you hear the door click open and the familiar shuffle of john coming back from practice, his duffel hitting the floor with a soft thud.
he doesn’t even spare you a glance, immediately muttering something about drills and how coach was on his ass again, not even looking up as he takes off his shoes and heads straight for the desk where his laptop sits open.
you’ve been waiting, standing there in the middle of the room wearing nothing but delicate black lace that hugs your curves just right, the material doing little to hide anything, tiny bows at your hips and between your breasts catching the low light. he doesn’t notice. not at first.
“john,” you call softly, but he’s already typing, shoulders hunched, completely focused on whatever assignment or schedule he’s pulling up.
you try again, a little louder this time. “johnnn” you drag on. still nothing. he’s lost in his own world, his fingers flying over the keys, the only sound in the room the quiet click of the keys and his occasional sigh.
you take a slow step closer, the lace shifting against your skin with every movement.
“john. logan.” this time your voice carries a little more frustration, enough to make him pause.
he glances over his shoulder, distracted, his eyebrows drawn together like he’s about to give up completely.
then his eyes land on you.
his mouth opens, breath catching hard enough that you see his chest stop and inhale heavily. the assignment is forgotten, the laptop screen dimming as he turns fully, and before you can even smile he’s dropping straight to his knees on the carpet of his bedroom floor.
the sound is a soft thud but like every ounce of tension leaves his body at once. his hands rest on his thighs, palms open, and those hungry, yearning eyes lift to meet yours, they’re wide, dark, almost pleading.
“come to me, baby” he says, voice low and rough, every word wrapped in that same aching need that makes your stomach flip. he almost sounded like he wanted to cry. your poor baby was so overworked.
you take the few steps that close the distance, and the second you’re within reach his hands are on you, gentle at first, his fingertips tracing the edge of the fabric at your hips before sliding up, palms warm against your skin. he leans in, pressing his face right against your stomach, breathing you in like he’s been starved for it.
a soft, shaky exhale leaves him, and you feel the shake in his shoulders as he holds himself back from pulling you down too fast.
his fingers hook under the thin straps at your hips, not tugging, just holding, feeling the texture of the lace against his skin. he looks up again, those same puppy eyes darker now, lashes low, and you can see how hard he’s fighting to stay still, to let you come to him the way he asked.
the clear yearning is there, enough that you feel it in your own pulse.
you thread your nails through his hair, and that’s all it takes for him to surge forward, mouth pressing open kisses along the line of lace just above your navel, tongue flicking out to taste skin wherever the fabric allows.
his hands slide around to cup your ass, squeezing once before he drags you even closer, burying his face between your thighs without hesitation. the lace is already damp from how wet you are, and he moans against it, the sound vibrating straight through you. “john” you moan quietly.
he doesn’t rush. he stays on his knees, worshipping every inch he can reach, kissing the inside of your thigh, the sheer thin covering your pussy, breathing hot and heavy until you’re rocking against his mouth without meaning to.
his tongue presses flat through the fabric, licking slow and deliberate, soaking the lace even more until it clings to you. every time you tug his hair he groans, the sound needy and desperate, and he looks up again with those same hungry eyes like he’s asking permission to keep going, to pull the delicate material aside and finally taste you properly.
when you nod, his fingers are quick but careful, easing the lace down your hips just enough to bare you to him. he doesn’t stand up yet.
he stays right there on the floor, pulling you forward until your thighs cover his face, and then his mouth is on your bare pussy, tongue sliding through your folds, lips sealing around your clit to suck gently before he flattens his tongue again and laps at you like he’s been thinking about this all day. “ugh, you- you make me feel so good johnny.”
his hands grip your ass tighter, holding you steady while he eats you out with slow, thorough strokes that make your knees shake. if it wasn’t for his grip on your ass, you would’ve fallen to the floor by now.
you can feel how turned on he is, the hard outline of his cock against his sweats, but he doesn’t touch himself. he just keeps his focus on you, licking and sucking until your hips are rolling against his mouth and soft sounds are slipping from your throat.
every few seconds he glances up, checking your face with those same yearning eyes, like your pleasure is the only thing that matters in the world right now.
when your thighs start to tremble harder he pulls back just enough to press a kiss to your clit, then another lower, tongue dipping inside you for a moment before he stands in one fluid motion.
his arms wrap around you, lifting you easily, and he carries you the short distance to the bed without ever looking away from your face.
he lays you down carefully, the lace still tangled around one thigh, and climbs over you, settling between your spread legs.
he kisses you then, so deep, slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, while his hand works between your bodies to shove his sweats down just far enough. the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, hot and slick from how ready you both are, and he pauses there, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard.
“tell me you want this honey,” he whispers, voice wrecked, eyes searching yours like he needs the words as much as the act itself.
when you pull him closer and say yes, he sinks into you in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the deepest he can with a groan that vibrates through both of you.
he stays still for a moment, just feeling you around him, then starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips so every stroke drags against that perfect spot inside you.
his hands never stop moving, sliding over the lace still clinging to your body, fingers tracing every strap and bow like he’s memorizing the way it looks on you.
he leans down to kiss the swell of your breast above the cup of the bra, teeth grazing lightly before he sucks a mark there, claiming you even as he fucks you deeper. the bed creaks under the steady rhythm he sets, each thrust pushing you higher, and he keeps his eyes on your face the whole time, watching every reaction, every flutter of your lashes when he hits just right.
you come first, clenching around him hard enough that his rhythm falters, and he follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he spills inside you with a broken moan, hips jerking through the aftershocks.
he doesn’t pull out right away. he stays there, cock still twitching, pressing soft kisses along your jaw and whispering how beautiful you look, how much he needed this, how he’ll never get tired of seeing you like this just for him. “you’re just so perfect baby.” he whimpers into your neck. “i’d do anything for you. anything, i promise.”
~ ~ ~ ~
a/n: as it’s clear, i’ve been heavily into my logan era, specifically yearning logan. this is based off this request! requests are open! 💗
𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: where you decide to prank logan by pretending to be excited for a date he never planned. unfortunately, your boyfriend's response to being pranked is to take you on the most thoughtful, romantic date of your life.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: boyfriend!john logan x fem!reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.8k
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: pure fluff, established relationship, prank gone wrong (or right?), logan being aggressively boyfriend-shaped, excessive sweetness, reader trying and failing to outsmart her boyfriend, garrett graham being a surprisingly useful best friend, bookstore dates, flowers, lots of hand-holding, kissing, logan remembering every little thing about reader, weaponized thoughtfulness, excessive use of "babe", use of she/her pronouns, reader is explicitly referred to as "girl", emotional damage via acts of service, let me know if i missed any!
all characters in this story are adults.
english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors.
𝐀/𝐍: alt title: john "whatever my girlfriend wants, she gets" logan. dedicated to the wonderful anon who brought to my attention that using the small font on here made fics hard to read—thank you for helping me get better <3
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎: so high school by taylor swift.
18+; mdni.
The plan had seemed significantly funnier about three hours ago.
The idea started with Hannah—which, in hindsight, should've been your first warning sign.
"Hear me out," she'd said, abandoning her Philosophy textbook entirely to lean across the table toward you and Allie. "You should tell Logan you're excited for the date he planned."
You had frowned. "What date?"
"Exactly."
Across from you, Allie had immediately burst out laughing. For a long moment, you simply stared at the two of them, confused. Then, the realization dawned on you. "Oh, that's evil."
Hannah leaned back in her chair, looking mighty pleased with herself. "Why, thank you."
Now, as you stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, half your closet scattered across the room, you were beginning to realize that there was a very real possibility that Logan would simply smile and nod. The man was impossible to prank—partly because he was so observant, partly because he was so annoyingly nice.
You lifted your favourite dress to your chest, studying it with a critical eye, just as the bedroom door creaked open.
Speak of the devil.
Logan stepped inside, hair still damp around the ends from his shower after practice. He was dressed in a Bruins t-shirt and grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Your eyes met his brown ones, the corner of his mouth tipped upward into that gorgeous smile.
You watched his face as gaze shifted from your face to the mess covering the bed and half of the floor space of the room, then landed right back to you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. His smile widened at the sight of you with that dress. "What happened in here, babe?"
Game time, you thought to yourself, turning to him. "Oh good, you're here."
"Yeah?" confusion flickered across his face as you held up the dress, raising your eyebrows at him in question.
"What do you think of this?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.
Logan dropped his duffel back beside the bedside table, kicking off his shoes. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "You know I love you in everything, babe. But yeah, that dress always looks incredible on you."
You smiled, turning back to the mirror. In the reflection, you could see the mattress dip beneath his weight as Logan perched on the edge of the bed, still studying you with that smile on his face.
You met his stare in the mirror, your mind playing the opening notes of your master plan. "God, I'm so excited for tomorrow."
Logan blinked. "What's tomorrow?"
You almost laughed—almost. But you were determined not to break character, so instead, you forced your face into a look of utter confusion. "What do you mean, what's tomorrow? Its the date you planned for us."
A long pause stretched out between the two of you. Then, Logan's brow creased into a tiny frown. "The... date. Right."
The words coming out of his mouth were perfectly calm, which immediately threw you off, because other than the little crease on his brow, there was no evidence of panic, or confusion—not even concern. You narrowed your eyes.
Interesting.
Logan reached for the TV remote, casually crossing his legs as he leaned back. Your suspicion deepened, because there was no way he was this calm, this collected. There was no date. No reservation, no plans, nothing.
You would've known. He would've told you... unless. A horrible possibility entered your mind, because John Logan was the kindest, most thoughtful man ever, and more importantly, he knew how much you loved surprises. So maybe, just maybe... he'd actually planned something, and you'd accidentally stumbled right into it?
The thought almost made your confidence waver, until you caught the look on his face. His eyes were fixed on the TV, but you knew the expression in his eyes. You'd seen it before—during games, while the two of you studied for finals, before presentations. John Logan was thinking.
You bit back your smile, trying not to completely ruin your own prank, especially as Logan, in the most faux-casual voice you'd ever heard, asked: "So, babe, what're you most excited about?"
Oh, he was fishing—you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out exactly what you were talking about. The realization nearly made you giddy, even as you fought to keep a straight face, shrugging. "Oh, you know what I'm most excited about."
"No, I don't know." The innocence in his voice was almost convincing—almost.
"No?" you asked, fighting to keep a straight face. The two of you stared at each other for a minute, and then—then, Logan's face split into a smile. A beautiful, Logan smile.
Suddenly, your faith in the plan working out wavered, because somehow, against all logic, it suddenly felt like he wasn't the one being set up—you were.
The second the bedroom door snapped shut behind him, Logan knew he was fucked.
Not because there was definitely a date, but because there might be. Which was, somehow, infinitely worse.
"You're pacing, man."
