brother.”

Logan, right. You forgot that he usually used his last name to introduce himself. You always referred to him as John. You still think of him as John.

“Logan” just feels like a stranger.

You let out a much-needed exhale, shaking your head. “Well…I’m glad you guys have that bond.”

He doesn’t offer a reply, his face pointedly turning away from you and back to his laptop.

You chuckle, self-deprecation and sarcasm dripping in your tone. “I assume you know all about me, then.”

“I don’t, actually,” He retorts, stony eyes suddenly staring back at you. “Logan refuses to tell me anything about your breakup. He just says that he never wants to see you again and that you’re the worst person he knows.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, I mean…I don’t want see him either,” You sigh, dropping your head into your heads, feeling a familiar ache start to invade your chest. “It’s a long story.”

The question comes out of absolutely nowhere.

“Why are you back here?”

A volcano suddenly erupts in your chest. Pure anger flows like lava through your blood. You rub your temples to calm yourself down, but it’s useless. And besides, Garrett needs a taste of his own medicine.

You’re done trying to be nice.

“Excuse me?” You snap back in a dangerously low voice, forcing yourself to keep your voice level.

You take pride in how your self-composure visibly shocks Garrett. His eyes widen, and his expression softens. And as you continue to stare daggers into his soul, the 6’1” arrogant hockey player begins to stammer.

Good.

“I…I guess I don’t know you well enough to ask that.”

“No, you really don’t,” You clench your jaw, your harsh gaze unwavering. “I mean this respectfully, but it’s none of your business. I came back for personal reasons that do not involve my ex whatsoever.”

As you try to start working on your project, he continues to sneak glances at you. Suspiciously. As if you’re hiding something.

However, his glare doesn’t hold the same animosity as it used to a minute ago.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me. I know that I broke John’s heart. I know that the breakup was hard on him. It was hard on me, too,” You choose your words carefully, ignoring the sharp thumping in your chest. You’re trying your very best to not sound annoyingly defensive. But you need to stand your ground.

After all, Garrett Graham doesn’t know the whole story.

“You don’t have to like me. Hell, you can even hate me. But we were assigned to be in the same group, so I think we should treat each other with basic human decency. We will never interact outside of this project again, anyways,” You say to him plainly, still keeping eye contact with him.

Finally, his shoulders relax, and he nods at you, biting his lip. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

“Cool,” You sigh, grabbing your textbook from your bag. “Once Beau’s here, we can start sifting through secondary sources.”

Luckily, by the grace of the gods, Beau walks in a minute later, apologizing for his tardiness. Afterwards, the three of you start working, and the rest of the night goes surprisingly well. Everyone completes their designated task, and you guys plan to meet again on Sunday night.

When you walk out of the study room, Beau asks if you want to hang out with them afterwards. You don’t even bother to look at Garrett’s face. You politely decline, saying that you needed to catch some sleep before your early morning practice the next day.

Initially, you think that you handled the entire night with composure and civility. But as soon as you collapse into the driver’s seat of your car, tears furiously gush down your cheeks. Sobs wrack your entire body, and your throat closens in on you, exhausting your entire air supply.

You didn’t want to come back to Massachussetts. You never wanted to come back to Massachussetts.

Maybe John and Garrett and the rest of his friends don’t believe it, but you’re not here to see him again. Or to ruin his life.

The sudden ringtone blaring from your phone physically jolts you, interrupting your breakdown. Even with the tears clouding your vision, you can make out the caller ID.

Munsen Hospice Center.

You grab a pair of tissues from the glovebox, trying to collect and prepare yourself before you hear the bad news coming from the other line.

Early Sunday morning, everyone at Briar receives the same email from the Dean of Student Affairs. The pipes had burst on the second floor of the library, causing widespread water damage. The renovation will take at least a week or two.

Thus, you have no idea where to study as soon as the sun sets.

The three of you meet outside the library, debating on where to go. Most cafés are closed. Ironically, most study halls are too loud for you, especially on the weekends. You don’t know where else to go.

Obviously, you can’t invite Beau and Garrett to your house in Munsen. Even though you’ve been back for six weeks, you’re still working on clearing up the space. Books and laundry baskets and trash bags and cereal boxes shroud every inch of the walls. No one had come by to clean up the hoarding mess. The responsibility was left on you, as usual.

Beau couldn’t offer up his place either, insisting that his frat house was always in a state of chaos.

Finally, you see Garrett physically hesitate to say the following words. His eyebrows furrow, and he grits his teeth.

“Let’s just work at mine.”

Garrett notices how you sulk your shoulders and retreat into your body. Ever since your conversation on Wednesday, he’s actually been a bit nice.

Well, that’s exaggerating. He’s been decent. You’re not going to give the man that much credit.

Beau immediately agrees, waving goodbye and heading to his car. Garrett turns back to you, sighing and rubbing a hand over his wrinkled forehead.

“I’ll tell him that we’ll be studying in the living room, so he knows,” He says in a relatively soft tone.

Your eyes narrow at him in confusion.

“Wait, you told him that we’re working together on a project?”

“I didn’t. Beau did. Told the whole house, actually,” He clarifies, and judging by the way he’s biting his lip, you know he feels uneasy about what he will say next. “Dean also lives with us, by the way.”

Of course he does. A giant lump grows in your throat. “Oh, okay.”

“I’ll send you the address, it’s only a five minute drive,” Garrett comments, suddenly looking down at his phone and avoiding eye contact with you. This whole situation is so fucking awkward to the point that Mr. Garrett Graham can’t even hide his feelings behind an icy expression.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you,” You say under your breath, walking away from him and towards your car.

Your hands tremble on the steering wheel as you drive to the house. They continue to shake as you lock your car and slowly make your way up to the steps, trying to prolong the inevitable. Garrett’s waiting for you at the entrance, silently opening the door and gesturing for you to come in.

“Thanks,” You mutter, and your eyes can’t help but dart around the house.

The cool-toned walls, adorned with various pictures and random road signs, provide a sense of calm to the environment. The wooden staircase and ceiling beams pair well with the sprawling trees covering the house that you saw when parking your car. The sofas and chairs in the living room look neat but lived-in as well, different blankets and throw pillows scattered across them. And of course, you immediately notice the fluorescent lights emanating from the air hockey table, which adds to the liveliness of the house. Surprisingly, all of the different elements compliment each other, and you feel somewhat at ease while standing in front of the staircase, a heavy weight disappearing from your chest.

However, as Garrett continues to lead you in, your eyes lock in on the various accessories and knickknacks around you. You see car keys, hockey sticks, duffel bags and winter coats all over the living room.

And you can’t help but wonder which key, which stick, which bag, and which coat belongs to John. Everything reminds you of him.

As if the tattoo he personally imprinted on your thigh isn’t enough of a reminder.

You awkwardly stand in the middle of the living room, wondering where you should sit. Being in here already feels like an imposition. You do not want to make any more mistakes.

“Oh, sit anywhere you want,” An unfamiliar voice speaks to you, as if he’s reading your thoughts, and you suddenly register the man standing in front of you. Like Beau, he also has a friendly smile. “I’m Tucker.”

You smile back at him, watching as he moves around the living room and picks up dirty dishes. “I’m Y/N.”

“Yes, I remember! You were one of the divers at the Northeastern meet,” Tucker mentions, walking backwards towards the kitchen. “You were awesome. I don’t know how you could do those crazy flips in the air.”

Judging by Tucker’s approachable nature, you assume that, like Beau, he doesn’t know that you’re Logan’s ex-girlfriend. At least, not yet.

You are about to reply to him when Garrett walks towards Tucker in the kitchen, shoulders raised in apprehension.

“Where’s Logan?” He questions in a low voice, but loud enough for you to hear. You can detect a slight unease in his tone. You ignore the sweat beginning to form on your palms. “He didn’t answer my text.”

“He had to go back to the shop, I think,” Tucker replies, clearly confused by Garrett’s furrowed eyebrows.

Beau arrives to the house a few minutes later, joking about how he had to do an “emergency detour” to grab a Red Bull before the grocery store closes. Garrett joins you as well, and the three of you continue with completing your project.

While working, you faintly hear some commotion upstairs. A man singing rather loudly in the shower. Garrett rolls his eyes at the noise, telling you to just “ignore him.” By “him,” you figure he means Dean.

For about an hour, the three of you work quite efficiently in the living room while Tucker quietly cooks in the kitchen. And surprisingly, you actually have a bit of a good time with them. Tucker gave you a glass of water (even though you never asked for one), Beau continued to make jokes about how he’s becoming an “academic weapon,” and at some point, Garrett even complimented you.

“Wow, you explained Durkheim’s theory way better than Professor Rezkin,” He comments, and for a good minute, you’re certain that you misheard him.

Everything was going well. You weren’t even thinking about John.

Until the front door abruptly opens, and you hear the familiar sound of his boots against the wooden floor.

You stop typing, forcing yourself to look at the laptop screen in front of you and not turn around to face him.

“Hey, you guys need to check the mailbox more often, we have so many…” His gravelly voice echoes throughout the house, and the sound of cardboard boxes quickly falling to floor makes you jolt from your seat on the couch.

Fuck.

The sharp intake of his breath renders you immobile.

“What are you doing here?” Logan demands, and you still haven’t turned around to face him. You don’t think that’s physically possible. You then assume that he directs the next question at Garrett.

“What is she doing here?”

The brutal emphasis on she completely rattles you, sending goosebumps down your skin. You feel an imaginary hand wrapping around your throat, mercilessly squeezing you until you pass out.

You immediately start packing your stuff.

“I texted you,” Garrett tells him in a controlled, even tone. “The library was closed. Working here was the best option.”

Meanwhile, Beau remains silent, staring at the three of you with wide eyes. Tucker also emerges from the kitchen, shock plastering his features.

“I thought you were ‘staying away from me,’ huh?” He snarls in your direction, and you’re still hunched over the couch, trying to fit everything into your bag with shaking hands. Luckily, Beau helps you, wordlessly handing you your textbook, kind eyes staring at you in concern.

When you don’t answer, he turns back towards Garrett, irritation clear in his tone. You’re undeniably certain that the vein in his neck is protuding. “You guys seriously couldn’t find another place to work?”

Logan’s only greeted with silence. When you look up in front of you, you notice the tense expression on everyone’s faces. The three boys remain motionless in front you, clearly surprised by Logan’s attitude.

Then, to increase your humiliation, Dean walks down the stairs, whistling without a care in the world. His eyes widen with pleasant surprise when he sees you.

