btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
SUMMARY You’re avoidant, Logan’s anxious. Somehow, you both make it work.
PAIRING john logan x gender neutral!reader
GENRE comfort, fluff, established relationship
WORD COUNT 1.1k
CONTENT there's slight angst if you squint but overall, it's fluffy, one swear word, communication of emotions over the phone, reader's outfit goes to waste, the contact name angel is his pet name for reader! no use of Y/N
AUTHOR’S NOTE i gave into the off campus craze. sue me! hope you guys enjoy this quick lil fic :)
Logan had left the comfort of your dormitory with the promise of coming right back after practice to pick you up for a planned evening out.
About forty minutes before your agreed time to meet, your phone buzzes on your desk. Your heart flutters in anticipation.
my no. 22
Hey baby
Bad news, I can’t make it to dinner. Coach wants us to train overtime today
Ik we’ve been looking forward to this for so long
I’m really sorry
I’ll make it up to you
You blink at the sight of his messages coming through, a pit of disappointment opening up in your stomach, widening by the second.
It takes you three minutes to read them over and over again and two minutes to respond.
angel
oh ok
i’ll see you when you get here afterwards then
Take care and good luck
Immediately after your last message, an incoming call from the man of the hour (and your every hour after that) pops up. You answer after the third ring.
There’s the usual distant chatter in the background; he wastes no time to point out the obvious. “You’re upset.”
“I’m not.” You are.
“You signed your ‘OK’ with one K instead of two.” His voice is rugged and you can only imagine it’s from the drills and distress.
“Typo.”
“You didn’t add any emojis.”
You shrugged even if he couldn’t see you. “Not in the mood to.”
“Your ‘take’ started with a capital T.”
“Oh. Didn’t notice.”
“Baby.”
“John.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m obligated to ask: don’t do what?”
“Shut me out.” He sounds upset; you can only imagine him running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “Dance around the fact that you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” you murmur into the microphone, phone held up to your ear as you carefully eye yourself in the reflection of the mirror.
You had initially felt good in the outfit you came up with, but now you’re twisting and looking at yourself dubiously, head spiraling with all the negativity in the world.
“I’m… processing.”
While your wording is too diplomatic for his liking, he’ll take what he can get. “Okay. Walk me through it.”
You both had agreed in the past that no matter how stupid the other felt talking about their feelings, it was better than saying nothing at all and letting unspoken feelings build up to eventually burst.
Still, you couldn’t help how silly you felt sometimes when attempting to verbalize your emotions out of thin air instead of aggressively writing it on your journal as if it had done you wrong.
“I got dressed up. I got ready with you in mind,” it comes out quiet, but it’s enough to crack Logan’s heart in two. Your eyes trail away from the mirror and space out on one of the dozen photo booth strips you took with Logan on your wall. Your heart skips a beat at the sight.
The silence that he leaves open is an indicator for you to continue on.
“Not—not that I’m guilt tripping you, of course. I feel like we would’ve had a lot of fun… It’s been a while since our last night out. I also just felt and looked good and I thought you’d appreciate it, too. But c'est la vie, y’know?”
Logan sighs for the nth time during the duration of your call, clearly frustrated with himself and the circumstances. “I really would’ve loved to see you all dressed up and I agree we would have had fun, too. I’m sorry.”
You let out a noise that seems to be a light laugh. On the other end of the line, Logan straightens up at the sound to gauge what kind it was.
Out of nowhere and without any context aside from Logan’s composure, Dean skates by and yells out, “whipped!”
You vaguely hear the disembodied yell through the phone earpiece and laugh again. He discerns it as vulnerable.
“You know, me from eight months ago wouldn’t believe if I said all this.”
“Wouldn’t believe what?”
“How much I care about a man’s opinion.” You share with a nearly teasing lilt in your voice. Half a beat passes before you add, “How much I care about a man at all. A hockey player at that.”
He chuckles, a comforting warmth spreading throughout his entire body. “Me from eight months ago wouldn’t have believed that I just disappointed you after pining over you for so long.”
The humor drops again, you shake your head forgetting he can’t see you, and whisper back to him as if it were a secret. “It’s not exactly your fault.”