Logan looked up from where he'd been wearing a path into the carpet of his friend's bedroom. Garrett was sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he watched Logan with growing amusement.
Logan opened his mouth to protest, but Garret raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly down at Logan's feet.
Right. He was, in fact, pacing.
Garrett sat up. "Come on, man. What's wrong."
Logan sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, contemplating whether or not he should keep the thoughts plaguing his mind to himself... then immediately abandoned that plan—because Garrett was his best friend, and he was rapidly losing his mind. "She says she's really excited for our date tomorrow."
Garrett blinked. "Is there a reason she should not be?"
"I don't even know if there's a date tomorrow," Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"What the fuck?" Garrett ran a hand over his face. "How could you not know?"
Logan shrugged. "There's a possibility she might be messing with me."
Garrett nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Or," Logan sighed dramatically, collapsing onto the foot of Garrett's bed. "I forgot."
"You forgot a date?" Garrett burst out laughing, and for a moment, Logan genuinely looked around the room for something to throw at his head.
"This isn't funny."
Garrett only laughed harder. "Sorry, man. It kinda is, though."
Logan burrowed his face into the mattress, groaning. "She's picking out dresses and shit, dude."
"Huh."
Logan lifted his head. "What?"
"No idea," Garrett shrugged. "But... if she's trying to prank you, that's hilarious."
Logan narrowed his eyes at Garrett, but his grin only widened. Then, after a moment, he sighed. "Okay, worst-case scenario: you forgot a date with your girlfriend."
Logan winced. "Jesus."
Garrett leaned forward. "No, listen. This is simple. You just need to take her on the greatest date of all time."
Logan blinked. "What?"
"Yeah, man. It's the only way. You gotta plan the date to end all dates."
"Come on, man. This is serious."
"I'm being serious." Garret sat up, his brow furrowing, deep in thought. "Think about it."
Logan usually hated when Garrett said that—because it meant that his friend was about to make an annoyingly good point. And it stood true this time too. Because either way, regardless of whether he was being pranked, or if he'd actually fucked up and forgotten, his girl deserved a date. Heck, his girl deserved everything. "Fuck."
Garrett leaned, back against the headboard, smug smile on his face. "Exactly."
If there really was a date he'd somehow forgotten, this fixed the problem. And if there wasn't—well, he still got to spend a day with you. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Garrett smirked. "There's that face again."
"What face?"
"The one you make whenever she's involved."
Logan rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
Garrett ignored him, grabbing Logan's phone. "Okay, let's plan the greatest date ever."
An hour later, what had somehow started as a joke had somehow turned into a full-scale operation.
Logan's notebook was open between the two of them, Garrett's laptop balanced on the edge of the bed.
"What's her favorite restaurant?" Garrett asked, frowning at the listings on the screen.
"The sushi place downtown."
The keys on Garrett's keyboard clacked as he wrote it down. "Favorite dessert?"
"Cheesecake from the bakery near campus."
"Favorite flowers?"
Logan didn't even take a moment. "Pink lillies."
Garrett paused, slowly turning his head to look at Logan. "Dude, you answered that way too quickly."
Logan frowned. "I know my girlfriend."
"You know your girlfriend's favorite flower. I don't even know my favorite flower."
Logan couldn't help but let out a laugh at the genuinely offended look on Garrett's face, because it made sense. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, and he wasn't about to let anything—anything—get in the way of making you happy, not even himself.
He could already feel the tension he'd been carrying since leaving the bedroom easing slightly, because now, he had a plan.
Actually, he had several plans—dinner, dessert, a walk afterward, maybe the bookstore you'd been talking about for months. Things that might not look like grand, extravagant gestures on the outside, but things he knew you'd love anyway. Things he knew would make you smile.
He could feel Garrett's watchful eyes on him and the realization settled warmly in his chest. "You know she's probably fucking with you, right?"
Logan could feel his face splitting into a slow, soft smile, "I know."
Garrett froze, the room enveloped in silence for a moment. Then: "What do you mean, you know? You spent an hour freaking out."
"I wasn't freaking out."
"You absolutely were."
Logan ignored him—because the truth was, he'd known almost immediately. The second you said it, the second he'd seen that look in your eyes—the one you got whenever you were trying not to laugh, he knew.
But that wasn't the point, it was never going to be. Because whether there had been a date or not, now there was. If his girlfriend wanted to spend a entire day together, Logan wasn't going to complain.
Garrett groaned. "Oh, my God."
"What?
"You're so disgustingly in love with her."
Logan considered arguing but instead, he just smiled. "Yeah, man. I am."
For once, Garrett didn't make fun of him for it.
By the time Logan picked you up the next evening, you were beginning to regret everything.
Not because the prank wasn't funny—it was downright hilarious. Or at least, it had been, right until a gorgeous bouquet of pink lillies had appeared on your bedside table with a note in Logan's handwriting.
Fuck, you loved them. They were your favorite flower.
The note read, Pick you up at 8. Wear the blue dress.
Now, standing in front of your mirror, smoothing down the skirt of the blue dress you loved so much, you were beginning to suspect that somewhere along the way, things had gotten out of hand.
A knock sounded from the other side of the door, making your stomach flutter. It was ridiculous—you'd been dating Logan for three years, and yet, as you opened the door, you immediately forgot every coherent thought you'd ever had.
Logan stood in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of dark jeans, navy button-down rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair was falling across his forehead, his brown eyes softening the second they found you— like they always did. Every. Single. Time.
No matter how many years passed, they always softened. "Hi, babe."
A smile spread across your face automatically. "Hi."
For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Logan's gaze landed on the vase of flowers sitting on your bedside table. "You got the flowers I sent you?"
Your heart squeezed. "They're beautiful, Logan."
"I know."
You blinked, and Logan immediately cringed. "Oh, fuck. That sounded terrible.""
A laugh escaped you. "It really did."
He groaned. "I meant you're beautiful."
Your laugh grew louder, and Logan pressed his forehead against the doorframe, hiding his face and the shy, pink flush that was creeping up his cheeks. "I somehow made it worse."
"You absolutely did."
His answering grin was sheepish, beautiful. You slipped your hand into his, softly closing the door behind you. "Ready?"
Logan squeezed your fingers. "Always."
The date was perfect.
Not because of where he took you— though the restaurant was lovely. The bookstore afterward was also lovely. And the bakery where he insisted on buying three different desserts "for research purposes" was lovely.
Not because of any of it. The date was perfect because every stop felt intentional, like Logan had built the entire evening out of tiny pieces of you.
At dinner, he'd ordered an appetizer while you ducked into the restroom right after the two of you arrived, because he knew you always got hungry while looking at menus. At the bookstore, he somehow remembered the title of a novel you'd mentioned wanting to read six months ago. At the bakery, he'd walked directly to your favorite cheesecake without even glancing at the display.
By the time the two of you found yourselves walking along the Charles River, the city lights glittering across the water, you were fairly certain you'd accidentally created the best date of your life.
The realization was mildly infuriating.
Logan glanced at you. "What?"
"What do you mean, what?" you frowned.
"You've got your thinking face on."
You rolled your eyes. "I do not."
Logan laughed, the sound settling warmly in your chest. For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, your hand fit perfectly in his. The city hummed around you—comfortable, easy.
Eventually Logan guided you toward a quiet bench overlooking the water. You sat down beside him, your shoulder brushing his. You could smell his cologne, could feel your heart beginning to stutter like it always did around him.
"You know," you said, carefully. "I had a really good time tonight."
Logan smiled. "I'm glad, babe. I did too."
You sighed, because you could feel the guilt winning. "I have to tell you something."
Immediately, Logan looked concerned. Your stomach twisted at the look on his face. God, he was too nice. "I kinda feel bad."
His eyebrows lifted. "About?"
You looked away, suddenly fascinated by the water. "The date thing."
"What about it?"
"Okay," you sucked in a deep breath. "I made it up. There wasn't actually a date."
The silence stretched out between the two of you—unbearable, suffocating, until you couldn't take it anymore. A groan escaped your lips. "Oh, my God, please stop looking at me like that."
Logan laughed. You froze, because it wasn't a surprised laugh, or even a confused one. No, he sounded... amused?
Slowly, you turned toward him, meeting his eyes. He was smiling.
Your eyes narrowed. "John Logan."
His grin widened. "Yeah, babe?"
"Oh, fuck off." The pieces clicked together all at once—the confidence, the calmness, the complete lack of panic. Your jaw slacked. "You knew."
Logan laughed. "I knew."
You stared at him, horrified, offended and impressed. Mostly offended. "When did you know?"
"The moment you said it."
Your mouth fully fell open this time. "You fucking liar."
Logan's shoulders shook with laughter. "You were picking out dresses, way too excited."
"I was acting," you gasped.
"Babe, come on." The words carried approximately zero belief.
You slapped his arm, and Logan caught your wrist immediately, still laughing. "You are unbelievable. You let me think I was winning!"
His grin softened. "You looked so excited." The words came out quietly, simply, like they explained everything.
And maybe, they did.
Logan continued, like it was obvious, like anyone else would've done the same thing. "You were excited, and I like taking you on dates."
You chest tightened. "So you planned all of this?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
The answer left his lips immediately, without hesitation, without uncertainty. "Because I love you."
The words settled softly between the two of you, warm and certain.
You groaned. "Fuck off, Logan. You can't be cute when I'm being mean and trying to prank you."
Logan chuckled, leaning forward, his forehead brushing yours. "You're not mean. You're perfect. And, you're so, so impressed by the fact that I pulled this off."
"I'm not," you scoffed, but you both knew you were lying.
His grin widened knowingly. You hated it—and you hated it even more when he kissed you, slow and sweet, smiling against your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair.
When he finally pulled away, your heart was somewhere around your ankles. "You know what?"
"What?"
You jammed a finger in his chest. "This still counts as me pranking you."
Logan laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench—and somehow, that felt like victory enough.
𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : none! mention of dicks, walking into changing room full of guys? swearing? dramatic, feral Hannah. Established Hannah X Garrett, Allie X Dean, crackfic!
𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : If a small, angry music major student were to a) be one of your best friends and b) insist on going to hunt down her boyfriend to shove her phone up his ass. would you argue, even if it meant bursting into the locker room after practice?
or
When you, Allie and Hannah walk into the changing rooms, omitting the fact that they'd just finished practice.
𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 4.5k words
𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : something to tide ya'll over as I work through my big bertha fics for yall, and yes, I will start planning the first part of my series... when I feel like it! She's a slow grower ykwim? grower not a shower? whatever helps me sleep at night. Hope you like this little piece! Thank you @mndvx for the gif and @somebitchprobably-graphicdump for the dividers !
𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 : I would really appreciate if you could send in an ask to be on my taglist, it's easier for me to manage and make sure everyone is added!! here is the post of my current taglist. Also, if your user is bolded, I'm going on a prayer that youve been tagged but Tumblr wouldn't let me properly do so. I would recommend checking your privacy settings to allow other people to tag you.
One thing you learnt about Hannah Wells, being one of her best friends and all, was that she was normally- a very reasonable person. She was the one to keep electrolyte sachet’s in her bag during a night out, the one to book the uber a day in advance and the one to always text check-ins on the group chat during finals week.
That was her, normally.
Unfortunately, ever since she decided to become the first hockey WAG in the group, the captain she shared a bed with had spent their entire relationship testing that theory. The relationship was undoubtedly adorable, some may say to a disgusting, how-to-lose-a-guy-in-10-days level, but sometimes Garrett would feel the need to use Hannah's tightly strung mental stability as a pair of chopsticks.
“Just, tell me again why we’re doing this?” You watched Hannah with a concerned expression, she was aggressively highlighting a sentence that had absolutely nothing to do with the paragraph she'd just read.
The yellow highlighter squeaked angrily across the page,"You know why," She gritted out.
"No, I know why you're angry,” You pointed at the highlighter.
"I'm asking why that textbook is suffering for it."
The answer never came, but that was attributed to the fact that Hannah was still busy glaring at her notes like they had personally offended her. Beethoven was a bitch.
The study room had fallen suspiciously quiet about twenty minutes ago, with Allie laying on the sofa in the corner going through a script for class and you and hannah sitting on the large table in the centre of the glass box, you scribbling out statistics equations and Hannah trying to compose a new piece.
The initial productivity went out the window when Hannah began to complain about Garrett, either of you could have stopped her, put a pin in it and dealt with it at home. Instead, Allie and you happily discarded your work and quipped helpful bits of advice during her rant.
"You know what his problem is?"
You exchanged a glance with Allie, both of you knew it was better if nobody answered- experience had taught you this was a trap.
"He says he'll call me."
Hannah pointed at her phone that she had flung across the table at the beginning of her speech, "then doesn't call me."
You nodded, the man had a habit of saying he’ll call after practice- then take hours in the locker room with the boys. Your own boyfriend had done that more times than you could count, but you made peace with it very early on; assuming it was because the boys were engrossed in some weird, hockey bro hangout while they changed.
It was nonetheless a reasonable complaint, because the team was AWOL for nearly the entire day, and the three of you were suffering for it. Ever since Garrett returned from the bench, after the fight that led to his suspension, training was 24/7 and you were lucky to get a morning kiss at the crack of dawn and a small whisper of seeing you later before the door shut, leading their phones seeming to have fallen off the face of the planet.
So, if Graham had promised he’d “see his girl tonight” because he “missed her so much” and then had the gall to not reply to her messages for half an hour. You were prepared to ride at dawn, and steal his skates to rub against concrete for as long as your drill sergeant ordered.
However, currently the drill sergeant was pink in the face and grabbing at her phone, stretching herself over her textbook to wave the device angrily.
"And then when I text him asking where he is-"
You already knew this wasn't going to end well.
"He sends me a thumbs up."
The silence was immediate, you gaped at Allie, she gaped back. It was two fishes staring at each other while Hannah slumped into her chair.
It shouldn't have been shocking, it was exactly the sort of thing Garrett would do. But he was an idiot for deciding to not fight against his nature during this trying time.
Allie lowered the script she had folded against her legs, flopping it onto her chest as she sat up. Slowly, carefully, as if she’d been told there was a rabid animal that could sense her fear.
"A thumbs up?"
"A thumbs up."
"Oh."
"Exactly."
You shook your head and closed your eyes. This was rough, like Liverpool F.C rough.
"I know he meant well."
That sentence was somehow worse, because she was trying to be rational. And when Hannah was angry and tried to be rational, it usually resulted in disaster.
"Did he think?"
Allie's contribution was deeply unhelpful.
Hannah jumped and gave her a thankful clap, "THANK YOU."
"I'm just saying."
You groan and give her a look of deep regret, "You are not helping."
"I wasn't trying to." She grinned at you.
Hannah dropped her head onto the table, face first into her music sheets. The universal sign of academic and emotional defeat.
You watched her lie there for a moment.
Then another
Then-
"I am going to kill him."
You roll your eyes and cross your arms, there it was. The threat you’d all been waiting for, Allie checked her phone, nodding her head.
"Only ten minutes."
"A personal best." You added.
Hannah stood up immediately, the chair scraped obnoxiously against the floor- as if warning her not to do the thing she was absolutely going to do. Both you and Allie looked up, concerned at the way she blinked quickly, the cogs in her head turning so fast that you were sure smoke would start spilling from her ears.
You recognised the look on her face, a dangerous determination, masked by an eerie calm. In actuality it was a complete loss of common sense
"Hannah." Allie started, warningly.
"No."
"You haven't even heard the question."
"I know the question."
The smile spreading across Hannah's face made your stomach drop. It was a Hannah Has An Idea smile and historically speaking, those had a terrible survival rate.
You racked your brain for what she could possibly be plotting. Then your face fell. Practice had ended approximately fifteen minutes ago. Which meant the boys were currently finishing up at the rink. A fact that should've been irrelevant, so painfully ordinary that it was similar to breathing. Instead, it somehow became the most important detail in the room.
“Hannah, no-”
She had already grabbed her bag and started walking towards the door. Allie scrambled to her feet, shoving her stuff into the tote she randomly picked up when you left that morning. You did the same, not caring that you messily crumpled up your work into your bag, instead more focussed on watching Hannah strut out of the library, stomping through the isles- not paying you any mind.
You panted when you caught up to her, dragging a hand through your hair,
"Oh no."
"Oh yes."
"Hannah."
"No."
"Hannah."
The door to the outside world opened and Allie squinted against the golden hour glow, Hannah’s smile widened dangerously,
"I am going to find my boyfriend."
The first sign this was a terrible idea came when Hannah ignored the boys leisurely walking out of the athletes' building, their hair damp from showers, you recognised a few, some from the calisthenics club, you waved at the girls on the swim team and pointedly flipped off the lewd comments from the lacrosse team. Eugh.
The second sign came when she didn’t listen to your warnings.
The third came when she barely blinked at the coach giving her a confused greeting.
By that point, frankly, the universe had done everything it reasonably could.
"Hannah."
No response.
"Hannah."
Still nothing.
The woman marched through the arena, stumbling sharply against the chairs. You inched through behind her, holding Allie's hand as she huffed and whipped her bangs out of her eyes, glaring at Hannah, who was already at the bottom of the staircase, about to turn into the back corridor.
Neither of you were particularly interested in letting your best friend commit relationship homicide without witnesses.
"Hannah."
"What."
The answer arrived instantly. She stilled just before the dim pathway towards the locker room, hands braced on her backpack straps, her shoes tapped on the floor expectantly.
"You do realise practice literally just ended."
"Correct."
"You do realise hockey players are probably changing."
"Correct."
You looked at Allie, whose eye was twitching at her best friend's unwavering need for vindication.
"You're concerning me."
She rolled her eyes and dashed down the hallway, you recognised this part of the training facility instantly, it was embarrassing the amount of times you had waited here, leaning against the wall for Logan to emerge, his chain glinting in the yellow lighting as he hauled equipment over one shoulder, the other carried his own gear.
He would kiss you quickly, mumbling against your lips about missing you, and then dump all the random sticks and bags of pucks into the storage before slinging an arm around your shoulder, slowing to a leisurely stroll as you recounted your day.
You rounded the corner, and froze. Allie bumped into you, whining as she rubbed her nose.
The locker room doors sat at the end of the corridor. You stared ahead, and blinked when Hannah barely stopped- charging forward.
"Hannah."
"No."
"Hannah."
You cupped your hands around your mouth and shouted after her, jogging behind. "What exactly is your plan here?"
"I am going to find Garrett."
"Then?"
"Then I am going to explain why sending a thumbs up was stupid."
Allie threw her hands up and blocked her pathway to the door, "Hannah."
"No." She tugged down Allie’s arms, and pushed the girl out of the way. Before either you or Allie could stop her, Hannah grabbed the door handle, and it was like the world slowed.
"HANNAH!"
The door opened and you immediately regretted the day you were born. The silence hit you like the torrential stream of water in a car wash, burning your eyes as a gasp got stuck in your throat.
Then your brain caught up with what was in front of you- because unfortunately, disastrously, hockey practice had ended, extremely recently. So recently in fact, that half the team were still in the showers hooting and hollering, while the other half were dripping wet in front of their cubbies. Staring straight at you, towels paused mid-dry.
You froze.
Hannah froze.
Allie froze.
The hockey team froze.
Time itself appeared to freeze.
"Oh my God." Allie giggled shrilly, her eyes wide as her hand came up to stifle a mix between a gasp and sob.
It wasn’t the shirtless hockey players that disturbed you. It was the penis’.
Everywhere.
Anywhere.
Dicks floor to ceiling, no matter where your troubled eyes would take you, it was phallic body parts all around. A sight that would haunt you until graduation.
The team were the first one to snap out of the trance, some of them barely phased at the intrusion, the other half silently covered their junk and shouted brokenly for the people you were actually looking for.
“What?” Logan’s voice shouted from beyond the showers, luckily you were far enough away to avoid the sight of your boyfriend and his teammates in the steamy, tiled cheap porno setting.
You accidentally made eye-contact with one of the freshmen on the team, and he winked at you. The expression on your face must've been unbelievably unimpressed because he rushed to get dressed immediately after his failure.
That made your survival instincts finally activate.
You spun around immediately, a sensible decision on your part.
Unfortunately, Allie had chosen the exact same strategy.
The two of you collided at full speed.
"OW."
The yelp escaped simultaneously. One second you were turning around, the next your shoulder crashed into Allie's.
Your foot caught on your other ankle, and suddenly gravity joined the party. The floor rushed upwards, the world tilted and you were convinced this was your rapture.
Two seconds away from meeting your untimely demise, strong arms caught you before impact.
"Oh my God, babe?" The voice sounded familiar and you braced yourself for his bewildered expression when you squinted your eyes open. Logan’s face was approximately six inches away and you felt the towel he had hurriedly wrapped around himself slip low down his hips against your waist.
"Nope, don’t ask." You closed your eyes against the water droplets splashing onto your face from his hair. The tickle of his silver chain against your cheek made you wave your hands between the two of you. You could feel him gearing up to ask something,
A finger wag in his face and a simple, "Nope." made him laugh as he hoisted you up.
Across from you, Dean had already reached Allie, looking equally concerned and delighted.
"Are you okay?" His arms were bound securely around her, pressing in front of him.
Allie flicked his forehead, "Stop smiling."
"I'm not smiling."
"You absolutely are."