“Y/N! Nice seeing you…” His cheerful voice quickly dies down when he quickly looks at everyone’s faces. “Uh, what’s going on?”

Garrett sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s late. The cafés are closed. Study halls are noisy. This was the best place.”

Even though you are fixing your gaze on the scruff marking your shoes, you feel his eyes burning holes into your head, stare completely unforgiving. “Bullshit.”

With burning eyes, you stand up and carefully lock eyes with Garrett. “I’ll send you guys the rest of my edits.”

While turning to leave, you accidentally bump into his chest, and you don’t even dare to look at him in the eyes. Facing him alone after the Northeastern meet was humiliating enough. This was fucking purgatory. You feel his chest furiously rumble before you immediately walk away.

“For fuck's sake Garrett, you know damn well that she’s not welcome here—”

“John!” Garrett yells, his commanding voice booming over Logan’s. “Knock it off!”

Before you could stomach anything else, you rush out of the house, slamming the front door shut.

taglist: @abominablesnowman24, @foxyprincessworld, @tinyceasarsalad, @littlepippilongstocking, @mpotter, @imjustagirl-intheworld2, @esposa-do-harry, @comeoninguys, @kravitzwhore, @st4rg1rlies, @pinkpantheris, @steadybelieverbanana, @tahaing, @evilplansandstuff, @caelleuna, @antobooh, @chunkiwunki, @lexi2005, @ridinnjeanssdichhhh, @lilpeachyyyyy, @mariiibash, @islagm34, @smilezzz-artzs, @monayyy-21

(if you want to be added to the taglist, comment below and i'll like your comment once you're added! you can message me as well <3)

[athousandblunts]

underwater (part i) | john logan

john logan x f! reader | part ii

premise: at the end of high school, you ended your relationship with logan, and the breakup was devastating for the both of you. as a collegiate diver, you got an offer from california, and moved away from massachusetts, completely intent on never seeing him again. when you suddenly transfer to briar in your junior year, logan goes through a second round of heartbreak, torn between loving and hating you. category: enemies (exes) to lovers, a lot of angst, a lot of yearning word count: around 3.4k content/trigger warnings: brief mention of throwing up right before the first line break, description of a panic attack (mentions of faint, rapid heart rate), super super super light allusion to smut in the second section of the fic (it's from a dream and it's barely smut to begin with, but to be safe, minors dni), a pretty intense but short argument at the end (cursing). context notes: i read ali hazelwood's deep end last month and i'm still obsessed with it. that's why reader is a diver in this fic :) i apologize for getting any diving terminology wrong, i'm still learning it! and you might think that logan is kinda out of character in this, but he's only acting this way out of heartbreak, i swear. plus he continues to yearn after her, too. yearner!logan is always activated. also pretend that your name is a common name in this fic lol (it'll make sense when you read it, it adds to logan's denial). i do not possess a common or an "American" name (if that even exists in the first place) but i pretended to while i was writing it. and from what i know 10 meters = 33 feet, roughly, right? author notes: this will be a multi-part fic. i'll try to update once or twice a week, depending on any changes with my workload. we're also going to learn why reader transferred to briar as we advance through this fic. i also plan on doing alternating POVs too! this part is focused on Logan, next part will be focused on the reader. feedback is always appreciated :) and this was slightly proofread as of 06/12/26, so there still might be some errors/typos.

Logan is wholeheartedly convinced that he’s hallucinating when he hears your name casually slip out of Dean’s mouth.

A name that hasn’t crossed his mind in over two years.

“We were watching them practice yesterday, and dude, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her,” He hears Beau say to Tucker, and Logan’s chest begins to ache. Even though half of his upper body is stuck under the kitchen sink as he tries to fix another broken pipe, he continues to eavesdrop. He has to.

Maybe it’s another Y/N.

“Wait, Briar has a diving team?” Tucker asks in confusion, and Logan’s grip tightens on the pipe. He inhales sharply through his nose, forcing himself to pause as he listens to his friends.

He doesn’t have all the details yet. Perhaps there’s another Y/N who just also conveniently turns out to be a diver. If Logan retained anything from his statistics class last semester, it’s that there are an infinite amount of possibilities out there. 8 billion people exist on this Earth. 342 million people live in the U.S. We’re all bound to intersect somewhere in the Venn diagrams of our lives.

“Yup. They haven’t been doing well, though. Everyone’s saying that Y/N will make a difference on the team,” Dean explains, and Logan fixes his gaze on the towel he’s holding in his gloved hand. “She just transferred from California. Berkeley, I think.”

And that’s all it takes for the dam of Logan’s tightly wound emotions to burst. Internally, of course.

He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to gently crawl out from under the sink to avoid hitting on his head on the wooden surface above him. Slow and steady.

“And she’s so fucking hot,” His body freezes once he registers Dean’s voice. “I’m gonna ask her out after the meet tomorrow.”

Bam.

Logan abruptly hits his head against the wood, groaning and letting out a loud “fuck!” as he slides out from under the cabinet. Before he can even stand up, Tucker rushes over.

“Shit, dude, are you okay?” He looks at his housemate in concern as Logan pinches his eyes shut yet again, wishing he was anywhere but here.

When he opens his eyes, he sees that Beau and Dean have made their way over as well. Logan lets out a loud huff as he hurriedly walks away from the kitchen, pushing away Tucker’s helping hands.

“Dude, you good?” He hears Dean’s infuriating voice merge with the incessant pounding in his head, and he can’t tell which sound is worse. Logan can only grunt in response, rushing up the stairs.

“I’m gonna lie down,” Logan then offhandedly announces to the house as he reaches his bedroom and slams the door shut. He’s undeniably positive that Dean’s calling him a “moody bitch” right at this very moment, but he can’t bring himself to give a fuck.

Instead of falling onto his bed, he collapses onto his desk chair, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes as his leg restlessly begins to shake. His heart rattles incessantly against his chest as if he’s been skating suicides around the rink for hours.

And of course, his brain immediately starts to fuck with him. Maybe he misheard. Maybe he imagined the whole conversation. It wouldn’t be the first time his mind had wandered off while repairing a pipe.

But as his eyes drift to his closet, thinking about the box of your things that’s been collecting dust over the past few years, he has a sinking feeling in his gut that Dean’s words are probably true. That you are probably back in Massachussetts. At Briar. In the same vicinity as him.

And that this isn’t some sort of awful nightmare, and that the announcement of your presence is enough to send this man into a hysterically sickening spiral of denial and disbelief.

But his mind continues to propel him into a self-destructive rumination, conjuring up the most absurd of thoughts about how selfish you are to come back into his life, that you surely came back with the sole purpose to ruin his life for the second time, as if the breakup itself wasn’t devastating enough.

The boys all know about the mysterious woman who broke high school Logan’s heart. They jokingly tease him over her, making nonchalant comments about how he supposedly lost “the love of his life.” But they don’t know the extent of the torment and pain that he suffered.

Well, Garrett actually knows a little bit about you. He’s the only one out of the all of the guys who knows your first name. One time in sophomore year, Logan drunkenly let your name slip, and Garrett never forgot the way his best friend’s eyes turned glassy immediately upon muttering your name.

Now, Logan turns his head away from the closet, settling his gaze onto the chipped wood of his desk. He can’t bear to open that box. He vehemently refuses to.

While exhaling a shaky breath, he feels the familiar pressure of the tears lingering behind his eyes, but he furiously blinks them away. He forces himself to grab his Econ textbook to start his homework, desperately trying to shove the image of you in his mind into a deep dark hole.

When he opens his laptop to take notes on the Keynesian market theory, he receives a notification from his inbox. An email from Briar’s weekly student newsletter.

And because this cruel universe wants to add fuel to the blazing fire burning in Logan’s heart, the headline just happens to be a reminder about the diving meet tomorrow. Despite every bone in his body telling him not to scroll, he does anyway, because he must be some goddamn mascochist, he mutters under his breath.

He sneaks a peek of the very top of the photo underneath the headline. And as soon as he gets the tiniest glimpse of your hair and your forehead and your eyebrows, he immediately slams his laptop shut, feeling the churn intensify in his stomach and grabbing the trashcan beside him when he tastes the bile crawling up his throat.

The bastards make him attend the meet as well. Of course they do.

Logan knew about Briar’s Aquatic Center, since some guys in Beau’s frat were on the swimming team, but he has never actually step foot into the place. And his friends have the nerve to be fucking giddy when they walk into the center, seeing the colors of both Briar and Northeastern embroidering the bleachers.

He truly believes that he’s been masking his emotions successfully so far. However, even though some of the boys (i.e., Dean) have no idea, he can feel Garrett’s eyes stealthily watching him on the back of his head.

As they sit on the bleachers with the rest of student crowd, Garrett finally breaks the silence, looking at his best friend with furrowed eyebrows and utter confusion.

“You good?” He casually asks, elbows going to rest on his knees, his question practically getting muffled by the cheers of zealous Briar students. “You’re acting weird.”

The question punches Logan hard in the chest, but he conceals his emotions with a sarcastic scoff, shaking his head. “I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

His first sentence? Definitely false.

But his second sentence? Absolutely true.

The hockey player tossed and turned in his sheets last night as he tried to fall asleep without thinking about you. But that task proved totally impossible.

Because as soon as he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep slumber, his subconscious immersed him into a dream of your high school selves, sneaking around in the back of his truck between class periods. He felt your arms wrapped around his neck, your ankles crossed on his back, and your frenzied breaths as he pushed himself into you, wanting more and more. He moaned into your neck, saying your name over and over, and as he looked down at your bare chest littered with his bite marks and hickeys, he couldn’t help but think about how much he fucking loved you.

But suddenly, you disappeared underneath his arms, much like how you disappeared from his life. And instead of making love to you in the back of his truck, he woke up heaving and panting all alone in his bedroom with the digital clock practically mocking him as it displayed “3:01 AM” at him.

He couldn’t go back to sleep afterwards.

Logan’s mind wanders away from you and comes back to the present when he watches Garrett sigh and shake his head, as if non-verbally telling him “you’re a shitty liar, Logan.” His bloodshot eyes definitely do not help his case, either.

As he watches some student workers pass out brochures listing out the rosters of both teams, a wave of denial crashes into him for the hundredth time.

Even though he overheard Dean’s raunchy comments, and even though he saw the tiniest peek of your forehead in the email yesterday, he refuses to believe that you’re back until his eyes confirm it for him. He needs the visual verification before allowing himself to go completely mad. As if he hasn’t been tearing at his hair in a fit of hysteria for the past twenty four hours already.