“Logan from months ago would have definitely decked me if he could. I deserve it,” Your boyfriend smiles again when he hears you chuckle again.
“But, I’m still sorry. I mean it.”
“I know you do. Thank you.”
“You take any photos of yourself in the outfit?”
“‘Course I did. You know I love a good pre-outing photo shoot.” Somewhere along the call, you hadn't even realized the void of despair in your stomach had closed.
He groans, imagining what he missed out on. “I cannot believe I have to settle seeing photos instead of the actual thing.”
“Hockey’s important, my love.”
“But so are you.”
Heat sneaks up your to face unwillingly. Before you could respond teasingly, a different disembodied voice yells out to resume practice.
You take that as a sign to wrap up the call before he tangents to delay the inevitable. “Hey. It’s fine, we’re fine. Okay? This is just one of many days, we can always reschedule.”
You can hear him let a breath out, finding his patience in your comfort to get through a long evening of droning drills. He speedruns his goodbye with a rushed string of words.
“Yeah. Okay. Send the photos, I’ll make it up to you later. I promise, and I mean it this time. I love you.”
“I love you, too. See ya.”
When the call ends, Logan already has your direct messages between you both opened, anticipating your photos. However, you already beat him to it with a stack of three media: a shot of your reflection in the mirror, a video equivalent of it, and a cute selfie.
my no. 22
Oh my god
Baby you look divine
I hate myself, I hate it here
The next two hours are going to be the longest hours of my fucking life
I miss you already
John was clingy when he was tired in a way that was almost unfair.
When he was fully awake, he acted like he had his life together. He was calm, easygoing, a little too charming for his own good, and just smug enough to be annoying when he wanted to be.
But when he was half asleep, all of that disappeared.
What was left was soft, warm, and deeply attached to you.
You discovered this on a Sunday morning when you tried to get out of bed before he woke up.
The room was still dim, the blankets tangled around your legs, and John was sprawled out beside you in one of those ridiculous positions that somehow looked comfortable only to him. His hair was a mess against the pillow, his face turned toward you, one arm draped over your waist like he had been holding on all night without letting go.
You moved carefully, trying not to wake him.
It almost worked.
You had one foot on the floor when a hand caught the back of your shirt.
You froze.
“Where are you going?” John mumbled.
His voice was rough with sleep, low and thick and far too cute for someone who had already decided to ruin your escape plan.
You looked back at him. “I was getting up.”
His eyes were barely open, just a sleepy sliver of blue looking at you like you had personally offended him. “No, you weren’t.”
You blinked. “Yes, I was.”
John groaned and tightened his grip on your shirt just enough to make his point. “It’s too early.”
“It’s nine.”
“That is early.”
You tried not to smile. “You have practice in an hour.”
He made a sleepy sound that was halfway between a sigh and a complaint. “I know.”
“Then you should get up.”
John opened his eyes a little more, looked at you for one long second, and then shook his head against the pillow. “Absolutely not.”
You laughed quietly. “John.”
He reached for you with the hand that had been holding your shirt and hooked it around your waist instead, tugging you back toward the bed with slow, sleepy determination.
You let out a surprised sound as your balance shifted. “John, hey,”
But he had already succeeded.
He pulled you back against him until your back hit his chest and his arm settled across your middle like that was where it belonged. Then, without even opening his eyes all the way, he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.
It was so gentle and so absentminded that it nearly made you melt on the spot.
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.
You let out a laugh. “You always say that.”
“Because it always works.”
“It does not always work.”
John hummed, clearly unconcerned by the truth of that statement. His hand slid over your stomach once, then settled there, warm and steady. “It works on you.”
You turned your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder. “That is manipulation.”
He smiled against your shoulder without opening his eyes. “That is love.”
You gave him a scandalized look that he absolutely did not see. “You are impossible.”
John’s answer was a sleepy kiss to the back of your shoulder blade.
You made a helpless noise, half laugh and half sigh, and he took that as permission to cling harder. One of his legs tangled with yours under the blanket, and suddenly there was no chance of getting up unless you physically fought him for it.
Which, judging by the way he was holding onto you, would have been a losing battle.
“John,” you said, trying for stern and failing a little, “you need to let me get up.”