Dean was moments away from framing the incident and hanging it on a wall, it was when Allie had steadied herself and stepped fractionally away from him that you noticed Dean hadn’t managed to grab a towel. And stood naked, right in front of you. As bare as the day he was born.
You retched loudly and tried to run out the door, forgetting that Logan was still holding you upright, an arm around your waist- hand steadying your shoulder.
Deeply and violently, you groaned- accepting that this was your life right now, "Please tell me I died."
The laughter around you doubled in volume, a few of the guys chirping at you.
Somewhere behind Logan, Garrett appeared, towel around his waist- completely oblivious to the chaos playing out with his team.
"What happened?"
The silence that followed was immediate, the boys pursed their lips together, you and Allie were engrossed in anything that didn't involve Hannah.
She glared at him slowly, dangerously. Garrett took one look at her expression, and his eyes ping ponged around the changing area, the open door, the duo of embarrassed girlfriends- one of them looking at her boyfriend seductively, the other hiding her face in her hands. And finally the boys, Dean who was playing into Allies flirting- butt naked. And Logan who was stifling a laugh against your shoulder as you shook your head silently into your palms.
Understanding dawned, making him rush over to his bag and dig out his phone, his eyes widening at his girlfriend, "Oh."
The idiot actually laughed. Hannah looked ready to gouge his eyes out with his stick. And somehow, unbelievably, things were about to get worse.
By dinner the same day, everybody knew, not just the team, not just other teams. The entire student population.
People in your classes, people in the library, people in the campus cafes. Somehow all of them must've collectively received an email.
You still didn't know how, no matter how hard you searched the gossip account, your dm’s, hunted through stories. There was no way to determine how the hell the situation had reached every set of ears at Briar. You'd spent the better part of twelve hours trying to figure it out.
The incident had happened at approximately 9 am that morning.
By six-fifteen, two members of the lacrosse team had smirked at you in passing.
By seven, somebody in a study group asked if you were "recovering."
By eight-thirty, a girl in your dorm-block had winked.
"Tell me again why I haven't transferred,” You dropped your forehead onto the cafeteria table.
Across from you, Hannah looked equally traumatised as she picked at her dinner, Allie looked murderous as another pair of irrelevant students giggled as they passed by.
The three of you had spent the entire day suffering.
Allie slumped in her chair, "Because we're seniors."
You stabbed aggressively at your salad. "Unfortunately,” mouth half-full of lettuce you continued, "You know what the worst part is?"
Nobody answered, mostly because nobody wanted to encourage you.
"The fact we literally didn't do anything."
"THANK YOU."
Allie pointed dramatically.
"THANK YOU."
The cafeteria table rattled slightly, you winced and gave her an accusing stare. While the passion was appreciated, the volume was not.
"We walked into a room." Hannah shrugged
"Accidentally." Allie added.
"Then left."
"Immediately."
You threw your hands up, "And somehow everyone is acting like we joined an orgy."
The three of you sat in offended silence, completely justified silence. Silence that lasted approximately four seconds.
Then somebody cleared their throat and you closed your eyes, praying to whatever god that put you in that situation this morning, wasn’t just deciding to test your self control.
You swore, if you opened your eyes, and the person who you thought it was, was standing in front of you. There would be a search warrant for your name, and a blown up ice rink in your wake.
"No."
Across the table, Hannah groaned and Allie made a sound like she was ready to throw something. The answer came before you opened them, pressing your lips to your hands that were held together in a praying position, you shook your head, "No."
Because standing directly behind you was, Dean who was grinning so wide, you’d think Santa Clause gifted him a dildo, Garrett, currently more occupied in flashing his puppy dog eyes at Hannah and Logan, the only useful one, who came bearing gifts with an apologetic yet amused smile on his annoyingly handsome face.
The Three Horsemen of Making Things Worse.
"Oh, come on.” Dean looked genuinely offended, hand on his chest as he pulled out the seat next to you, in front of Allie.
She threw one of Hannah’s chips at his face, which he caught in his mouth, "We came to support our girlfriends! amidst their public cancellation from society."
"You came to laugh at us." You corrected, ignoring the paper container that slid in front of your tray and the weirdly shaped Logan entity that sat on the other side of you.
The smile on Dean's face widened, "How ‘bout both?"
Hannah dropped her fork and lunged at him, only held back by Garrett- who had two fingers looped into her belt loop.
During this, you peeked into the container, flicking open the lid to see a slice of your favourite cake- red velvet from the bakery just outside campus.
You glanced at Logan and stuck your tongue out at him in response to his pleading expression. There it was, you thought- your eye twitching, the complete lack of shame astounded you.
You hated the smug bastard. A deep, passionate hate. But you still gave him a quick peck, intertwining your hands beneath the table and placed them on his thigh. He suppressed a grin and leaned back in his chair watching you cut into the pastry with your fork.
"How's recovery going?" Dean rested his chin on his palm, twirling a blonde strand with his finger.
Allie flipped off her boyfriend, "Leave."
Garrett laughed immediately, "You have to admit-"
"No." Hannah interrupted, hands slapping at his wrist which comfortably kept his hand looped into her jeans.
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"Because it doesn't matter."
"It was funny."
"It wasn't."
"It really was."
The idiot looked entirely too pleased with himself, which was particularly annoying because he wasn't even the one receiving the worst of it.
That honour belonged to you and Allie. Specifically because both of your boyfriends had apparently become the main characters of the story. A fact you deeply resented.
"You know what?" You sat up, “How come nobody is talking about Hannah?”
The entire table went quiet.
Hannah blinked.
"Oh my God." Allie said slowly, "You're right."
"I know."
Hannah immediately looked suspicious, "Why aren't they talking about me?"
Then Allie pointed dramatically, "THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING."
"You haven't said that."
"I've been thinking about it."
Somehow, the entire college manipulated the story into a desperate cliche- that you and Allie were dying to see your boyfriend’s and just. couldn't. wait. for them, so you burst into the changing room, ovulation phase at it's peak and boned down in front of the entire team.
Completely cutting out the bit where you both were trying to stop Hannah from social suicide.
Mission accomplished apparently. The problem now, was that you’d stepped in front of the bullet, and forgot that it meant you’d get shot.
"You started the whole thing." You whined at her.
"EXACTLY."
Dean and Garrett looked delighted.
"You stormed across campus." You held up one finger.
"Correct." Hannah nodded.
"You opened the door." Another finger.
"Correct."
"You ignored approximately fourteen warnings." A third.
"Correct."
"And somehow everyone else became the main characters." You harrumped and slumped back into your seat, glaring at Logan whose arm came up to rest behind you- but you didn’t pull away when he pecked your forehead.
Hannah looked genuinely aghast at her lack of involvement within the gossip mill, "You know what?" She folded her arms, "That is offensive."
"There she is." Dean blew an exaggerated kiss at her, "The victim complex."
Hannah threw a napkin at him.
The situation somehow got worse, a possibility you never thought could be true.
By Wednesday morning, people had started inventing details, ones that didn’t even make sense. Especially because the original story was already embarrassing enough.
Now there were rumours.
Terrible rumours.
Wild rumours.
Factually incorrect rumours.
"I heard somebody say we were recording."
Hannah looked flabbergasted, the pen in her hand creaked as her first tightened.
Across the corridor, Allie stopped walking, "We weren't?"
"Exactly."
"We were too busy being surrounded by cockfest 2026."
The three of you continued toward class, united by shared trauma- forged entirely through public humiliation.
The campus buzzed around you, students heading between lectures, athletes carrying equipment bags, people drinking coffee they absolutely couldn't afford. The usual. Until somebody shouted out your name, the voice was gratingly familiar in a way that made you want to spit out your tonsils.
The guys sitting outside the student centre weren't even subtle about it, the one who called out for you nudged another, the second looked up and smirked.
They were two guys from the lacrosse team. Arguably, you’d think such a fancy sport would produce gentlemen, but the game manufactured slime-balls like the two currently snickering at your deadpan expression.
"Oh look." The smile spread, "The locker room girls."
You stopped mid-step, and you’d known it was a mistake the minute your foot paused, because now they knew you'd heard. The embarrassment hit instantly, like a slap to the face that reached down your throat, hot in a way that made your body burn.
Beside you, Hannah looked ready to throw hands, her eyes narrowing at the boys.
“You got only fans? We’d love to see what happened in the locker room.”
Allie grit her teeth and just as she was about to bite back, a voice interrupted her.
"Say that again."
The atmosphere chilled behind you, one second the lacrosse pair were giggling like little goblins, the next, their faces were frozen with teetering smiles.
You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. Logan stood next to you, his thumb rubbing soothingly on your arm.
Dean was walking up to Allie, his hands still cupped around his mouth from his interruption. Garrett hung back, but welcomed Hannah into his side when she begrudgingly shuffled up to him.
They had apparently finished a team strategy session, an unfortunate coincidence for the boys in front of you, who suddenly looked significantly less dick-ish.
The one with slicked back, blonde hair looked to his friend- who shrugged and patted him on the shoulder, his lip visibly quivered when he spoke, "What?" the question came out weak.
Dean smiled, two hands braced on his girlfriend's frame. Leisurely almost. "Oh, don't do that." He tilted his head with a pout, "You were really confident thirty seconds ago."
Nobody answered.
Garrett called out, still maintaining a generous distance from the situation- probably not wanting to get too involved with another team as the captain, “You seem like the type to be on only fans Jackson. Is that what you do when you lose to Eastwood?” The disappointment in his voice somehow made it worse.
"Seriously,” Dean shook his head, "Dude, if you're going to talk shit about my girlfriend at least be creative." Allie smacked the front of his chest, but nodded in agreement.
Then Logan spoke, "Find something else to talk about."
Jackson, and the other guy- equally as greasy, dissolved into pitiful excuses and throwaway comments, scoffing as they retreated into the building.
"Holy shit."
Dean grinned, "You're welcome."
"You enjoyed that." Allie poked him accusatorially, leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek a few times, leaving lipstick prints against his dimple.
"I enjoyed that immensely."
Nearby, Garrett wrapped an arm around Hannah's shoulders and joined the rest of you.
"You know," Garrett said thoughtfully, "I feel like people would've stopped talking about it sooner if Dean hadn't told literally everyone."
The silence was beautiful. The three of you slowly turned to look at Dean, who was gritting out threats at Garrett, a horrified expression gracing his features as he timidly caressed Allie's hair.
"I did not."
Logan punched his shoulder jokingly, like bros talking about whose basketball team won last night, "You absolutely did."
"I told one person."
The universe was finally smiling down on you, since Tucker walked up to the six of you, pushing his curls out of his face.
"You told Tucker." Garrett laughed.
Tucker blinked between the two, who were now engaged in a heated conversation using their eyes.
"That's still one person."
"Dean."
"One person."
"You told the biggest gossip on the hockey team that our girlfriends walked into the changing room after practice and saw everyone's dicks. by accident."