“Oh look, she’s from Munsen,” Tucker casually notices as he reads your player profile on the brochure, nudging Logan’s shoulder. “Your hometown, right?”

Logan feels like he has to work every muscle in his body in order to give a response. “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

And he wasn’t lying. This whole situation was fucking insane.

He doesn’t realize how fast his leg is bouncing until Dean lightly shoves at his head, pointing to the rest of the bleachers. “Dude, knock it off. Your leg is shaking up this entire section.”

On a regular day, Dean’s comment wouldn’t even affect him. But today, the blood swells and boils in Logan’s veins as he restrains himself, desperately wanting to tell the blond bastard to “fuck off.”

But before he can ever get a word out of his mouth, an announcement blares over the speaker, broadcasting to everyone that Northeastern’s team is about to walk out from the tunnels behind the center.

His body is present enough to register the cheers from the crowd opposite of him whenever the speaker announces the name of each diver from Northeastern. And then the music changes, and it’s time for Briar’s team to walk out. Logan has to subtly check his pulse on his neck vein to ensure he’s still alive.

After all, he’s this close to running out of the center.

He feels physically sick as he watches each diver walk out, anticipation coursing through him, as if he’s watching a horror movie and anxiously waiting for the jumpscare.

When the fourth diver walks out, Logan stupidly feels a sudden wave of relief through his body. You haven’t walked out yet. Maybe this whole thing is a prank. A figment of his imagination.

“And now, let’s welcome our new platform diver, transferring fresh from Berkeley, California, Y/N Y/L/N!”

Everyone around him screams once the new diver comes into view, and his hand clutches against the metal of the bleacher, knuckles rapidly turning white.

It happens in slow motion.

His eyes lock onto the one piece hugging your body. His gaze then carries over to your hands that wave out to Briar’s crowd, and to your devastatingly gorgeous smile that both excites and destroys him. Whenever he scored a goal, or pressed slow kisses to your neck, or jumped into his arms after a long day, you flashed that beautiful smile at him.

Fuck. You’re actually here. Logan feels like he’s going to faint, or explode. Or both.

He doesn’t realize that he hasn’t teared his eyes away from you until Garrett forcefully lifts him up by the elbow, looking down at him as if it’s his first day on Earth. The national anthem had begun playing and he was still sitting down, spiraling into complete panic. He places a hand over his racing heart, and he knows that Garrett’s getting suspicious.

The meet begins shortly afterwards and you sit on side while the rest of your teammates go before you. You still haven’t noticed Logan in the crowd yet, even though his gaze never leaves your body.

Later, when it’s finally your turn, you walk your way up the stairs to the platform standing thirty-three feet above the pool. Since his seat directly faces the platform, Logan also conveniently has a good view of you as well. You’re much closer now to him.

And when his eyes linger down to the top of your left thigh, he feels the familiar burning coming back behind his eyes.

It’s small, but he recognizes it immediately.

It’s still there.

The stick and poke that Logan drew on you in junior year. The #22 proudly blazoned on the top of your thigh. He remembers tattooing it on you like it was yesterday—the way you squirmed underneath the needle, the way you dug your fingers into his curls and caressed his scalp, the way your laugh reached his ears when he joked that “you’re tied to him for life.”

You never got it removed.

He doesn’t know if he should be relieved or horrified.

The speaker blasts your name once again before you take your position. In high school, your signature dive was a simple but sharp backwards tuck. At every single meet, you absolutely dominated in your category, coming home with new medals and trophies practically every week.

Now, your signature dive is different. It’s become an armstand, a dive that always terrified the fuck out of Logan. Holding a handstand while on the edge of an awfully high platform was enough to cause nightmares. He never understood how you did it.

You hold your armstand flawlessly before flipping through the air, and Logan physically feels the crowd collectively hold their breath as you dive into the water from ten meters above.

“Woo!” He hears Dean holler among the rest of the cheers of the Briar crowd. Logan senses the tiniest bit of possessiveness sinking into his body. “Now that’s fucking sick!”

At your high school meets, a part of Logan was always irrationally scared that one day, you wouldn’t get out of the water. Sure, playing hockey came with pretty bad injuries, but so did diving. So as you take your sweet time getting out of the pool, Logan feels like he’s going even more insane. A trace of protectiveness still runs through his blood, even when the sight of you breaks his heart.

You climb yourself out of the pool, giving an unusual tight-knit smile before walking over to your coach. It’s not your usual wide, radiant, “I just demolished that dive” smile. It’s tense. Restrained.

Even though his eyes continue to inspect you, his focus is broken when Garrett claps a hand on Logan’s shoulder, physically jolting him from his trance.

“That’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

Garrett’s an asshole, but at least he has the decency to lower his voice, which Logan is immensely grateful for.

Logan wordlessly nods his head, shoulders slumping in defeat after getting caught by his best friend.

Garrett takes a moment to respond, letting the information truly set in, before shaking his head and looking at him with a mix of disbelief and concern.

“John, you’re fucked.”

To no one’s surprise, you score first place in your category.

And because of your accomplishment, hordes of people come rushing over to you once the meet is over. Since all of these excited fans and NCAA coaches immediately crowd you, Dean quickly gives up on getting your number.

At least Logan gets one win today.

Once the boys are ready to head out, Logan lies and says that he needs to go to the library to pick up a book. Garrett looks at him suspiciously, but the rest bid him goodbye as they head off to the house.

Is it a bit strange that he waited outside the center for more than an hour? Maybe. But his denial and disbelief have transformed into anger, and he needs to get some thoughts off of his chest.

Finally, as the sun is setting and all the other divers are walking out, he sees you.

Your back is facing him, but you could be a thousand feet away and he would still know that it’s you. He watches as you push open the door, sneakers bouncing against the grass as you walk further away.

But his voice catches you before you could put your earbuds in.

“You’re back,” He breathes out, and watches as you immediately halt your steps. “You’re back in the state and you didn’t even tell me.”

You remain frozen in place, back still turned to him. You recognize that voice immediately. You say nothing for at least thirty seconds, torturing Logan with your silence.

He already regrets his decision to speak to you.

“And why the fuck would I do that?”

And when you turn around, he feels the ground sway underneath his feet.

You look the exact same. You’re the same girl who would doodle and draw little sketches of him in your 9th grade biology class. The same girl who would bring a new poster of him to every single hockey game, cheering him on whenever he dedicated his goal to you.

The same girl who would lend him extra blankets and coats during the winter because his mother frequently forgot to pay the electric bill.

But in a bizarre sort of paradox, you also look entirely different. The bags under your eyes are pronounced. There’s a slight hunch to your shoulders as you carry your duffel bag. And he’s trying to find the same radiance in your eyes that you had two years ago, but that light has been completely extinguished.

He simultaneously wants to wrap you into a bone-crushing hug and sprint away from you.

“I think it’s basic human decency. Could’ve given me a warning at least, you know,” So that I could avoid you around campus, he thinks to himself. “Before you fuck up my life for the second time.”

You scoff, stepping closer to him, almost sending him into cardiac arrest. “Wow. Who the fuck do you think you are? God forbid I don’t cater to you. I don’t factor you into my decisions. I stopped doing that a long time ago.”

“Yeah, clearly,” He barks out a mirthless laugh, his heart sinking at the words you spewed out to him. “You stopped thinking about me even before our relationship ended.”

You let in a deep inhale, eyes narrowing him. He clenches his jaw, undoubtedly certain that the anger is rolling off of him in monstrous waves at this very moment.

“I’m not doing this right now,” You mutter, starting to back away from his space.

“Of course!” He snarls, bringing his hands up, practically shooing you away. “Walk away, it’s what you do best.”

You whip your head at him, and suddenly you’re a mere few inches away from him, your chest heaving at a dangerous pace. He gets a small whiff of your perfume, a scent that you’ve never changed and one that he’ll always, until the end of time, associate with you. After all this time, he hates that his first instinct is to hold you. But he can’t bring his arms to reach out to you, or his hands to touch your waist.

“Fuck you, John,” You snap at him, your body shaking to the very bone as you utter those painful words. “I walked away because you didn’t listen.”

“To your bullshit? Listening would be a waste, anyways,” He looks you dead in the eyes, and to his surprise, you remain silent, your head tilting downwards to fix your gaze on the grass.

And when he sees the tears welling up in your eyes when you finally lift your head to look at him, he’s completely startled. You close your eyes immediately.

“Just…stay out of my way, John,” You whisper to him in a shaky voice, eyes still closed as you pull your trembling hands to your chest, showing your empty palms to him as an act of surrender. The way your voice breaks when saying his name sends an ache throughout his chest. “And I’ll stay out of yours.”

Before his brain even registers it, you turn around and walk away, your body slowly disappearing into the night.

Garrett’s right. Logan’s completely fucked.

taglist: @solstice-333

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[athousandblunts]

comfort (part ii) | john logan

john logan x f! reader | part i

premise: logan continues to follow up with you, even when you try to put some distance between the two of you. one night, you make the ultimate error of sleeping over at his place, and you're forced to confront your own feelings for him. category: some fluff, mainly hurt/comfort, ANGST CENTRAL BABY, john mf logan has been officially appointed as the mayor of yearningdon (and i stand by that) word count: around 6.6k content/trigger warnings: vivid description of a night terror (brief mentions of a jail cell, blood, screaming), vivid description of a panic attack (brief mentions of strained breathing, hyperventilation), mention of PTSD, self-deprecating comments (reader is not nice to herself but she's working on it trust), mention of family fights. context notes: i'm pretty sure that logan still has an older brother in the show, right? i think in an interview they talked about how logan is now a middle child (jeff is the oldest and jules is the youngest). but i could be wrong, please let me know! i also kept up with the show's changes regarding his mother. and there's no smut in this (sorry). also i haven't played poker in a while so lmk if anything sounds off lol. and if any of y'all spot the J. Cole reference i casually slipped in there...i love you. author notes: holy shit, i was not expecting that level of engagement on part i. my heart was bursting at every like, every comment, every reblog, every person who asked to be tagged for the next part. this is officially the first off campus fic i have posted, and it will certainly not be the last. i'll start working on some more soon! thank you guys again for all of the love. i love y'all so much <3 (also this was not proofread at all, i will edit it in a bit. hopefully it's not too messy). i also want to preface that not everyone's experiences with PTSD (like any mental health disorder) will look the same. i got diagnosed with it some time ago and i'm still having to adjust to it. i would love to hear your thoughts on how it is displayed in this fic.