He buried his face for a second against the top of your shoulder. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You twisted a little in his arms so you could look at him properly. “You are acting like a giant sleepy baby.”
That got his attention.
John blinked at you, still very much half asleep, then frowned with all the seriousness he could manage while looking like he had just woken from the deepest nap of his life.
“I am not a baby,” he said.
“You’re pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“You are absolutely pouting.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re mean in the morning.”
You laughed and reached up to smooth his hair back from his forehead. “You’re the one refusing to let go of me.”
He caught your hand before you could pull away and pressed a kiss into your palm, eyes still heavy with sleep. “You’re warm.”
That made your expression soften immediately.
John noticed, because of course he did. Even half asleep, he was still annoyingly good at that.
He tightened his hold around your waist again and added in a much smaller voice, “And you were gone.”
You paused.
Gone.
It was such a simple thing to say, but it landed in your chest with quiet force.
You looked at him. “I was just getting up.”
“I know.”
His thumb moved absently against your side. “Still.”
That made the teasing in your expression ease away. “Still?”
John opened one eye just enough to meet yours, and there was something so soft there it made your throat go a little tight.
“Yeah,” he said. “Still.”
You let yourself relax back into him then, your hand settling over his where it rested at your waist. For a moment the room was quiet except for the sound of breathing and the faint noise of the city outside the window.
Then John sighed dramatically and pulled you closer with both arms this time, like he had finally decided subtlety was overrated.
“Okay,” he muttered into your hair. “Maybe five more minutes.”
You smiled into the pillow. “Only five?”
He was quiet for a second.
Then, very seriously, he said, “Maybe ten.”
You laughed. “That is not what you just said.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You’re negotiating in your sleep.”
“I’m very persuasive.”
You turned your head again and glanced at him. “You are very sleepy.”
“That too.”
He kissed your shoulder once more, this one lingering a little longer than the others, and you could feel the warmth of it right through your skin.
There was something impossible about the way John got like this when he was tired. He was still John, still quietly funny, still handsome in that unfair way that made you stare at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, but the edges were softer. Needier. More honest somehow.
Like sleep took away the part of him that tried so hard not to need anyone.
You reached back and let your fingers run lightly through his hair. “You know you’re being clingy, right?”
His answer was a sleepy grunt. “Mm-hm.”
“And you don’t care?”
Another kiss landed against your shoulder.
“Nope.”
That made you grin.
You shifted a little, just enough to face him, and found him looking at you with one eye open and the most stubborn expression you had ever seen on someone who was technically barely awake.
“What?” he asked.
You smiled. “Nothing.”
He clearly did not believe you. “That means something.”
“I just think it’s cute.”
John stared at you for a beat, then went entirely still.
That was your first warning.
The second was the way his mouth twitched.
The third was when he suddenly reached out, grabbed you around the waist, and hauled you fully back into bed with him in one smooth motion.
You let out a startled laugh as he rolled closer, one arm pinning you gently against him while his face buried itself in the crook of your neck.
“John!”
“Too late,” he mumbled.
You were laughing harder now, trying and failing to push at his shoulder. “You are ridiculous.”
He made a low sleepy sound that was suspiciously close to a hum of contentment. “Mm. You love me.”
Your laughter softened.
You looked down at him, at the way his eyes had drifted shut again, at the way his arm stayed tight around your waist as if he was afraid the world might steal you away if he loosened his grip.
He was so obviously half asleep, and yet somehow he still managed to sound completely certain.
You brushed your fingers over his cheek. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”
John’s eyes opened just enough to catch your face, and something warm and lazy spread across his expression.
Then, because he was apparently determined to ruin every attempt you made at being coherent, he pressed one final kiss to your shoulder and sighed like he had finally found exactly where he wanted to be.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now stay.”
And with that, John closed his eyes again, held you tighter, and went right back to sleep like keeping you in bed was the most natural thing in the world.
summary: kimi is addicted to being between your legs. any place and any time. and no matter how many times you pretend it pisses you off, you're kinda obsessed with it too.
warnings: fluff, poor humour, established relationship, 18+ (minors dni), teasing, kimi basically being a munch, eating out, fingering, overstimulation (f. receiving), reader and kimi obsessed with it tbh // poorly proof read as usual
word count: 2.5k
a/n: based on this request! short and sweet bc i'm breaking out in chronic hives—so enjoy!