Tucker finally nodded his head with an affirmative sound, “Oh yeah, I’m just annoyed I left practice early for a doctor's appointment.” He patted Dean on the shoulder, grinning as he stirred the proverbial pot, “luckily Dean here, my best friend, the person who tells me everything. Recounted it in perfect detail.”
An argument exploded instantly, involving Allie smacking Dean upside the head and she bickered about how the last 48 hours had been a living hell.
Hannah wasn’t letting Garrett off the hook easily, nagging him that if he had just “replied to her goddamn messages” the three of you wouldn’t have been in there, she quietened and blushed when he whispered in her ear.
Tucker had joined Allie in bashing Dean, but the three of them groaned when Dean promised, “mind-blowing orgasms on every surface of the house”. Allie didn’t say anything further, just glared at him when he hooked a hand onto her waist and pulled her in.
They drifted ahead while they bickered. Leaving you slightly behind with Logan, who had somehow presented an iced coffee from behind his back and was watching you sip it.
"You didn't have to do that." You said mid-sip.
Logan looked over, "What?"
"That."
You gestured vaguely toward the now-empty student centre steps. Logan’s expressions softened slightly as he took your bag from your shoulder and pulled you into him, tucking a hand into your back pocket.
"Yeah." he paused, "Actually, I kind of did."
Your stomach performed a deeply inconvenient little flip.
"Why?"
Logan looked ahead, then to the ground in an almost bashful kind of way, then he shrugged. Like the answer was obvious, "I don't like people making you feel bad."
You cooed at him, grabbing his face with your free hand and squishing his face between your fingers, “You’re such a softie.”
Smacking a kiss to his stubbly cheek, you returned to the drink, gulping it down appreciatively.
He snickered to himself and added unhelpfully, “Plus, kind of owed you since you saw Dean’s cock.”
𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 : john logan x fem! econ! reader
𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : tipsy! reader- but not during sexy time, established sober like 500 times, m!cum in pants, f!fingering, teasing!, m!praise, wet making out (is that a warning?), grinding.
𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : 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.
𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 3.6k words
𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : thank you so much for the love on my first fic of the blog!! 1.2k likes [as of now] is wild. I know this wasn't on the WIPs, but a Drabble turned into this and I thought it would be cruel to deprive the John Logan smut girlies for so long. gif credit: @firstprinced; divider credit : @digilatte
Finals week had reduced you to a concerning version of yourself. An intense, borderline doped up version of you that scared your roommates into hiding.
At some point over the last ten days, you had consecutively survived almost exclusively on iced coffee and protein bars, cried in the library stairwell over a statistics quiz worth five percent of your grade, accidentally highlighted an entire textbook chapter because you stopped processing colour properly around three in the morning, and fallen asleep sitting upright against Logan’s shoulder while trying to explain some bullshit economic theory to him.
Which meant two things.
One:
You were exhausted and so ready to finally dedicate more than ten minutes to washing your hair.
And two:
The entire hockey team had collectively decided about three days into you bear grylls level study marathon, that you would have to be, as they liked to call it, “reintroduced into society” the second said exams ended.
Which was how you ended up tipsy for the first time in months, tucked against Logan’s side in the middle of some overcrowded off-campus party while music rattled the walls hard enough to make the floor vibrate beneath your shoes.
“You alive over there?” Logan asked, leaning closer so you could hear him properly.
You looked up from where your cheek was half pressed against his shoulder.
“Barely.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“You know,” you informed him seriously, “I think I deserve financial compensation for finals week.”
Logan snorted softly.
“I’ll let the university know.”
“You should.”
His hand stayed warm at your waist while people moved around you in loud, blurry motion. The house smelled faintly like cheap alcohol and somebody’s burnt pizza rolls, humid from too many people crammed into too small a space, but tucked into the corner of the couch beside Logan, everything felt strangely soft around the edges instead of overwhelming.
Mostly because he kept checking on you every five seconds. In a quintessential John Logan way, that made you feel unreasonably fuzzy inside.
Especially when he remembered how much water you’d had, quietly traded your vodka mixer for a weaker one halfway through the night without making a thing of it, and kept rubbing his thumb against your hip absentmindedly every time he noticed your eyes drifting shut.
“You tired?” he asked eventually.
“A little.”
“You wanna head back?”
You considered it seriously for approximately half a second before nodding.
“Can we order cheesy fries on the way home?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“How coherent you are right now.”
You gasped softly. “I’m incredibly coherent.”
“You tried to unlock the bathroom with your student ID .”
“That was one time.”
“It was four times.”
You laughed hard enough your forehead dropped briefly against his shoulder, and Logan’s mouth twitched immediately at the sound.
By the time Logan was steering you carefully out of the crowded basement party with one warm hand settled at your lower back, your brain felt pleasantly untangled for the first time in weeks, limbs loose and warm beneath your coat while cold night air hit your cheeks hard enough to make you laugh.
The walk back to the hockey house wasn’t far, cold night air cutting through the leftover warmth of the party enough to sober you steadily with every block. Logan kept his arm around your shoulders the entire time anyway, occasionally glancing down at you like he was recalculating your risk assessment every few minutes.
“You good?” he asked immediately, glancing down at you as you stumbled slightly against him on the sidewalk.
You grinned up at him.
“Perfect.”
“That sounded ominous.”
“It’s because I’m whimsical now.”
“You’re tipsy.”
“I’m whimsical and tipsy.”
“Mm.”
“And for the record,” you continued, poking lightly at his chest through his sweatshirt, “you also drank.”
“I had like two beers over four hours.”
“So you admit it.”
“I admit nothing.”
Logan tightened his arm around you automatically when you leaned more of your weight into him. The walk back blurred pleasantly around the edges, campus quieter now except for distant music and occasional bursts of laughter drifting from frat houses further down the street.
By the time the hockey house came into view, your head felt clearer than it had left the party, comfortably warm instead of blurry, thoughts slower around the edges but still fully there.
Your heels clicked unevenly against the pavement.
Logan slowed instinctively to match you, that stupid fond warmth settled in your chest again.
You stared at him for a second too long.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re very large.”
His eyebrows lifted immediately.
“…Thank you?”
“No like,” you continued seriously, squeezing his bicep, “you’re just kind of everywhere.”
He tapped your nose, “That’s usually how being six foot two works babe.”
“Crazy.”
The house itself was quieter than expected when you stepped inside, only faint light spilling from the kitchen and distant noise from somewhere upstairs, but most of the team had either passed out already or vanished with hookups hours ago. The bitterness of the alcohol had already started to fade, leaving a sweet taste in its wake. You weren’t dizzy anymore, just floaty in that magical post-party way that made everything feel so comforting.
“Miracle,” Logan muttered while gripping your wrist. Watching you carefully as you undid the straps of your heels while leaning on his shoulder for stability, “Nobody’s screaming.”
“Garrett’s probably dead.”
“One can hope.”
You laughed softly. Nudging your shoes, if they could be called that, into a semi-convenient space next to the door, but shrugged once they got stuck in the tangle of a thousand sports trainers.
You stayed over enough that nobody even questioned it anymore.
There were hair ties in Logan’s bathroom drawer. A skincare bottle next to his sink. Dean had once walked into the kitchen at eight in the morning, seen you wearing Logan’s shirt while making coffee, and simply said,
“Oh thank god, you live here now. Maybe you’ll stop him eating dry cereal for dinner.”
You’d stayed over enough times by now that his room already half-felt like yours anyway.
Logan guided you up the stairs and into his room, the quiet settled differently when the door clicked closed, the comforting kind of silence that greets you after a weeks long holiday away from home.
He tossed his keys onto the desk before turning toward you immediately.
“You need water.”
“You sound like my doctor.”
“You’ll thank me tomorrow morning.”
You smiled slightly while he crossed the room, “You’re really pretty tonight,” you murmur.
Logan laughs softly under his breath while digging through his dresser for one of his shirts to replace the dress you had on currently.
“Tonight specifically?”
“Mhm.”
“Good to know.”
“No, like-” your voice catches slightly around another laugh as you crawl onto the mattress behind him and grab one of his pillows, you bury into the clean scented cotton and angle your face towards him, moreso speaking to his back. “I mean it.”
He turns then, still holding the shirt loosely in one hand.
And something about the way you’re looking at him makes his expression shift. He had tugged his sweatshirt off sometime upstairs, leaving him in a dark grey t-shirt that stretched distractingly across his shoulders, curls messy from the cold outside air, cheeks still faintly flushed from alcohol and laughter.
Your chest squeezed unexpectedly.
“What?” he asked immediately.
“You’re just.. so pretty.” You breathe out, a tangled mix of a gasp and sigh, pushing yourself up slowly, hair messy and strewn across your face.
The corner of his mouth lifted automatically.
“Yeah?”
You crawled to the edge of the bed closest to him. “Like… genuinely.”
You could practically see the exact moment he realised you weren’t teasing him.
“You’re pretty all the time,” you continued quietly, reaching out toward him- fingertips outstretched and ghosting over the belt loop of his jeans. “I just don’t think I say it enough.”
He steps between your knees where you’re sitting, shirt still hanging forgotten from one hand while your palms slide slowly up his thighs.
“Pretty hands,” you whisper, mainly to yourself, tracing the calluses on his palm and the soft cuticles of his nails. You travel higher to his forearms, beckoning him to bend closer towards you- his knee coming up onto the comforter. Logan watches, his eyes still playful and face flushed.
“Pretty arms,” fingertips tracing over the veins in his forearms before guiding his large palms to lay flat on your hips, he exhales heavily, a crack in his breath punctuating the shift in his gaze from loving to lustfully curious.
“Baby,” he said softly, “How tipsy are you right now?”
You looked up at him properly, “Enough to say this,” then smiled slightly, “But not enough to not mean it.”
You watched his throat move when he swallowed, eyes flicking down to your parted lips.
“Promise?” he asked quietly.
You nodded immediately.
“Promise.”
The tension in his shoulders eased after that.
And then you touched his face again.
“Pretty eyes,” you murmured softly, fingertips barely grazing the edge of his lashes in a way that makes his breath stall for half a second before he steadies it again.
“Pretty cheeks.”
Your hand cups his face now properly, softer than your words sound, thumb resting near his jaw like you’re holding him still just to admire. Your fingers graze his stubble and you itch to rub your face against his, like a cat, arching for attention.
He exhales again, slower this time, eyes fixed on yours- watching as your mind filters through every possibility, a dark, dirty loop.
You can feel the shift before anything else changes - the room, the air, the space between you narrowing without either of you daring to move away, too transfixed on your next move.
“And pretty hair.” You almost moan out, the memories of how you’d bury your hands in his hair and tug and scratch appreciatively in response to his actions.