“You know, I don’t know if I told you, but I got an 85 on the last test?”

“No way! You did not tell me,” You smile at Beau, giving him a playful shove as you walk him out of the tutoring center. “You see? Intro to Genetics is not that bad. It’s actually pretty fun once you get the hang of it.”

The football player quickly whipped his head towards you, staring at you with a look of mock horror. “Oh, absolutely not. I’d much rather streak across campus than relearn the steps of DNA replication.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at him, the two of you inching closer to the main entrance. Tutoring Beau was your last session of the night, and you’re the last worker inside the center. Even the receptionists dipped out an hour ago.

Before you say bye to Beau, his eyes flicker towards a familiar figure leaning against at the main door, lips stretching into a grin.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach.

“Logan! How’s it going?” You watch as the two of them greet each other, and suddenly you feel as if you’re underwater, because everything comes out muffled. While tuning out their conversation, you fix your gaze on the clock conveniently located behind Beau’s head, restraining yourself from looking at the man that you’ve been avoiding for a week.

You don’t even notice that the two of them are trying to get your attention until Beau waves in your face.

“Hey, Earth to Y/N?” He chuckles, and you revert your gaze back to the football player. “All good?”

You stammer for a moment, and despite your tenacious attempt to ignore his warm eyes and crooked smile, you greedily sneak a look at Logan as you struggle to string together a coherent sentence. “Sorry, it’s been a long week.”

Beau gives you a side hug. “All good. Thanks again for the help,” As he exits the center, he gives a nod towards Logan. “Nice seeing ya.”

You follow Beau’s retreating body as he leaves through the glass doors, unable to fully look at the hockey player in his eyes.

“Hey,” His gentle voice snaps you out of your trance, and as your heart races to a rate that’s bordering on tachycardia, your mind conveniently goes back to Beau’s words.

Yeah, you would rather streak across campus than talk to John Logan right now.

“Hey. Um,” You bow your head to your shoes, trying to muster up the confidence to look him in the eyes. You never told him about your schedule on Thursday nights, yet here he is, showing up exactly when your shift is over. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

He shrugs, stepping closer to your body. You have bravely updated your stance from staring at your shoes to staring at his tattered Briar Hockey sweatshirt. Progress.

“Yeah, I just wanted to check in on you,” He confesses, and then lets out a chuckle that doesn’t have much humor to it. “I feel like I haven’t heard from you all week.”

Shit.

He’s not wrong. After last Friday, you haven’t texted Logan at all. And of course, as if he purposefully wants to add fuel to your self-inflincted anguish, he continues to message you, asking how you’re doing, and even sending the occasional meme on Instagram.

Suddenly, you feel the oxygen escape your lungs as he rests his index finger on your chin, tenderly lifting your head. A sharp ache thumps across your chest as you finally meet his gaze. You can’t quite pinpoint the emotion painted in his eyes.

“Is everything okay? It’s just me, you know.”

You internally scoff at the latter sentence, hoping that the self-pity doesn’t reflect on your face. It’s “just” Logan. It’s “just” your situationship. It’s “just” the man that your mind flickers back to as you lie on your bed. It’s “just” the man you think about after a particularly hard night, longing for his comforting arms and sustained body heat.

It can never be “just” Logan. That sounds too casual. Too relaxed. Too ridiculous.

“Yeah,” You breathe out shakily, hoping he doesn’t notice the uneasiness coursing through your body as you shift your weight from one leg on to the other. “I’ve…I’ve been swamped this week. I’ve barely been on my phone.”

To truly send you into ventricular tachycardia, he has the audacity to wrap a callused hand around your waist, pulling you even closer like it’s second nature. As if the two of you have been dating all along.

At least it’s just the two of you in the center. And if Logan has to decency to walk out the front door right now, you could self-combust by yourself, in peace.

“All good, I just wanted to make sure that you were still alive,” He jokes, but the sarcasm hits hard in your chest. His dimples don’t help with the desire churning deep inside of your heart either. “Are you free tonight?”

For what seems to be the millionth time in the past few minutes, you struggle again as you scramble through the English dictionary of your mind to figure out what exactly you want to say to him. To increase your self-misery, you decide to torture yourself by laser-focusing on the beads of water slowly dripping down the veins of his neck. He must have driven to the center right after his post-practice shower.

“Um, not really. I’ve barely slept at all this week,” And that wasn’t a lie. “I want to go home, take a shower, and fall asleep before the clock hits 10:00 PM.”

“Ah, isn’t that the dream,” Logan muses, and the twinkle in his molten eyes can disintegrate your trembling body right on the very spot. “Let me walk you to your car.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “You came all this way from the rink to ask me how I am? And now you want to walk me to my car?”

“You know, Y/N, if you just tilt your head up just slightly to look at the clock, it’s after 9:00 PM. And if you look outside, you’ll see it’s quite dark,” He teases, and you’re undeniably certain that your cheeks are as red as the feathers of the Briar University hawk. “I’m just fulfilling my duties as a gentleman.”

“Right, I forgot about that.”

And to shamelessly place the final nail in the coffin of your tightly-wound agony, he has the nerve to stick his arm out, gesturing for you to hold on it. And in an act of complete, utter selfishness, despite your effort to distance yourself from this man, you wrap a tentative hand around his bicep, greedily feeling his muscle tense beneath your fingers.

As the two of you walk through the parking lot in a “not too uncomfortable” sort of silence, you take the opportunity to lean against his shoulder, inhaling his scent. You breathe in his crisp cologne, cedar and pine bundling you to him like a tight-knit blanket. He smells like home. Like comfort. And that’s a dangerous feeling.

When he opens your driver-side door, you open your mouth to say goodbye. To rip off the bandaid. But he cuts you off.

“I missed you,” He confesses, exhaling a deep sigh as if he’s been holding on to that piece of information for years. “Truly.”

You recognize the sincerity in his eyes, and his lips part lightly and his eyebrows dip down and he looks…kind of sad.

You can’t bring yourself to come up with a half-assed lie as your hand still cradles his bicep. “Me too.”

“You said you aren’t free tonight,” He says in a resigned sort of tone, his other hand coming up to scratch the bank of his head. And then he throws another curveball at you. “But how about tomorrow? We’re throwing a game night. It’ll just be us and some guys from the team. It won’t be a party or anything.”

“Um, I don’t know,” You pull your hand away from his arm, trying to regain the tiniest bit of self-control, if that’s even possible at this point. “What kind of games will there be?”

“Some board and card games. Monopoly, blackjack, poker,” He accentuates the last word as he smirks at you, teasing dimples on full display. “And if I recall correctly, you were the reigning poker champ when we played together last Halloween.”

Your mouth stretches into a smile as you remember that night, but your eyes quickly widen as all of the details come back to your mind. “Wait, will it be strip poker again?

“No! No,” He frantically and adamantly confirms, his curls bouncing around as he tenaciously shakes his head. His frightened face stirs a loud laugh out of your chest, and you notice his eyes glimmer at the sound. “It will not be strip poker. I already see Dean in his boxers on a regular basis. I will not subject you to that image.”

“Thank you for the clarification. I appreciate the precautions that you take to prevent me from seeing that happen,” You allow yourself to joke, enjoying the current banter you have with him. “Very gentleman-like.”

“Anytime,” He tilts his head as if he’s taking off a hat, laughing with you. “You absolutely dominated last time. I would love to see you kick Garrett’s ass again.”

“Well, Mr. Graham needed to be humbled,” You jokingly put your hands up in self-defense, shrugging. “And I was honored to put him in his place.”

Logan’s smile has not wavered in the slightest. “It was awesome. And this night will be totally chill, I promise. The guys would love to see you as well.”

His mention of the boys warms your heart. “What time is it at?”

You didn’t think it was possible for this man’s eyes to light up even more. “Starts at 8:00. We might go on for a while though. Might be good to stay over,” Logan suggests with a casual shrug of his shoulders. He slips the last sentence in so quickly that you’re positive that you misunderstood what he said.

You sigh, biting your bottom lip. “Well, um…I’ll think about it.”

Logan sneaks a gaze to your lips, then returns to meet your eyes. “You know what? I’ll take that.”

You look back to your car, trying to signal to him that you wanted to go home. “Alright, I should start driving back now. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See ya,” He grins, slyly pressing a quick kiss to your temple before walking away. Your mind only registers the kiss once he’s more than ten feet away, and you brush your fingers over your temple as if his kiss was still lingering.

You have his beaming smile imprinted in your brain as you drive back to your apartment.

You quickly scanned the living room and kitchen after Tucker let you into the house the next night. Logan was right, the game night seemed pretty chill. Other than the core group, along with Hannah and Allie, you recognized Birdie and Simms, as well as a puck bunny that you interacted with once at a game before. Carly, you think her name was.

Everyone gathered around the dining table, with Logan right by your side, of course. He pulls up a chair next to Tucker, who was sitting next to you, and tells him to “scooch” while casually handing you a beer bottle.

“You like pilsners, right?”

You stare at him, tilting your head at him in amusement. You don’t remember mentioning to him that you preferred pilsners over other kinds of beer.

“Yeah, I do.”

You grab onto the bottle and murmur a soft “thanks,” watching as his mouth twitches. The two of you don’t exchange any words. Logan just beams at you with that familiar glimmer in his eyes, and you laugh into the bottle.

“Huh, I was wondering why Johnny here got a whole eight pack of pilsners, considering none of us like ‘em,” Dean loudly mocks Logan as he sits across the two of you, grabbing onto Allie’s hand for her to sit next to him. You definitely think that there’s something going on between them.

Logan just reaches over and lightly shoves at the blond hockey player, muttering “idiot” underneath his breath. Hannah raises her eyebrows at you as she helps Garrett with shuffling the cards. You look at her in confusion, not understanding her reaction. She shakes her head, mouthing the words “we’ll talk later” to you.

As everyone gets settled around the table, Garrett proposes a game of Rummy. And over the next few hours, as you transition between Rummy to Speed to Crazy Eights, you try to tune out the presence of Logan beside you. But his breaths hover close to your neck, and his left ankle wraps around your right one, and his fingers brush around your shoulders as he leisurely rests his arm on the back of your chair.

And unfortunately for you, you perform poorly in the first three games, and you selfishly blame him for distracting you. In your head, of course.

Finally, you guys play a game of good old-fashioned Texas Hold’Em. The two cards that Garrett deals you at the beginning are strong, but you won’t go all in right away. Not yet.