Kimi always rested his head on your lap. To the naked eye, it was a sweet thing. The way he cradled into your lap, finding peace on your soft skin, feeling your hand comb through his curls. Anyone would think it was pure bliss and that he was the luckiest man alive.
But no one knew the real truth. The sick, twisted reason he kept head on your lap.
Easy access.
To what?
Well... it wasn't that hard to put two and two together, was it?
Kimi, the sweet little golden boy of Formula One, was an incorrigible man.
No one knew him for what he really was. Or how he was.
Every free day, every free second he had. His driver's room, the bathroom, the kitchen counter, the balcony, the car, under the table... whether it was shorts, jeans, a skirt, or a dress you wore... his head was between your legs all the goddamn time.
It was 'only because of you' as he innocently claimed. A poor attempt at defence and shifting the blame. Like it was your fucking fault. Like you were the one who made him crazy. Like you were luring him in.
You swore to God you weren't.
Addiction wasn't even the right word for it.
Fuck, you had no idea what was.
Obsession? Dependency? Compulsion?
Devotion.
You had tried to intervene time and time again. Wearing the tightest jeans possible only for those beautiful fingers to hook them down, leaving a gentle burn against your skin in his trail. Pantyhose under the dresses and skirts? Apparently, they were pretty easy to rip into. 'Non-breakable' your fucking ass. You should’ve sued them for false advertisement.
You had even gone as far as blocking your schedule with the most insignificant events to get a little breather. But that inconsolable little shit always found you.
But the shameful truth rested with you, tucked away in your heart. Because you and Kimi both knew it—you loved it.
You loved his nose. You loved his mouth. And you loved that goddamn tongue.
That was your problem. That stupid tongue. It was always out. When Kimi needed to focus on something. When he needed to pose for a picture. In interviews. When he listened. When he talked.
It was always there. Teasing. Waiting. Reminding you of what was to come. What could make you cum.
Just like he was doing now. Standing a couple metres away from you in the garage as you talked to Carmen and he entertained George and Toto, built arms folded and chocolate brown eyes flickering to you for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes, tongue peeking out of his mouth.
"Is Kimi okay?" Carmen suddenly queried, making your throat dry as you snapped your eyes to her.
The heat almost instantly grew in your cheeks. "W-What do you mean?" You stuttered, fingers already fidgeting. No way... there was no way...
"He hasn't stopped looking our way, or your way, since you got here. Did you guys fight or something?" She asked, turning her head to you while she raised a brow.
You swallowed thickly, shaking your head. "No, no. We didn't fight," you laughed nervously. You were definitely about to get into one by the sheer smirk settled on his face. "Um... I think he just wants to go home," you reasoned poorly.
Carmen hummed, nodding in understanding. "George gets like that too. It's okay. Just a few more minutes."
You gave her a tight smile and nodded. Sure. You were certain George was nothing like Kimi. Because the gleam in his eye told you that you would either barely make it to the car or make it to the hotel room. Or worse... somewhere else.
Kimi vaguely listened to his boss talk, too preoccupied with the way you stood metres away from him in those jeans. God, those jeans. Clinging to you like they had specifically been made for you. You had no business looking this good all the goddamn time.
His lips quirked at the discreet press of your thighs together, making his eyes flicker up to your face, spotting the narrowed gaze of annoyance from miles away.
You always did that. Played the innocent, miffed girl. Like he was an inconvenience. But at the end of the day, it was always you screaming his name just the way he liked it, hips and legs shaking around him.
You loved it as much as he did.
The minutes had indeed passed by. Kimi's hand hung low over your waist as you both walked towards his car alongside Carmen and George. The conversation between you both was minimal. You could see the cogs in your boyfriend's brain turning, tongue peeking out of his mouth as his eyes flitted across the bare parking lot, observing the settling sun as the couple filled the air.
"Okay," Carmen started, small yawn falling from her mouth, eliciting an amused smile from George. "I'm ready to go. You guys text me when you reach the hotel, yeah?"