Your fingers slid into his curls, nails dragging lightly against his scalp.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered quietly
You bit your lip, teasing it between your teeth to hide the way your mouth watered at the blush that stained his cheeks.
“Are you done?” he asks, somehow leaning even closer to you whilst not brushing his lips against yours. You almost snicker at the wrecked expression he has, but instead you let out a shaky breath when he uses his thumb to pry your bottom lip out from the grips of your teeth.
“No,” you say immediately, you gulp thickly and continue your appreciation, “m'taking my time baby.”
A shiver travels down your spine when his fingers move, dangerously slow to the hem of your dress that is already so far up your thighs that you aren’t sure there's a point in still having it on. But you lose most of your coherent thought train when his fingertips breach below the tight sequined fabric.
You quickly stand, twist Logan into your space and push him down on the bed. He wipes a hand down his face and lets out a growl from the bottom of his throat, eyes raking up your debauched appearance,
“Is this how you feel when I manhandle you?”
“Little bit, but you normally do that after I’ve come twice, so I’m not complaining."
You take one of his wrists and pull him up so you can climb into his lap, knees settling carefully on either side of his thighs while Logan looks up at you like he couldn’t decide whether he’s overwhelmed or completely gone already.
Probably both.
“You know what your problem is?” you asked softly, wrapping his arms around you as you shuffle further up against him.
“What?”
“You don’t realise how hot you are.”
That finally got a real laugh out of him, breathless around the edges.
“Baby, I play hockey. Unfortunately that’s like ninety percent of my personality.”
“No,” you insisted, leaning closer. “I mean it.”
Your fingers drifted down his throat slowly, tracing the shape of his Adam's apple, before you brush your mouth against his jaw, he groaned at your featherlight touch, eyes screwed shut and control fraying at the edges.
“You’re stupidly pretty.”
Logan’s hands flexed harder against your waist, fingers digging into the swell of your hips.
“You cannot say shit like that and then not kiss me,” he muttered.
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to behave.” That made you scoff out a chuckle against the corner of his lips.
“Baby,” he whispers, his voice serious as he holds your face in his hands, prying you away from his neck, “You’re not tipsy right now, right?”
You pull away and look at him carefully for a second, eyes softening as he studies your face.
“Positive,” The hand that you had resting on his neck comes up to spread against his jaw, guiding his gaze to focus on yours, “I'm completely sober right now.”
Logan’s silent for what seems like hours, watching, analysing you. How your once slightly tangy breath is now coming out in fresh puffs against his nose and the tipsy giddiness in your eyes is replaced with something calmer.
“Okay.” He finally whispers, threading his fingers into your hair and pressing your forehead against his.
“I love you,” You whisper, giggling when he scoffs and kisses your cheek, “Where was I?”
He lets out a small breath when his hands finally slide up your back properly, warm palms flattening on your ass while he tips his head back to let you kiss along his throat.
You grip the bottom of his shirt, “Can I take this off?”
Logan nods, moving back so he can remove it in one fluid tug. You lean into his hands when they return to your back, pushing your weight into him so you can take in his bare skin, the healed over hockey scars and bruises hidden in the shadows of the room, the dips and slants of his muscles contracting which each deep breath- clearly visible in the glow of his lamp.
“Really pretty shoulders,” You grip the thick muscle in question, nails digging in slightly as you grind down experimentally, “And chest, god, I really hit the jackpot here.”
You ignore the flustered heat radiating off of him and begin to kiss down his neck, wet open mouth kisses that leave glistening stamps on his tanned skin. They make a path of their own, winding around his throat and down to his clavicle, where you begin to lose composure, sucking and biting the skin, whimpers bleeding out in between each new lovebite; they continue to twist onto his chest, spiralling each pec until you can’t comfortably continue. That’s when you push him down and adjust his hands on your body, pulling up your dress to your waist so he can grip you harder.
“Are you still behaving?” you whispered, punctuating the question with a bite to his abs.
“Barely.”
You smile against his stomach, your lips meeting the line of brown hair that starts as a splattering at his abdomen.
Logan swallowed hard from above you, one arm resting on his forehead- his hand balled into a loose fist, the other rested on your head, lightly scratching your scalp, fingers buried into your hair.
His thighs flex beneath you and you sit up once again, “And your thighs baby, you have such pretty thighs”. You grind against the prominent bulge in his jeans, “So strong too.” You press your palms behind into his legs, arching your back into his chest as he sat up once more.
“Baby-” He gasped, “You can’t just- shit” You ripped off your dress, or whatever rolled up and wrinkled version you had on, “You can’t just say shit like that.”
“But it's true Logan.” You let him pull down the cups of your bra, mouthing messily at your breasts as he slowly guides your hips against him.
At this point, Logan’s lips were swollen and spit-slick from biting them and wetting them with his tongue. They were warm against your nipples, teeth a dull ache against the hardening buds as he rolled them, alternating between gentle kisses and tugs with his fingers to sharp sucks and pinches.
You moan out loudly, pulling at his hair as your hips begin to quicken. Your hands shake from the pleasure coursing through your entire body, but your grip on his jaw is steady as you kiss him. Mouth engulfing him in an open mouth kiss, tongue plunging into his mouth slowly, he matches your desire, his own tongue tangling with yours, hot puffs of air bursting from each millisecond you take to breathe.
Logan made this sound low in his throat that went straight through you, and suddenly you wanted more of it.
Your fingers tightened in his curls.
His grip on your waist sharpened.
The room felt warmer now, heavier somehow, every breath pulling slower than before while his mouth moved against yours with growing urgency.
“Baby,” he breathed quietly when you shifted in his lap without thinking.
“Your’e so pretty baby,” you whimpered softly before you could stop yourself, a mix of your saliva dripping from your lips.
Logan exhaled sharply against your mouth.
“fuck,” he panted, “What has gotten into you”
You shrug, thighs burning as he picks up the pace of the messy grinds against you, hands digging into your waist, “Just wanna appreciate my beautiful boyfriend, hah, my hot,” You kiss his neck and roughly thrust your hips, “sexy,” You switch sides, “amazing boyfriend.”
His head tips back as he laughs.
“Jesus Christ.”
His mouth crashed back into yours harder this time, one hand diving into your underwear to press your clit whilst the other ran his nails up your spine, fingertips pressing into soft skin hard enough to make your breath catch.
“You’re killing me,” he muttered roughly against your mouth, “You’re so fucki-”
You kissed him again before he could finish the sentence, desperate to feel his lips against yours, to feel his tongue slip into your mouth and invade your taste buds.
Your fingers gripped his neck, digging into the sensitive skin as you whimpered, “I forgot,” You lifted up suddenly, looking down to where your bodies were feverishly rubbing, his fingers still teasing your folds and rolling your clit beneath his thumb, “Your cock,” the lewd words were breathed against his ear, as your briefly slowed to press your fingers against the spot where his dick seemed to be straining against the zipper of his jeans, you were met with a damp patch, fingertips tracing the exact area, feeling it out since the darkness of the room wasn’t helpful in identifying just how badly he wanted you, “Your cock is so pretty baby.”
Logan shuddered against you and you gasp coyly, “yeah? I knew you had a praise kink. You are really liking this.”
You begin rolling your hips once more, this time directly on the mound that is throbbing against your cunt, warmth radiating through your ruined panties. Logan kisses you and smiles against your mouth, “Good thing I know just what you like,”
His fingers shifted, two digits now circling your hole, in response you arch your chest into him, “So pretty baby.” He snickers against your chest, slowly entering you, mouth parting in parallel with yours whilst a broken moan escapes your throat as he curls his fingers messily.
The irony isn’t lost on you, his cheeky smile makes you slow your hips, rocking deeply instead of short and snappy movements- languidly drawing out low moans from your boyfriend, who is heavily groaning into your parted mouth.
Both of you breathing into one another, wetness slipping down from your tongues into a messy, filthy mix against your chins.
His eyes roll back, as do yours when you find the perfect angle at which his fingers can firmly plunge against the spongy place inside of you whilst you catch the tip of his bulge with each slow rock.
You know he’s about to cum when short, barely audible whimpers leave his lips, his dark eyebrows pulled together in concentration as his mouth puckers to a shaky pout,
“You gonna cum baby?” You tease the coils of hair at the nape of his neck and watch him bite his lip hard, glancing down to where his hand disappears beneath the waistband of your panties, his fingers mutilating the soft lace in an obscene way.
Logan shook his head sharply, “Need- fuck- need you to cum first.” His other hand that had been kneading your ass, now went to your waist, guiding your hips in tandem with his fingers that now grinded into you, the heel of his palm pressing into your pubic hair with enough pressure to make your body jerk.
“Oh,” you bit into his shoulder, teeth digging into the muscle, surely going to leave a mark, “I will, Logan, i’m cumming, fuck oh my god.”
The way you moan his name made his hips buck and chest seize up, stuttering whilst you felt the denim beneath you warm considerably. You cup his face, thumb just below his bottom lip as you kiss him slowly, perversely, all slow strokes of your tongue and drool smacking against both of your teeth.
When Logan is able to control his body once again, he kisses you back, his fingers that never stopped, only slowed- picked up the pace. Making you jump, and gasp, “Logan,” you babble out obscenities:
“Yes, fuck right there, please dont stop.”
“So good, baby- need it so bad.”
His chest heaves when you do break around his digits, spasming wildly as wetness coats his knuckles and dribbles down into his palm, he croons at your blissed out expression, face glowing with sweat. He pushes your hips back slightly to pull out his hand, an empty feeling replacing them but soon it disappears when you watch him through hooded eyes, lips parting to welcome his glistening fingers into his mouth.
Logan groans, smacking his lips, eyes never leaving yours, “So fucking glad your exams are over babe.”
summary: reader helps a woman with her baby. logan experiences a little baby fever. fluff, short fic. requested!
The sound of a bell ringing takes you out of your almost meditative state of sweeping floors. You turn to face the door, expecting to see Logan, just to find a woman and her baby staring back at you.
“We’re closed for the night. Sorry, ma’am.”
“No, I know, I’m sorry—” The woman starts saying, her voice apologetic, “I was hoping I could use your bathroom? I– I just need to change, I’m meeting someone and she dropped her juice on my shirt.”
Now that you’re closer, you can see the big, orange spot in her white shirt, along with the way the sling tugs on her shoulders and the frown on her young face, “I won’t take long, I promise.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” you nod, “Second door to the left, ma’am.”
“Uh, one more thing.” Her face twists in embarrassment, “I’m so sorry, do you mind holding her while I do it? I don’t have her stroller with me, I was just going–” She starts rambling, stopping to compose herself, “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.”
You offer her a reassuring smile, “It’s okay. Here, hand me her–” you leave aside the broom you were holding, quickly cleaning your hands on a cloth over your shoulder. The woman carefully takes her baby out of the sling, handing her to you. The baby starts kicking her legs, making you chuckle, “Someone’s happy to be off the sling.”