As the game progresses, the majority of the players fold, including Logan. At the end, there’s only three people: you, Tucker, and Dean.

“Alright, let’s go,” Garrett drums his hands on the dining table, shaking the table so hard that the beer bottles on top start to wobble. Hannah rolls her eyes playfully, “Showdown time.”

Tucker goes first, a resigned expression on his face as he shows his hand. A regular flush. Not bad, but not good enough to win. Logan pats him on the back, muttering “next time, Tuck” as he looks dejectedly at the table.

Dean, already sporting his cocky “I won” face, dramatically flips over his cards. “And, that my friends, is what? A straight. Mother. Fuckin’. Flush. Boom!” He howls so houd that Hannah covers her eyes, lifting his beer bottle up high. “Read it and weep.”

He then leans over the table, pointing in fake menace towards you, the competitive streak still firing up in his eyes. “And what does little Ms. Y/N have? You don’t have a straight flush, don’t ya?”

All eyes turn expectantly towards you, watching as you sigh and look at your cards with a glum face. Logan’s arm is still lingering on the back of your chair. In its natural place, of course.

You slump your shoulders. “Yeah, Dean. You’re right, I don’t,” You finally flip your cards, looking back at the overconfident hockey player with an incredibly controlled expression. “I have a royal flush, actually.”

Cue the hollers. The hockey house goes haywire.

Tucker immediately bursts out laughing, slapping his hand on the table and pointing at Dean. Allie’s jaw drops. Hannah joins in on the laughter, her eyes wide as she looks at you in excitement. Garrett chuckles, shakes his hand, and gives you his own personal round of applause. And Logan, within the same vein as Tucker, also points towards Dean and yells, with his full chest, “Loooooooser!”

Meanwhile, Dean looks like he just got slapped in the face, his cheeks flushing so hard that you almost feel bad for the guy.

“No. No fucking way. You checked the entire time. You barely fucking raised!”

You shrug your shoulders, looking up at him with a sly grin. Your casual silence only tips Dean over the edge.

“Oh hell no. Garrett, shuffle the cards,” He orders his captain, who just looks at Dean with a straight face, completely dismissing him. “We’re replaying.”

You let a tired sigh, peeking at the time on your phone and rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes. 12:14 AM. You’re junior in college and yet, you are the epitome of a grandma.

“Dean, for the love of God, just GOMD.”

As the letters slip out before your brain can catch up with your mouth, you halt and everyone looks at you in surprise. Dean just groans. You don’t even want to look at the satisfaction on Logan’s face right now.

“Jesus Christ, not you too,” He stares pointedly at Logan. “You got her saying bullshit acronyms now too?”

Logan shrugs at his roommate, sipping his beer and remaining silent. His other hand goes to rest on your upper thigh, and you try to not flinch in surprise.

Dean looks at you in pure exasperation. “And what the fuck does that even mean?”

At last, you stand up from your chair, playing with the chips in your hand. “It means to get off my dick, Dean.”

The house loses it again. Garrett’s composure completely breaks as his chest rumbles with laughs. Tucker is on the brink of fucking tears, walking over to Dean and shoving him, and Logan just looks at you in childish amusement, shaking his head as he laughs.

Dean chidishly huffs, turning his head away fron you and putting his palm to your face. “God, I can’t even look at you right now. I have half a mind to banish you from this house.”

“As if you would ever do that,” Allie remarks, rolling her eyes and patting Dean on the chest.

Garrett asks the group if they want to play another game, and even though a chorus of yes’s emerges, you shake your head at the captain, looking at the beer bottle you finished at least two hours ago.

“I’m spent. And I don’t feel like schooling Dean’s ass again,” You joke, and Dean rolls his eyes to the back of his head. “I might leave here in a bit.”

Once your comment registers to him, Logan instantly stands up with you, brushing a hand over your forearm. “You sure? You don’t want to stay a bit longer?”

His soothing eyes could melt you into a puddle. You’re calling it: John Logan is going to be the death of you.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty tired. I’m not too in the mood to play another game right now,” You explain as the two of walk away from the dining table, getting farther away from the group’s chatterings.

“Honey, I’m not gonna lie, I don’t know how I feel about you driving late at night. Especially when you’re tired,” He confesses in a low voice, his hand wrapping around your shoulder.

You’re not my boyfriend, you desperately yearn to say.

“You don’t trust my driving skills?” You opt to say instead, joking with him, but the stern look on his face doesn’t waver.

“I do, but I don’t want you to drive when you’re tired. And it’s late on a Friday, and I really don’t want you to run into any drunk drivers,” He adds, and his concern for you tugs at your heart. He then begins to knead at your shoulder, feeling how tense you are. “I was thinking we could chill for a bit. We can go upstairs, watch a movie, unwind a little. You definitely need to relax. Your shoulder’s crazy stiff.”

You tilt your head at him in confusion. “Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, his mouth twitching into his typical smartass grin. “Well, Y/N, I don’t know if you know, but I am an athlete,” You let an exasperated sigh, which only makes him smile wider. “And I’ve been given a lot of massages by PTs before, so I know some basics. I can definitely give you one.”

“A massage? Really?”

“Yeah,” That cheeky grin finally gets you, and you can’t control the blush plastered on your flaming cheeks. His fingers push a bit deeper into your shoulder and damn, that feels good. “See? You’ve been needing this.”

You look at him, really look at him, and you give him a resigned expression.

“I hate when you’re right.”

As soon as he hears the words fall from your lips, he’s grabbing your hand and leading you up the stairs.

Once your body hits the mattress, your self-restraint completely unravels. You shed some of your clothes, curling up into your unofficial side of Logan’s bed, getting yourself comfortable as he watches in amusement.

And right after he places his hands back on your shoulders, you feel your body sinking deeper and deeper, fighting with your life to keep your eyes open. But as Logan mutters sweet nothings into your ear, you can’t help but let the slumber overtake you.

You lie motionless on a concrete floor, your eyes frantically darting around as you try to recognize the walls of your enclosure. Groaning, you slowly pull yourself onto your knees, feeling your bones sink to the ground. You feel unbearably weak, trying your best to keep all of your limbs upright. It’s almost as if a huge weight is tied to your ankles, pulling you down as you try to stand up. You ultimately succumb to your fate as you use your elbows and knees to crawl on the grimy floor.

Everything is eerily silent. The only noise you hear is the sound of your own heavy breathing, hoarse exhales climbing from your trachea. You turn to your side and take stock of the metal bars holding you in your jail cell. Groaning, you slowly crawl to the bars, knees against scraping the rigid floor. Though the movement seems relatively easy, your lungs pound with a burning soreness, and your legs ache as if you’ve just run a marathon. It’s all in slow motion.

Finally, you reach a shaky hand up to one of the bars, shaking it so loud that your ears start to bleed. Gasping, you bring your face to the metal, mouth trembling as you let a scream.

“Help!” You cry out, banging on the bars. “Help me, please!”

The sobs spewing out of your body are uncontrollable. As the tears overwhelm you, an ache in your head begins to throb violently, the pain spreading like a virus to your temples. Completely and utterly debilitated, you roll your head as it bangs against the metal, surrendering yourself to the pain.

You let out a final scream for help, feeling your throat practically tear itself into two.

And then, you hear another voice.

“Y/N!” You hear the shout, but it’s rough and muffled and feels impossibly far away.

You let out a cry to signal your presence, but the voice only gets quieter and quieter. You try to call to this being, but they say your name one last time, before the room turns silent again.

“No! No!” You repeatedly try to scream, but you feel your lungs collapsing as your mouth abruptly begins to fill itself with blood.

Suddenly, before your body caves in and topples onto the ground, you hear your name. Again. As if it wants to taunt you.

“Y/N!”

But now, the voice is loud and clear. You open your eyes and practically flinch when you notice the wide eyes and parted mouth and furrowed eyebrows of the familiar face right above you.

No.

“Hey, hey, Y/N,” Logan calls out to you, his firm hands grasping onto your shoulders as the fear rocks through your body. You fix your eyes onto his bare chest, where you see him inhaling and exhaling at practically the same rate as your breathing. “Hey, it’s me. It’s Logan. It’s just me.”

No. This can’t be happening.

He brings a gentle hand to your cheek, but you recoil from his touch. The tears overwhelm your vision, but you can see the hurt plastered across his face.

“Y/N, you’re safe, okay? You’re with me.”

This can’t be happening.

You barely register his words as you scramble out of his bed, the jarring movement clearly taking him aback, and rushing to the nearest closed space. Away from him. Away from all of this.

Quick footsteps follow behind you, a “fuck” coming out under his breath.

The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut jostles you even more, and after you lock the door, your quivering body sinks below to the freezing cold tiles, and you wrap a hand your mouth to silence your wails. But you’re not sure it’s totally effective.

The rattle of the doorknob sends shock waves throughout your body, and you muster up all of the energy you have left to inch away further from the door, legs violently shaking.

“Shit. Y/N, can you please unlock the door?” Even though the door acts as a barrier and suppresses his voice, you can still hear his unsteady breaths. “Please. I’m really fucking worried.”

Everything burns. Your eyes sting. Your throat’s on fire. Your head pounds with an incessant and intolerable buzz.

You had a plan, and you didn’t stick to it.

Your mind immediately sends you into a turbulent spiral, convincing yourself with a terrifying intensity that you messed everything up. You placed another burden on him. You are the reason that this casual relationship will end.

It’s all your fucking fault.

And as you helplessly drown into the vortex of your mind, your ears still cling on to the pleas coming out from the other side.

“Y/N, please. Let me in,” He repeatedly calls out, frantically rattling the doorknob, and you hear a “thud” against the door. The sound initially makes you flinch, but you realize that it’s probably from his head leaning against the door. “Baby, please.”

Suddenly, you hear a commotion in the hallway, voices from various people all blending into each other.

Great, now you woke up several people. As if this night could get any worse. You begin to hyperventilate and wheeze, seeing stars form out of the corner of your eyes.

But Garrett’s captain voice comes out loud and clear, even though you can’t exactly hear what he says. You then hear an even louder, “don’t you fucking tell me to calm down” and “can’t you hear? She can barely fucking breathe right now.”

And as you rock yourself back and forth on the tiles, you realize that the booming voices feel farther and farther away, until you hear another knock.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Hannah,” You freeze in surprise, head whipping towards the door. “Um, I don’t know if you can hear me. But Garrett took Logan downstairs for him to cool off. I think the loud noises just make everything worse, right?”