You smiled quietly, giving her a small nod. Would you even reach the hotel? "Of course," you assured, giving Kimi a nudge to not leave you hanging.
He pressed his grin down, arm moving to grab George's hand for a brief shake. "Drive safe, mate."
George nodded, giving the both of you a wave as they both headed towards their car, leaving the both of you alone for a moment.
Kimi unlocked the car with the quick press of a button, opening the passenger door for you. He watched you eye him suspiciously as you propped yourself into the car. Closing the door gently, his footsteps were light and fast towards the other side of the vehicle.
You sat in the passenger seat, all buckled. You took note of how Kimi made no effort to do the same as he sat down. Nor did he start the engine. Instead, his eyes move to the rear mirror. He waited. He watched. He listened.
For the sound of George's car turning on. For the movement of those tyres to peel out of the parking lot. For him to leave.
Somehow, you were waiting too. Carefully watching the taillights of George's car which had barely left the parking lot before Kimi was reaching over to undo your seatbelt. A sigh immediately left your mouth. "Kimi! Someone is going to catch us," you hissed, knowing damn well the churn in your stomach made all your excuses futile.
"We're the last ones here," he retorted, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans after unbuttoning them with ease. His tugs of the thick fabric are short and harsh as his lips fell to your neck; sinful tongue pressed against your burning skin.
Any other reprimand you had lined up had died in your throat, replaced by the curled gasps your lips had wrapped around. Your hips betrayed your mind, naturally lifting as he pulled your jeans down to your shoes, leaving his hands to roam your bare thighs.
His words were muffled and heaved. "Been waiting for this all day," he groaned, placing a messy kiss on your lips, savouring the taste of your lip balm briefly.
If you were in the right mind, you would've given him a blank look. He made it sound like you had starved him. Like he hadn't just made you see stars in the morning either.
But you weren't. You could barely think with his lips and hands on you. Kimi always seemed to have that effect on you. Even with the ebbs of orange sun settling away through the car windows, reminding you where you were... you couldn’t be ashamed of the heat unfurling in your stomach.
Kimi didn't take long to remove the barrier between him and all he wanted, making you draw a sharp breath as the cold air hit your pulsing cunt. His fingers pressed into your thighs, keeping them apart. A deep moan, unrestrained and reverent, fell from his lips. "My pretty, pretty girl," he praised.
He wasn't talking to you. Not exactly.
He smiled at the obvious clench of your pussy. A mirthful chuckle swirled deep from his chest. “Yeah... you missed me, didn't you, baby?"
Your cheeks flamed at the treachery of your body. As if it couldn't get any worse, a yelp escaped your lips as Kimi grabbed your legs, hooking one up against headrest and the other on the dashboard, pants, underwear, and shoes long gone. Everything about it was smooth... natural because he had done it a million times.
Kimi pulled his shirt off and leaned over the console, pupils dilated as he stared at the glistening mess right in front of him, heart hammering in his chest. Every fold primed with your slick, dripping out slowly.
You complained here and there. He had heard them all. "We're in public, Kimi," or "I'm trying to go to sleep, Kimi." All of them baseless and weak.
You just didn't get it. You hadn't tasted yourself like he had tasted you. Because if you had, you would understand why he couldn't stop.
Your head pressed harshly into the car window behind you. Fuck, it was awkward. It hurt. But nothing else mattered when Kimi's mouth attached itself onto your cunt. The wicked tongue flat against you, lapping up the disloyal arousal pouring out of you. He always knew how to use it well. Matching every curve to every crevice. Every flick and lick.
You squirmed against his face, hand inevitably reaching out to fist those beautiful brown curls. A strained cry escaped your throat as you pressed him further into you, feeing his groan vibrate through your body while his nose knocked against your clit.
"Fuckkkk," you whimpered, gasping for air already while you watched him.
His smirk was like a ghost imbedded into your cunt. Brief but present before he continued to drink you. You're sweet. Additively so. Sharp in a way that made him shudder. So homely it made him want to never pull away.
Your breath caught as his tongue moved to your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking firmly. With your brows mending, you writhed, feeling his grip on your ankles tighten. "Kimi," you gasped, eyes shutting intermittently.