She’s a quiet thing, the baby. Chubby face and big, dark eyes looking up at you. “This is Posie.” Her mother says, “I’m Mary. Thank you for watching her.”
“No problem.” You smile at her, Posie looking curiously at you, “Take your time, yeah? There’s paper towels in there, feel free to use it.”
Mary nods thankfully, quickly rushing to the bathroom. You look around the place, holding Posie on your hip as you fish the phone out of your back pocket — Logan was supposed to pick you up after practice today, but you don’t think you’ll close the bar in time. You're trying your best to type a quick message using just one hand when the door bell dings again.
“Hey, hon—” Logan walks in, stopping on his tracks once he sees you holding Posie. He looks around, eyebrows crossed in confusion, “Did I step into an alternate universe? Since when do we have a baby?”
“Ha ha. Very funny, Logan.” You say sarcastically, then smiling at the baby in your arms, “This is Posie. Her mom’s in the back using the restroom.”
Poor little Posie seems to grow fussy over the mention of her mother, face twisting in a frown much like her mother’s, “Aw, darling. You’re alright.” You say, voice so gentle, “Your mom’s in the bathroom. Let’s give her some time, yeah?”
Logan watches as the baby starts blubbering in your arms, and you shift to rest her little head over your shoulder. Your hands move to Posie’s small back, comforting her as you shush her little cries.
He can’t remember if he’s ever seen you interacting with a kid ever, but he thinks it must be the first time. There’s no way he’d ever forget this feeling, he decides, as he feels his ribs tugging, heart melting in such a lovely way.
“It’s okay,” you keep repeating, “You’re okay, Posie. Don’t cry, please. Let’s not startle your mom.”
Posie settles a little, lips still curved but now quiet, eyes fluttering closed.
“You’re good with kids.” He whispers to you, trying not to alarm the baby. You look up at him, watching as his eyes move from little Posie to you, pupils dark and adoring, “I think I’d be good too.”
Your lips quiver into a little smile, “Don’t even think about that.”
“What?” He lets out a quiet, incredulous laugh, “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Yes, you were. I can see it in your face.” You say, and his mouth splits into a smile, “See! Stop!”
He shrugs, still smiling, “Okay, not thinking anymore.” Logan takes a step back, hands on his varsity pockets, “You’d want one?”
Your hand keeps drawing circles on little Posie’s back. “I don’t know. Maybe someday?” You murmur, “Do I have to answer now?”
“No,” he chuckles, “Of course not. I’m just wondering.”
“Okay. Someday, then.”
He hums, “Someday.”
Mary doesn’t take too long in the restroom. You quickly introduce her to your boyfriend, saying he’s here to pick you up. She seems mortified to have stalled you both, but thanks you profusely once she finds her daughter so close to sleeping in your arms.
“She’s so tired, poor thing.” Mary says, adjusting little Posie on her sling, “Thank you again.”
You just shake your head, “Have a good night, you and Posie.”
Logan helps you finish cleaning the place, stacking the chairs as you finish sweeping, a quiet domesticity fog dawning over you both. You watch as he looks up at you every other minute, a chuckle breaking through his lips.
You don’t scold him for his obvious train of thought. Instead, you quickly press a giggly kiss on his cheek, him wrapping his arms around you for a bit. There’s no promise over your heads, just a glimpse of a possible future, someday.
notes: thank you for reading! requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3
Summary: You let loose with the girls after Allie’s final performance of the season and Logan has to come get your drunk ass.
Ahead: John Logan x reader, purely fluff, excessive drinking, dumb short I'm sorry
“Hello?” Logan’s voice was raspy with sleep as he answered his phone after several rings. He blinked his eyes in the darkness, temporarily blinded by the light of his phone screen which clearly displayed your name and a picture he had taken of you after one of his games.
“I need you to come get me.” You giggled into the phone, speech slurred and music playing muffled in the background like you were just outside of the main area of whatever bar or party you were at.
Logan sat up quickly, eyebrows creased in concern as he tucked his phone between his jaw and shoulder. He flicked on a light and reached for a random Briar hoodie near him. “Where are you?”
“Malone’s, silly!” You continued to giggle, like his question was ridiculous. “I’m celebrating with the girls. I’m outside waiting for them.”
Logan slipped his sneakers on before grabbing his keys, speeding out of his bedroom. “And where are Allie and Hannah right now?” He hated the idea of standing outside of Malone’s in the dark and cold, drunk out of your mind and the easiest prey for a creep passing by.
You did a little twirl on the sidewalk, “Well, Allie drank a bit too much so Hannah had to hold her hair in the bathroom while she, you know, threw up and stuff. It was too hot inside, so I’m waiting for them here.” You hiccuped your way through your explanation, hearing Logan’s truck rumbling to life on the other side of the phone.
Logan ran a hand over his face, all traces of sleep and relaxation leaving his body. “You know I hate when you go out without me.” He wasn’t mad. He never got truly mad at you, just worried like a concerned father. It was hard for him to keep you safe if he wasn’t there to protect you.
“I know,” You pouted, “I missed you all night.”
Logan’s chest warmed at your words, pressing down on the acceleration pedal a bit harder.
You continued with your drunken explanation, “Allie had her last big performance tonight and we wanted to celebrate. Hannah doesn’t drink at parties, so she’s the DD but it’s hard to be a DD with only a bike.” You snorted at your own joke, and Logan couldn’t help chuckling too at the mental image of all three girls piling on to Hannah’s bike.
“You did the right thing by calling me, baby.” Logan confirmed.
You smiled to yourself. “I love when you call me that.”
“What?” Logan asked, taking a bit of an advantage of your tipsy honesty.
“Baby.” You repeated, imitating Logan’s gruff, deeper voice. You sighed, “You’re so sexy, ya know?”
Logan grinned, letting out a hearty laugh, pushing back his dark locks with one hand. “You’re very drunk, baby.”
“I totally am!” You laughed, nearly tripping on a potted plant. As you regained your balance, you spotted Logan’s truck pulling up, his headlight illuminating your stumbling figure.
Logan hopped out of the truck, jogging over to you. Before he could even fully approach you, your face broke out into a wide grin and you were hopping into the air, arms outstretched.
“My sexy man!” You exclaimed as you wrapped not only your arms but your legs around his body, clinging to him like a koala.
Logan let out a quick gasp in surprise, managing to catch you with one hand on your thigh and the other holding his keys. “Happy to see you too, baby.”
After a few moments, Logan gently places you on the ground, his hand now holding your arm to keep you upright. Being able to see you clearly, he took in your drunken state. Your hair was a mess and your eyes were glossy, small tears settled on your eyelashes like morning dew on grass. Your smile never wavered, even as you swayed slightly. He couldn’t help chuckling when he noticed the denim jacket you were wearing was upside down, you appearing completely oblivious.
You leaned towards him, smushing your cheek into his strong arm, “Can we stop for cheesy fries on the way home?”
Logan smiled softly, kissing the top of your head. “Sure, baby.”
Very short but I don't know what to write. Leave a request if you would like!
blurb: a rich uptown girl with car issues keeps visiting the small garage off the highway where the owner’s super hot son works.
warnings: fem!reader, fluff, lowk ditzy!reader but not really, yummy mechanic!logan.
Logan heard you before he saw you.
He memorized the sound of those heels clicking against the rough pavement like a second heartbeat. After all, not many girls around this side of town wore vintage Prada pumps to an off-highway garage.
And even if they did, they most certainly did not own a BMW 6er f12 convertible.
Logan’s older brother Jeff was leaning against the workshop desk and sipping on a can of Coke when he saw you strut in. He sighed, “Here comes Lottie.”
The nickname was a running joke between the brothers. Jeff had muttered it under his breath when you first visited the shop and asked a question about diesel gas. He took one look at you and knew you were a clueless, rich girl who shouldn’t be visiting garages such as theirs.
Logan hadn’t entertained the nickname so much. He thought it was unnecessarily mean. Besides, Lottie was always a sweetheart in Princess and the Frog.
Jeff turned on his heels and disappeared into the garage’s office, leaving Logan to deal with you on his own.
Logan put down a spare part he was working on and turned around, leaning back against the counter.
You waved excitedly with a cheerful grin. “Hi, Logan!”
He smiled politely, “Hey…”
“Did you save my girl?” You asked, batting your lashes.
Logan nodded, “She’s all fixed up for you,” he said, walking over to the wall of car keys hung on hooks to retrieve yours.
You clapped your hands, “Yay!”
He chuckled whilst shaking his head. You got happy over the simplest of things. He thought it was endearing.
You walked over to your car. Nebula, as you called her. A fitting name for a sleek, black convertible with dark purple leather upholstery and shiny silver rims.
Logan came over and handed you your keys. “You wanna try her out?”
You nodded and unlocked your car before opening the driver’s side door. No beeping. Perfect.
You beamed at Logan. “You did it!”
He smiled with an easy laugh, feeling proud of his work. In reality, your car issue was a minor one; the door sensor just needed a replacement. Nothing about it required a lick of rocket science, and yet you looked at him as if he hung the stars in your galaxy.
You put your designer bag into your car and bent over to fish out your wallet. Logan stared at your body for a second before he caught himself, clearing his throat and looking away respectfully.
You stood up straight, holding your leather wallet between both hands, looking at him with a doe-eyed expression.
He scratched the back of his neck and gestured for you to follow him to the counter. The gritty sounds of his boots crunching the gravel below and the rhythmic click click click of your heels echoed through the garage.
Logan went around the counter and pulled out a receipt and wrote down the service you needed with the price. He slid the piece of paper to you but you just kept looking at his face with a smile. He blinked before realizing you didn’t care for the price. Right, he thought. Rich girls don’t worry about those things.
“Cash or card?” He asked.
You held up your metal black credit card.
Logan pursed his lips and nodded as he pulled out a card reader. You tapped your card without even glancing at the screen and clapped your hands when the machine beeped in satisfaction.
“Thank you, Logan,” you told him kindly.
He shrugged politely, “It’s no problem.”
You smiled at him. He returned it, “Do you want your recei—“
Before he could even hand you your proof of service, you were walking back to your car. He nodded to himself and stuffed the receipt into the cash register.
He watched as you exited the garage, waving at him enthusiastically as you drove by. He gave a small wave back.
+
A week later, your BMW pulled into the garage whilst Logan was working under a car.
He didn’t hear the sound of your heels this time as he had headphones in, blasting a classic rock song. He felt a shadow looming nearby so he turned and saw your heels appear. He paused and rolled out from under the car, meeting the sight of your broad smile peering down at him.
“Hi, Logan!”
“Hey…” He sounded confused. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced around, “Didn’t you pick up your car last week?”