You don’t say anything back, but your breaths don’t feel as shallow anymore. The stars from your vision have faded away.

“Logan said that you had a pretty bad nightmare. Is that true? I trust Logan, but I also wanted to confirm with you. And to see if you needed anything.”

You crawl towards the entrance, your hands gripping onto the sink to pull yourself up. You swallow for at least a full minute before you decide to finally speak.

“Is there anyone else with you?” God, you hate how croaky your voice sounds right now.

“No, Y/N. It’s just me. I swear. I’m pretty sure Garrett and Logan are outside now. They can’t hear us—”

The words die down on Hannah’s lips as you open the door. You watch as her face visibly saddens when taking in your damp cheeks and bloodshot eyes. But she doesn’t say anything, waiting patiently for you to speak first.

“I had a night terror,” You confess, your voice coming out as a whisper. “I have them quite often, but I haven’t told him, or anyone at Briar, about them.”

Hannah nods, slowly and carefully. “Okay. Is there anything I can do for you right now? What do you need?”

Your bottom lip wobbles as you take in her kindness. “Uh…I don’t know. I needed some space, which is why I locked myself in there. I never planned on Logan seeing me like this,” Your throat throbs as you chuckle without humor. As if you could plan out your night terrors. “I didn’t know how he’d react.”

“He was very worried,” Hannah says with full sincerity while looking into your eyes. “He actually wanted to grab a screwdriver and unlock the bathroom door that way. But Garrett persuaded him not to. It probably would’ve freaked you out even more.”

Garrett’s not wrong. You sigh, trying to search for your phone, figuring you left it in Logan’s room. “What time is it?”

Hannah fishes her phone out of the pockets of her sleep shorts, the brightness of the screen overtaking her face. “A little bit after 4:00. But don’t worry about that. It’s Saturday, and they don’t have a game tomorrow.”

You let out a relieved sigh at her reassurance. When you shift your eyes to looking downstairs, Hannah follows your gaze. “You want to go down?”

After you nod, she extends her hand towards you, and you allow yourself to take it. The two of you walk down the stairs, and through one of the living room’s windows, you see Garrett leaning on the wall while Logan paces on the grass.

“I’ll talk to him,” You tell Hannah, and she gives you a supportive smile, and asks for your permission to give you a hug. You grant it, of course. And you really needed the hug.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?” She tells you, and hands you a jacket. “The cold is not anything like last week, but it’s still chilly out there.”

“Thank you,” You whisper to Hannah, and she nods back at you as if to say “anytime.”

You walk into the backyard, and the sound of your feet hitting the grass makes both of the boys’ heads turn around. Garrett looks at you with an expression that you can’t quite pinpoint; it’s stern, yet kind at the same time.

Logan, on the other hand, has completely disheveled hair after running his hands through his curls multiple times. His jaw twitches, and the corners of his eyes have the tiniest hint of redness surrounding them. He places one foot ahead of the other, but stops before completely heading to you, practically restraining himself from hugging you immediately.

He looks fucking wrecked.

“Garrett, um, I need to talk to Logan alone. If that’s okay,” You’re the first one to speak, and the hockey team captain crosses his arm and nods.

“Alright. I’ll be inside if you need anything,” He spares one last look at Logan, sighs, and supportively pats your shoulder as he heads back into the house.

God, you would rather lose miserably to Dean at poker than open up to Logan right now.

But you still take the first step. You walk by and take a seat onto one of the lawn chairs, sighing as you look down at your lap. Logan still hasn’t moved, clearly waiting for your consent before he gets close to you.

You turn towards him, nodding your head at the other chair, and he takes the hint, slowly taking a seat facing you.

Your heart rattles fiercely against your ribs.

“This is…really, really hard for me to do,” You confess, staring at the ground and focusing on the sounds of cars driving past the neighborhood. “I didn’t think it would come to this point.”

His face visibly blanches, hands trembling as he nervously wrings them together.

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have worded it like that.

“I haven’t told anyone at Briar about this. Hell, I even just now told Hannah briefly when we were upstairs,” You let a huge exhale, and pull your knees to your chest. “But I think you deserve to know. We’ve been…fooling around for a couple of months now, and we’ve gotten, you know…close.” You wince as you hesitate on saying the last word.

When there’s silence from Logan, you take that as your sign to go ahead.

“Ever since I was four, I have been having night terrors. On and off. Some months, even some years are worse than others. One time in high school I went two years without them, and suddenly in senior year, they came back,” You ramble on, and you force yourself to inhale in order to center yourself. “And they’re different than nightmares. Much more intense. Nightmares usually occur in REM sleep, whereas my night terrors happen when I’m in a deep sleep, and it’s so, so hard for me to wake up. I thrash around, a lot. I’ve been to several doctors for it, even a somnologist,” You explain, and when you lift your head, you see his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

You quickly clarify. “A somnologist is a doctor who specializes in sleep disorders. But, yeah. Children usually grow out of their night terrors, but I never did. And it’s…debilitating. It’s fucking horrible.”

You fix your gaze on him, and you watch as he takes in every word that you say, his forehead wrikling with concern.

Finally, he speaks up.

Alright, Y/N. Your situationship is about to end things with you. Deal with it.

“The doctors that you went to…” He clears his throat, his voice coming out all ragged and rough. “Have they found the underlying cause for these?”

In all of the scenarios you went through in your mind in the thirty seconds before he spoke, you definitely did not consider one where he asked a question.

“They haven’t pinpointed an exact cause. But they have identified some triggers,” You sigh, looking up at the sky to prepare yourself to utter the next words you’re about to say. “Mainly stress-related. They believe that my PTSD plays a huge part in them.”

Immediately, his eyes widen and his lips part when he registers the last sentence. He lets out a shaky breath, looking down at his hands as he continues to wring them together.

“You have PTSD?”

You nod, biting into your lip. Remember, Y/N. Control.

“Yeah. I’ve been working through it since high school. Met with a therapist and everything. You know, trying not to let it define me. I spent my whole life being the mediator in my family, constantly solving other people’s problems instead of identifying my own. It was rough. Hell, I used to have panic attacks all the time in class,” You laugh mirthlessly, playing with the hem of your shirt. “Now I’ve upgraded. I just have them behind closed doors, when no one else is awake. I used to have both panic attacks and night terrors, luckily now I…only deal with one.”

Nothing about your situation is lucky.

The sheer magnitude of what you’ve revealed to Logan finally hits you. You grip the back of your thighs to hide your shaking hands.

Y/N, that was the opposite of control.

“I-I’m sorry,” You sputter out quickly, but Logan only stares at you in confusion. “I…I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that onto you. It’s a lot, I know—”

“Y/N,” He rasps out, and he presses his fingers into his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose before he looks at you again. “Can I take your hand?”

You nod wordlessly, giving your right hand to his left one. He draws soothing circles onto the back of your hand, even though his fingers are shaking as well. He bites his lip as he stares at you, looking utterly destroyed.

“Is this why you never stay over?”

The breath quickly escapes your lungs. You can’t find in yourself to speak, so you nod.

And Logan tightens his grip on your hand, his breaths coming out wobbly and unsteady.

“Thank you,” He enunciates, and you can’t help but look at him in surprise. “For…for trusting me with this. I had a feeling you were going through something, but I didn’t want to push you to say anything.”

You can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You’re not uncomfortable with me unloading all of this onto you? Even though we’re just casual?”

“Oh, baby,” He breathes out, and wraps his right hand around your cheek. You instinctively nestle into his warm touch. “There’s nothing casual about the way I feel about you.”

Before you can stop yourself, you reach out and wrap your arms around his torso, pressing your face into his neck to hide the incoming tears. Logan immediately welcomes your touch, settling your body onto his lap and tenderly cradling your head with his palm. His whole body relaxes as he runs his fingers through your hair, pulling you even closer. You feel your shoulder starting to get a tad damp as well.

“I was so fucking worried,” His voice trembles into your hair, which only makes your tears flow even faster. “I just needed to make sure you were alright. God, I was going crazy when Garrett pulled me aside.”

You don’t say anything, only breathing a watery sigh into his neck and tangling your fingers into his waves. Your heart rate finally slows down, and your muscles gradually loosen against his protective grip.

You’re safe.

The two of you remain in each others’ arms for a while until you twist around in his lap, turning to face him. He gives you a small closed-mouth smile, and you lazily trace his dimples. He turns his head to your palm, gingerly kissing your hand, feeling the stubble around his chin.

You could stay like this all night.

Logan then clears his throat, even though you’re sure that his voice is still raspy.

“You know, I kind of related to what you said earlier. About being the mediator,” He sighed, sneaking a hand under your shirt to rest his palm against your stomach. “I used to be the mediator in my family. We had so many fucking fights in our house. Between Jules and Jeff, Jeff and my mom, Jules and my mom…I got so sick and tired of it.”

You nod, listening intently. A few months ago, he gave you some information about his childhood and upbringing, about how early he had to start working and how he frequently argued with his mother. Ironically, it didn’t sound too different from your childhood, either.

“It’s the worst,” You add on, playing with his curls. “It feels like you have no space to breathe. Everyone vents to you, but you have no one to talk to. Their problems slowly drain you, even when you’re drowning in your own sorrows.”

“That’s exactly how I felt,” He tells you earnestly, his palm still resting against your stomach. He dips his head slightly to press a kiss onto your forehead.

“Yeah, I remember you telling me about your problems at home. I thought about sharing my own experience as well, but I didn’t want to be a burden. You already have enough on your plate,” You confess, eyes nervously darting to your hands. You felt like you needed to let him now.

But as he grasps the back of your head to pull you in for a much-needed kiss full of passion, serenity, and comfort, you know deep inside your heart that you do not have to fear for his response.

“Y/N, you are the absolute furthest thing from a burden in my life,” The emotion that exudes from his eyes is enough to send you back into tears, but you don’t feel your throat closing up. “Baby, you can always talk about your problems with me. Air out your frustrations and vent all you want. I’ll be here.”