He chuckled, barely taking a breath, lips coated and shining as he spoke. "You always act so annoyed," he stated, tone mocking. "But you're the one acting like this, belle. Hips moving for more. Tell me, baby. You love it, don't you?"
The pleasure rippled through you as you felt his teeth graze your clit, brown eyes staring at you expectantly, smug smirk carved into his face. You heaved, sweat littering your skin. You waited. He waited. The air thick as the game begun.
You could see it in his eyes. The thinning patience. Like a dog who had been told no. Except it was him doing it to himself. Waiting… standing by for your admission. For a greenlight.
You weren't sure what was. The pulse of your core. His desperation. Or the bold truth that had slapped you right in the face.
"Yes, Kimi. I love it."
And that's all Kimi wanted. All he needed before he put his tongue back on you and sucked and prodded every crevice in his vicinity. His chest warmed at the burn of his scalp as your fingers tugged at his curls. The way the heels of your feet dug into his bare shoulders. Everything about you bringing him closer and closer.
"Fuck, yes, Kimi," you cried out, hips rolling up against his tongue, making him hum between your puffy folds.
Kimi couldn't stop. Like his fingers had been glued to your ankles while the wetness seeped from your pussy. You just tasted so good. It made him whine. Whine while his tongue flattened over you, slurping all the juices before they could escape.
"Kimi, Kimi," you breathed harshly, pit of your stomach churning. Fuck, you weren't lasting.
He said nothing, continuing his masterful artwork as his tongue travelled across the bulb and shaft of your clit with ease, bringing the burning flash right to the edge.
And just like that, you came undone. Your hips shook against his face, juices running down your thighs and to your ass while the pleasure crashed over you, leaving you seeing white as your sob ripped through the empty air of his car.
Kimi, the sly bastard, he didn't stop. He said he couldn't. Mouth still latched to your cunt, sucking you so good, letting you ruin his ability to breathe by stuffing his nose in you. God, he could die in this perfect cunt. It was decided.
Your hips thrashed against his face, senses entirely overwhelmed with the tingles of pleasure and pain blending together like a good burn. "Kimi, come on," you mewled, eyes glossing over with tears, body torn with the second wave of pleasure building up.
And yet, he apologised.
"I'm so sorry, baby," he grunted, voice muffled while he dug his face deeper, making you choke on the air. "So fucking sorry. I love this. I love you so much. I can't stop," he moaned, just capturing a glimpse of your teary eyes. Oh how beautiful, you were.
In seconds you were unravelling again, tears escaping your eyes as your thighs clamped down around his legs hard. Your gasps and sobs stuttered, music to his ears while dots threatened your vision and body spasmed hard.
Kimi groaned with delight, licking you clean with every swallow. His breath warm and tainted with the taste of you washed over your cunt as he reluctantly pulled away, chest heaving. Bringing your ankles down so you could rest more comfortably, he watched you come down gently. His large hands rubbed the top of your thighs soothingly before he leaned forward and kissed you deeply.
You softly hummed, feeling Kimi's forehead rest on yours as he pulled back just a smidge, thumb wiping your stained cheek.
"Too much?" He queried quietly, resting his face on your bare knees, dismissive of the way the console dug into his side.
You rolled your eyes, tapping his temple as he stared at you warmly. "You and I both know that wasn't your worse," you muttered, eliciting a cheeky grin on his face.
You could still remember those days. Days where your brain had fought between pushing Kimi off and begging for more. Those days were Kimi couldn’t pull away, leaving you both in tears, apologies on the tip of his tongue as he ate you out.
You shivered at the memories, goosebumps littering your skin.
"If you were me, you'd understand,” Kimi mumbled, fingers trailing over your skin in odd circles. "If you were me, you wouldn't stop either."
You pursed your lips, looking at him quietly, chest aching at his words. "Maybe," you whispered, hand moving through his curls.
In some weird way, you understood.
You understood it in the way you teased and complained.
You understood it in the way you always wanted more.
You understood it in the way you never asked him to stop.
Whatever souls were made of, his and you were the same. Equally in love. Both equally fucked up. And you were perfectly okay with that.
i mean they did also kill jesus. that was a pretty significant thing that happened. like i understand where you’re coming from here but they very much did kill jesus.
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