And as the two of you hold on to each other, lingering outside long enough to see the sunrise, you know that your comfort zone is not necessarily a place, but the person who wraps his arms lovingly around your body and flashes that beautifully crooked smile for you. Only for you.

taglist: @we1rdth0ughts, @pearldaisy, @johnporkblogsblog, @parker-barnes-af, @chocobo522, @ravens876678, @roisebear, @happysunnia, @abominablesnowman24, @livformadrid, @steadybelieverbanana, @wintermoonly, @loonylosworld, @thisismmaya

[athousandblunts]

comfort (part i) | john logan

john logan x f!reader | part ii

premise: you're in a "casual" relationship with logan, but you continuously refuse to spend the night at his place. in fact, you force yourself to never fall asleep in his bed. falling asleep next to him risks exposing him to your demons. and the last thing you want to do is place a burden on the man you're deeply in love with. category: super super super light smut (minors dni), mostly fluff and yearning (incoming hurt/comfort in part ii) word count: around 3.2k content/trigger warnings: the lightest smut ever at the beginning (again, minors dni), vivid description of a night terror (brief mentions of blood, gunshots, screaming, suffocation in the night terror, but no other mention outside of it). context notes: reader works at Briar's tutoring center. i originally was only going to make her a Psych major, but i added Bio because i wanted her majors to reflect her interest in figuring out how night terrors work. author notes: i've been in a creative writing rut for two years and off campus has pulled me out of it. sooo there's definitely room for improvement, please bear with me :) i'm also super inexperienced in writing smut, which is why you can barely consider the smut scene "smut" in the first place lmao. i originally wanted to write this fic all in one go, but i'm having some writer's block with the latter half, which is why i'm publishing it in two parts. feedback is much appreciated! (also very lightly proofread as of 06/02/26)

The afternoon sun slowly filters into his bedroom, basking your bodies in a soft, gentle glow. Though the entirety of Briar’s student body is still recovering from the brutal winter storm, you found shelter in his arms, feeling nothing but warmth while pinned beneath his body. As the end of February approaches, the promise of Spring weather reinvigorates Briar students as they deal with the exhaustion brought on by their grueling midterms. After all, the new season brought blooming flowers, brilliantly sunny days, and new beginnings.

Perhaps, the onset of Spring could mark a new beginning for you as well. Maybe you could experience a fresh start in your life by ending this bizarre arrangement that you have with this dazzling hockey player. Ending this “casual” relationship would be good for the both of you.

But ever since you stumbled into his bed on one October night during some Halloweekend festivities, Logan quickly became your comfort zone. And right now, as you restlessly writhe between his sheets, you have absolutely zero desire to leave this comfort.

“Fuck,” the man of the hour rasped and grunted, his head dropping unceremoniously onto the crook of your neck. He breathes frenzied exhales into your shoulder, hot air drifting towards the bottom of your ears. His body weight practically crushes you, leaving you with just the tiniest slot of air to supply your lungs. But you’re not complaining. You’re exactly where you want to be.

You gasp into his brown curls as his thrusts quicken, your hands desperately fisting and grabbing onto the fitted sheet as some sort of pathetic attempt to anchor yourself. Watching you twist underneath him with heavy-lidden eyes, Logan grasps your hands, carefully interlocking your fingers with his, your palms firmly sealing against each other. Like the satisfying connection of the final pieces of a puzzle.

The loving gesture tugs at your heart. This “casual” intimacy is too much to bear, but you can’t bring yourself to let go.

“Y/N,” He rasps into your skin, his frantic breaths imprinting themselves like love bites onto your neck. You know that he’s close, and judging by the tension breeding underneath your belly that’s threatening to release itself, you know that you’re not that far off either. With your elbows digging into his mattress, you arch your back, slightly lift your hips just a tad higher, and the sound that emerges from your throat reverberates off the walls of his bedroom. Logan immediately finds his own release as he moans your name into your neck, his stubble etching a mark onto your skin, and his own body shaking from head to toe.

After he takes off the condom, Logan’s chest makes its way on top of yours as you sink into his bed, trying to catch your breath as he lazily draws circles on your thigh. Though your mind flinches at the “casual” nature of your relationship with Logan, your heart eventually learns to return to slow resting state while around him. He’s a steady presence, and his company is much needed as you try to navigate around the various stressors in your life.

Already, your tortuous coursework and demanding work-study stint are clearly draining you. Hannah frequently points out the dark bags under your eyes and the sluggish, lethargic nature of your gait as you force yourself to attend class.

But you had another stressor that completely robbed the last morsels of life clinging on to your body. A hidden, yet dangerous stressor that you kept snapped shut in the corners of your mind, only giving the key to your therapist for her to unlock.

The reason why you always refused to sleep at Logan’s place.

“So beautiful,” Logan’s voice pulls you from your reverie, his hoarse whisper tickling your collarbone. He kisses over the hickeys he proudly implanted near your breast, admiring his view. “All for me.”

You bite your bottom lip at his comment, pressing down so hard that you’re sure blood will ooze out any minute now. You’re technically not “all for him.” Even though he skips hockey practice to help jumpstart your car on the side of the road. Even though he now uses a fragrance-free laundry detergent because his sheets would irritate your sensitive skin. Even though he looks at you with those eyes that compel you to answer his text every single time. Even though his bed feels so comfortable right now.

Control yourself.

“Back at ya,” You awkwardly laugh, delivering a very nervous and spur-of-the-moment reply. So smooth, Y/N. Did you flirt this badly when he tore your Tinkerbell costume off?

Chuckles rumble from his chest, pressing down onto your heart. You could play his laugh on repeat. Hell, even set it as your ringtone. “Still not used to receiving compliments, I see.”

You don’t offer a response. Suddenly, the bed feels way too warm and way too inviting. As his pillow swallows your head, your eyes start to close.

But you quickly force yourself to wake up, remembering that you do not, in any circumstance, want to fall asleep in his bed. You will not make that mistake.

Instead, you lean over to check the time on your phone. 4:09 PM.

“I need to get going to my shift,” You slide out from underneath him, removing yourself from his grap. The sudden loss of warmth feels like whiplash.

His dark eyebrows furrow as you grab the haphazardly laid clothes on the wooden floor. “Doesn’t it start at 5:00? You still have some time,” He pats your unofficial side of his bed, watching you shimmy yourself into your jeans. “Come ‘ere. Stay a ‘lil longer.”

You bite your lip even harder, using it like a stress ball, and you try to forget that your situationship remembers that tiny detail of your work schedule. Of course he does.

“I like getting there early, though. It’s much better than arriving five minutes before a session starts,” You zip up your jeans, chuckling softly when he flashes his signature sad puppy eyes at you. “I like to quickly refresh myself on the content beforehand.”

“As if you would need any refreshing, Mrs. Bio and Psych Double-Major,” He teases, and yep, you’re pretty sure that’s blood you’re tasting right now.

“Trust me, I don’t always remember the ins and outs of signal transduction.”

Logan tilts his head to the side, staring at you with those confused eyes that you find so absolutely endearing. “And what the hell is ‘signal transduction?’”

You sigh, kneeling onto the floor and tying your shoes. “That’s a story for another time. I better get going.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you down,” He says as he jumps out of the bed, rapidly putting on his sweatpants and grabbing a random flannel from his desk chair.

You roll your eyes as you open his bedroom door, hearing the noises of his roommates from downstairs. “I’ve been here plenty of times, Logan. I know my way around the house.”

He shrugs, buttoning up his flannel. “So? God forbid a guy wants to be a gentleman.”

“A gentleman?” You stifle a laugh, and he has the gall to put on a mildly offended face.

“Of course, my lady. I’m always on my best behavior for you.”

More blood seeps from your lip. You give him a playful shove on his shoulder, but he brandishes that signature crooked "John Logan smile" at you, and fuck, you’re in deep.

As the both of you walk downstairs, your peer at the living room and say a goodbye to the rest of the boys. Tucker and Dean were sitting on the couch, pouring over a textbook that you knew all too well. By the looks of it, Garrett wasn’t home. He was probably hanging out at Hannah’s dorm, per usual.

“Good seeing ya, Y/N,” Tucker smiles at you, lifting his head from the textbook.

“Yes, very good seeing ya,” Dean drawls, suddenly jumping up from his spot on the couch and making his way over to you. “And we are in desperate need of your guidance. This bio class is killing us.”

All of the boys knew you already. Though you and Logan weren’t “serious” by any means, neither of you kept your situationship a secret from others. At least Logan spared you the hurt and discomfort that comes from sneaking around.

Then again, all of his charming, boyfriend-coded compliments haven’t made the situation any better either.

You shake your head jokingly at Dean. “You guys have Professor Ragner, right? He’s chill. You’ll be fine.”

Dean gasps in fake shock, puting a hand to his heart as if he were in a melodramatic soap opera. “Wow, so you’re just leaving us to drown with no support? I see how it is, Y/N.”

You scoff. “No offense to y’all, but I don’t have time for free tutoring. I’m getting paid minimum wage, which is practically nothing to begin with, to tutor jocks like y’all in the first place. I’m sure as hell not doing any unpaid labor.”

“I can pay you in a different way,” Dean unabashedly flirts, blond waves falling over his eyes, voice dropping to a lower tenor. You raise an eyebrow in amusement, knowing that he’s joking.

Then someone behind you loudly clears their throat. You turn around to Logan, who is adorning an expression that you can’t quite decipher.

“Jesus, relax, Johnny,” Dean comes around and pats him on the back, which Logan rejects in fake disgust, pretending to flinch. “I was just suggesting an alternative method of payment.”

“Uh-huh, sure you were," Logan replies with a chuckle, though his smile doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes.

Tucker rejoins the conversation. “I don’t know about cash, but I’ll pay you back with free meals. I make a mean pasta carbonara.”

“Now that, I can get behind,” You point finger guns towards Tucker. “Well boys, I’m off to work. I’ll see y’all later.”

Tucker and Dean say their goodbyes. With a light touch of his hand on the small of your back, Logan leads you to the porch. He opens the door, and as you step outside, he wraps a hand around your wrist, wanting to say one last thing before you leave.

“Have a good shift,” He presses a kiss to your forehead. You force yourself to not bite your lip for the hundredth time. Control. “I’ll see you on Friday, yeah?”

You don’t know what to say. You knew that the team was throwing a party before their game on Saturday. A sharp inhale exits your nose.

“Yeah, sure,” You smile at him, starting to walk to your car. “See you, Logan.”

As you drive to the tutoring center, you chastised yourself for how close you were to falling asleep in his bed. This pathetic attempt at a situationship was going to tear you apart. And if you need to distance yourself from those warm eyes and beaming smile, then so be it.

Friday was two days away. You decided to not come over to the hockey players’ house for their party before playing Eastwood. Not only did you want some space between you and Logan, but you also had an upcoming midterm that made up a good chunk of your grade for your Psych class. You thus planned on devoting your entire weekend to studying for it.

So when Friday night came along, giving excuses to Logan felt easy. Somewhat easy.

(9:21 PM) Logan: Hey, I haven’t seen you yet. Are you on the way?

(9:46 PM) Y/N: I have a huge midterm on Monday. I need to study. Sorry, I forgot to tell you :/

(9:48 PM) Logan: Ahh I see, no worries.

(9:51 PM) Logan: I looked forward to seeing you.

(9:52 PM) Logan: I’ll see you after the midterm? Good luck, you got this.

(10:23 PM) Y/N: Thanks, good luck with the game. 

A twinge of guilt spread through your chest and hammered at your heart when you didn’t confirm the rendezvous. You always came to the boys’ parties before their games, even though you continuously stuck by your rule of never sleeping over, which definitely took Logan a little bit of time to get used to. During Halloweekend, you surprised him when you slipped out of his bed at 3:00 AM, grabbing your car keys and opening his bedroom door.

“You don’t want to stay the night?” You recall his gravelly voice, utterly rattled with sleep, as he watched you put on your shoes. “It’s kinda late.”

“I have an early morning. And I didn’t drink at all, so…” You explained, giving him a tight smile before closing the door so that you didn’t have to stare any longer at his bare, toned chest. “See ya.”

Starting with a clean slate was necessary. After all, you needed to keep your commitment to both your grades and your job. Logan would only serve as a distraction.

That’s what you kept repeating to yourself as you went to bed later that night, putting your phone on the other side of your room in order to stop checking it.

The first thing that you notice is that you can’t speak.

You bring a palm up to your mouth, but your face feels completely numb. Anything you say just comes out extremely muffled, as if you never had a mouth in the first place. You gaze around your environment with blurry eyes, looking at the four corners of the dingy room. You try to touch one of the walls, but as soon as your hand comes into contact, the wall becomes translucent, your hand just floating around in open space. But as you pull your hand back, the wall comes up again, inching closer and closer to your face.

Your breath hitches as you try to find an escape—a trapdoor, a window, just anything will do. But the room starts to resemble a box the more you look at it, as if you were an inanimate object shoved inside a carton to never be seen again. The lump in your throat grows as your vision subsides with each passing second, complete murk and darkness clouding up your eyes.

You try to bang on the walls, but your balled up fists just fall into air. You try to scream for help, but you feel chains wrapped around your mouth, silencing your cries and greedily swallowing up any remaining shred of air needed for your survival.

The sound of falling objects tears your gaze away from the walls. You eyes widen as you watch clumps of your hair disintegrating into the floor and massive droplets of blood emanating from your fingertips. You frantically search your whole body for any sign of a cut, a wound, an injury, but your hunt is fruitless.

And that’s when the walls start closing in, devouring every inch of space that’s not covered by your trembling body.

You sink to the floor as your knees helplessly buckle, crawling up into a ball as a fresh flow of tears sprint down your cheeks. Soon those tears also turn to blood, drowning your limbs in a sea of red. And the ceiling feels so fucking close to you, you’re certain that it’s going to collapse.

Sounds of whining sirens and howling wind and quick gunshots and terrified screaming all fuse and merge tightly together in perfect storm, a cacophony where you can hear each individual occurrence happening at once. The walls are up to your nose, and you try so hard to scream. To cry for help.

The sound of a door slamming shut finally wakes you up.

You’re heaving as you sit up in your bed, your fists rapidly unclenching to rest your palms on your chest. Your body feels so unbearably hot, outlines of your sweat etching themselves onto your sheets. A fearful whimper tears out of you, and you wrap your hands around your curled-up body as you begin to frantically rock yourself back and forth on your bed. The sobs pour out of you in an instant, breaths clawing themselves up your throat in such a sharp, stiniging manner that you’re sure there’s clawmarks scarred across your trachea. You’ve had night terrors ever since elementary school, but you’ve never really adjusted them.

The tears completely wreck you. You move your hands from your body to the sheets, fists digging into the fabric, helplessly searching for security. What a stark contrast to your time with Logan, where you desperately fisted at his sheets while waves of pleasure cascaded through your body.

Both times, however, you were looking for control.

Nevertheless, as your sobs gradually begin to subside, you inhale shaky breaths to center yourself back to reality. When your vision starts to clear up, you go back to the 5-4-3-2-1 coping technique that your therapist suggested to ground yourself.

Five things you can see. Four things you can touch. Three things you can hear. Two things you can smell. One thing you can taste.

As you slowly list through the four things you can touch, your mind goes back to the hockey player you’re trying so desperately not to think about. But all you desire is to feel his callused palm on your cheek, his long arm around your waist, and his mouth trailing kisses on your neck.

And you hate how much you yearn to be in Logan’s arms right now. You ache for his comforting presence, but you know you can’t place this trouble on him, this overwhelming burden to bring you back to Earth after a night terror. He already has enough on his plate.

Sighing, you make your way to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. On your way there, you grab your phone, looking at the date and time. 2:38 AM, Monday, February 23rd.

So you had a night terror the morning of your big exam. Great.

At least you can thank your neighbors’ rowdiness for pulling you out of your dream. They loved to slam the door after a night out, and unfortunately for you, they seemed to go out every fucking night. You kindly asked them to close their door more gently, but clearly, your words had zero effect.

After wiping your face and staring too long at your bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror, you walk to your desk, deciding to fit in a last-minute study session now that you’re awake. You definitely don’t want to go back to sleep now.

After five minutes of flipping through some flashcards, you make the mistake of scrolling through the notifications on your phone. Your eyes immediately lock on to some notifications from Instagram. Specifically, some DMs from Logan.

When your trembling fingers open your message thread with him, the slight shaking in your body stops when you browse through his messages. All of them were either the silliest of reels or the stupidest of memes. And under each and every one of them, he wrote a message: This made me think of you; or you definitely need to watch this; or even this is so stupid, but it made me laugh so hard that I had to send it you.

As you laugh while watching cat videos and overplayed vines, the desire for Logan seeps through your veins. He has no idea of the effect you have on him.

But you’re still going to keep your distance. You have to, even when you watch all of the reels he sends you, despite telling yourself that you need to go back to studying any minute now.

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ tender loving care

john logan x reader

summary: reader gets a minor head injury when logan is not around and everyone jumps to help. core characters mentioned but mostly dean and allie. short fic, genuinely not as dramatic as the summary makes it sound like lol. requested!

Logan’s phone won’t stop buzzing on his backpocket as he’s elbows deep in Professor Walsh’s car engine. He grabs the rag over his shoulder and does his best in cleaning the oil from his fingers before fishing the phone out of his pocket, only to find a bunch of texts from Dean.

dean: before you say anything dean: it was an accident okay dean: and she really really wanted to play with us :(

That, followed by a picture of you laying down on their couch, ice pack over your forehead, is enough to make Logan mumble a stream of apologies to Professor Walsh, something akin to “sosorryigottagoseemygirlfriend” and a promise of checking his engine another day as he literally runs back home. 

He finds you in that very same resting place, except your head is on Allie’s lap while she holds the ice pack for you. Dean, who’s bandaging your ankle on the end of the couch, immediately stands up and walks over to Logan’s direction,

“Dude, I swear to god that it was an accident.”

Logan takes a look at you over Dean’s shoulder, “What the fuck happened?”

“Me and Garrett were playing soccer when she got here looking for you.” Dean starts talking, “Then she asked us if she could join and I obliged, of course, ‘cause– Well, I wouldn’t I? Can you imagine how misogynistic that sounds if–”

“Dean, get to the fucking point!”

“Right, sorry– She tripped on my foot while we were playing and hit her head. It wasn’t too bad, I managed to catch her. But–” Dean motions his head to you, awake and murmuring something to Allie neither the boys can hear. 

Logan moves in your direction, kneeling by the couch, “Hey, honey. How you feeling?”

You can’t see him, ice pack covering your eyes as well as your forehead. Still, your lips quiver up when you listen to his voice, “I’m good. They’re all being dramatic.”

He looks up at Allie, gesturing for him to take her place on the couch. Allie carefully holds your head as she moves from under you, letting his hands hold you instead before she let go. You lay your head on Logan’s thigh, nuzzling as he presses a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth. There’s a small cut on your chin, covered by a pink band-aid. His hands move to your cheek, drawing circles as he caresses your face, “You hurt your chin?”

You hum, and Allie speaks up, “Her arms are a bit scratched too. But we already cleaned them, and Garrett is on his way to the rink with Hannah. He said you guys keep a full first aid kit in the locker room.”

Logan hums, “Did you eat anything?” he murmurs to you. 

“Tucker made me a smoothie.” You answer, then your hand moves to remove the ice pack. Logan sees a purple-tinted bump on your forehead, but your eyes are shiny and smiling, “Baby, I’m fine. Really. Don’t get too worried, handsome. Hannah and Allie patched me up, and Dean said he’s sorry a thousand times already.”

Your boyfriend looks up, watching Dean’s apologetic face turn into a pout. Logan rolls his eyes at him, a tiny smile on his lips as he feels disarmed. He’s a little ashamed now, being so ready to pick an argument with his friends a second ago for letting you get hurt, yet there you are, laying all pretty on his lap, tended and smiling as Logan’s heartstrings pull a little.

He gives you a grin, “Do you want paracetamol or something?”

Dean raises his hand and gives his most prideful look, “Already had her take one, boss.”

“Alright. You’re good, man.” Logan says before adjusting your ice pack back to its place, pressing a quick peck on your cheek, “And you keep icing your head, there’s a bump right under your hairline. Allie, take my place?”

You stir, “I can lay on the couch just fine by myself.”

“No, no. We’re keeping someone by your side for the next twenty four hours.” Allie says, already taking Logan’s seat, “We gotta make sure you don’t have a concussion and choke on your own vomit.”

“Geez,” you sneer, “So dramatic.”

He stands from the couch, moving in Dean’s direction, “And you are helping me make dinner,” he drops his arms over his friend’s shoulder, muttering, “Thanks for helping take care of her.”

Dean beams at his friend, “That was nothing. The least I could do for almost killing her, really.” He jokes, squeezing Logan’s shoulder, “She’s all yours now, dude. And I’d say a little TLC is much needed.”

He looks back at you, giggling with Allie on the couch, “I think she’s in good hands.”

“I meant for you.” Dean says, “I know you love when you get to fuss over her, you softie.”

“Well, yeah. Like you said,” Logan shrugs, “Who am I to deny some tender loving care over my oh so hurt and in need of care girlfriend?”

“I can hear that,” you shout from the couch.

“And I don’t hear you complaining, babe.”

notes: thank you for reading! requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3

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