You nodded. “Yep. But my AC is broken now…” You pouted.
Hm, Logan thought. He sat up, “Oh, I didn’t see that when I did the diagnostic last week—“
“Must be a new issue, then. These foreign cars are all funny,” you replied, tilting your head.
He cleaned his hands with a rag before standing up. He had oil stains on his shirt and just a little smudge on his face. You thought he looked so ruggedly handsome.
“Let me take a look,” he said and you stepped out the way for him to crank open your hood and inspect the situation.
As he got to work, you leaned against your car and watched. After a moment, you asked, “How was your weekend?”
People don’t usually talk to Logan when he repairs their cars. Especially not pretty, rich girls like you.
“It was good, played hockey, worked here in the shop,” he responded casually.
You nodded along even though he couldn’t see you.
“Did you win?” You asked.
He laughed, an amused sound. “Yeah…yeah, we won.”
You clapped your hands, “Yay!”
Logan laughed again. It was cute, he thought, how you always clapped at good news.
“You like hockey?” He asked, looking over your hood to meet your eyes.
You hummed, “I only recently got into it. My family prefers watching polo, golf, or tennis.”
Rich people sports, he wanted to say. That made sense.
“Recently, huh?” He said instead, ducking his head to keep working. “Who should I thank for putting you onto hockey?” He joked.
You smiled shyly and said, “You…”
His hand paused. The parts of your car suddenly looking like alphabet soup moving in jumbled letters. He lifted his head to meet your gaze again. But before he could manage a reply, you changed the subject. “Is it broken beyond repair?” You asked, turning your attention to your car parts.
He snapped out of his daze and shook his head. “Uhh, no. No, you just need AC coolant.”
“Is that an easy fix?” You asked.
He nodded, “Yeah, the easiest.” He said.
You smiled in relief. “Thank goodness I have you fixing my car,” you told him.
He smiled at that.
He fixed your car, you chirped out a “Thank you, Logan!”, you paid without looking at the bill, and waved goodbye as you left.
“That the BMW girl again?” Logan’s dad asked as he stepped out the office.
“Yeah,” Logan replied, wiping his hands.
“Lottie back again so soon?” Jeff teased. Logan rolled his eyes at the jab.
“You overcharge her?” His dad asked.
Logan looked at him, “Why would I do that?”
His dad shrugged, “Luxurious car fee?”
Logan squinted his eyes, “We don’t do that.”
Jeff piped in, “We could. She doesn’t even check her receipts.”
Logan looked between his dad and brother, “So what? We charge her fair and square.”
His dad shared a looked with Jeff before he went back inside the office.
+
Week after week, you came by to the garage. First it was an oil change, then a rim replacement, then a loose window ribbon, then a tire with low air, and so on.
By week 7, Logan had had enough. It’s not that he didn’t like seeing you, no. Far from it. He actually enjoyed your company. He often looked forward to when you’d come by and say Hi, Logan! in that sing-song voice of yours, your joyful smile, and innocent questions.
But now he was noticing a pattern.
So when you rolled in that Thursday night like clockwork, he didn’t go up to you. He stayed by the workshop desk and watched you with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Hi, Logan!” You beamed with a gleeful wave.
But upon meeting his stern expression, your smile faltered and your hand slowly dropped back to your side. You looked around the empty garage before walking over to him in hesitant steps. The sound of your heels filled the space between the two of you. You stopped in front of him and flattened down your skirt, a nervous tic of yours that you never noticed before.
“Y/n,” he said, his tone serious. “This is the seventh time you’ve come to the garage.”
You nodded, “Nebula keeps acting up—“
“No, she doesn’t.”
You looked at your feet. No smile, no lively clapping.
His arms uncrossed and he stepped closer. He wasn’t angry. No, it wasn’t that. Logan isn’t an idiot. He knew. He knew you had a crush on him, knew the only reason you showed up time and time again was just to spend time with him. Why else would you come? He knew families like yours had their own repairmen at fancy dealerships who could fix any problem. You didn’t need to come into his family’s garage.
Yet, you did.
Logan figured it out by week 4. But truth be told, he never mentioned it because a part of him liked being around you too. He liked hearing your upbeat voice, the familiar tap of your heels, the sound of your laugh. So he stayed quiet, he fixed your tires, and refilled your car’s oil. He went along with it. Because he liked your company just as much as you liked his.
Unable to lie to him, you lifted your head and met his eyes. “I did those things to my car on purpose.” You confessed quietly.
Logan blinked. His stance eased at your admission and he looked at you with soft eyes.
“I watched a YouTube video on how to drain AC coolant,” you added. “And drove around until my tires lost some of its pressure, and—”
“Y/n,” he held your chin with his hand. “You didn’t have to do all that to see me.”
Your eyes widened as you stared at him. He smiled gently, “I…like seeing you. With or without Nebula.”
“You do?” You asked.
He nodded, “I do.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. But you stayed. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. Not hungry or desperate, just a soft sealing; a mutual understanding—I like you and you like me.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. You looked at him with a honeyed, dazed expression. He smiled down at you and pecked your lips once more. You weren’t a spoiled, rich girl to him. Not clueless or ditzy. You were just…you. A sweetheart with a crush on a cute guy who would do anything to see him. You were Lottie.
He glanced behind you at your car. He pulled away with a reluctant sigh, “What did you do to her this time?”
You smiled sheepishly, “I jammed my gearshift…”
He chuckled softly, both amused and fondly exasperated by you. “Okay…let me take a look.” He said, lacing his hand with yours and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss.
𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: where Logan uses your lap as a pillow whenever you read.
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Pure fluff, sickeningly sweet. Established relationship. John Logan being husband boyfriend material. Let me know if I missed any!
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 230
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: hi beautiful!! I’m new to writing fanfiction, and I’m so excited to continue writing!! Requests are always welcome ♡
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Masterlist!
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ now playing ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚
-THE SHADE by Rex Orange County-
01:43 ━━━━●───── 03:50
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ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮
────୨ৎ────
John Logan has a guilty pleasure.
He loves hockey. He loves partying with his friends and laughing at them when they act like idiots. He loves doing handiwork and the satisfaction of fixing things. But what he secretly loves most, is when he can lay on your lap and watch you read.
He could watch you read for hours. He loves seeing that little furrow between your brows that you get when you’re super invested in a story. When you gasp when a plot twist comes along, or when you laugh at something funny. You actually scared him once when you started crying. At first he thought it was because he did something, when in reality you were actually crying because of how sweet the love interest in your book was being to the main character. You definitely threw him for a loop that day.
But what he absolutely adores? Is when you absentmindedly play with this hair while you read. He swears you have some sort of magical powers with the way his brain quiets when you run your fingers through his hair. He has never been more grateful for the fact that he has great hair genetics until now.
You’re his own personal safe space and he will always be grateful for the fact that he can come to you after the good and bad days, to lay with you.
mr. handyman. literally every single thing that falls apart in your life, logan’s there to fix it. kitchen cabinets coming loose? great, he’s fixing them. doors squeaky? he’s already on it. something wrong with your car? perfect—he’s taking his shirt off (for your eye candy) and getting to work. and he’s not one of those sexist assholes who thinks men have to fix things while women just stand there and yelp when things fall apart. he actually makes a habit of fixing things with you there, showing you how to do it so next time you can handle it yourself in case he’s not around.
this sweet, sweet man with those pretty doe eyes cannot stay mad at you for more than a day. if he has to go to sleep without fixing things with you, he feels like he might actually die. he just can’t do it. so when you two argue, like normal couples do, he always gives you both time to cool down before coming back to you to offer your favorite takeout, lots of kisses and cuddles, a movie night, and his heart practically in his hands just so you could forgive him. anything. he’ll do anything. just don’t stay mad at him.
as much as he’s a homebody, he actually loves going out—especially with you. restaurants, new cafés, movie theaters, hiking spots, even loud busy bars he’s not usually a fan off. and he’s always patient, giving you all the time you need to get ready without rushing you. and when you’re finally done and looking pretty, he’ll have you leave a bright lipstick kiss on his jaw, visible for everyone to see he’s taken, before you head out together. his favorite part about this whole thing is walking with your hands intertwined and sharing food.
again, he’s big on acts of service. waking up a little earlier to make you breakfast because you’re too lazy to make something yourself and usually skip it. taking the time to draw you a bath after a long day. making your drinks exactly how you like them—no ice, because you hate the watery taste when it melts, buying you things you’ve run out of, whether it’s your favorite snacks or products. taking your makeup off for you when you’re too tired. giving you massages, filling your gas tank—he’s all about it.
he’s so starved for you, so don’t expect him to leave you alone when you’re both home with nothing to do. he constantly has you laying on top of him, just lazing the day away. cooking simple meals together, which he’s surprisingly good at. he believes staying practically glued to you the entire time is good for his mental health and it’d be cruel to deny him.
this man figured out your weakness long before you even started dating that you can never keep your hands to yourself when he’s sweaty, fresh out of the gym. so when you move in together, he starts timing it, leaving the gym just a little after you get home. the second he walks through the door, your eyes snap to him, the sight of him making your knees weak, heat pooling in all the right places. and you don’t even try to fight it. you just walk up to him, grab him, and kiss him deep, fully intending to have those sweaty, ripped biceps wrapped around you in a tight headlock.
☄︎ Warnings: oral (f!receiving), ridin’, sweaty logan, not proofread (it's 3am i'm sorry)
☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan
☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut.
☄︎ Words: 2800
☄︎ Summary: You and Logan semi-make up in the locker room after an argument.
💭: am I toxic? lol🧍🏾♀️you all are making my logan obsession become so much worse!! i’m supposed to be a loyal dean girlie pls! but... i have some more logan fics to get to which i am very excited about hehe... 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.
You paced the length of the Hawk’s arena hallway, trying your best not to let your impatience show. The muffled sound of celebratory music thumping from the main arena doors down the hallway doing nothing but making you even more antsy.
Under your impatience, you were furious. You had been furious since last night, when you and Logan argued over something so miniscule that you couldn’t even remember what it was about. While you don’t remember the cause of it, you do remember that you’re furious about it.
It didn’t help that the two of you hadn’t spoken to one another from since he had said, “I love you, but I’m not doing this right now.” and walked out of your dorm, slamming the door on his way out. Okay, he hadn’t actually slammed the door but, to you, he basically did. And that made you furious.
Despite your stubborn vow to ignore him until he came crawling back to you, you still found yourself sitting in the stands with Hannah and Allie to watch the game. You had, childishly, planned to look unbothered and uninterested in the game. You had even practised your yawn. But, from the moment that Logan took to the ice to the time he got off it, you were on the edge of your seat.
He played like a man possessed. Obviously, he was just as furious as you were and he had channelled all of that into the game. He was checking the Harvard guys into the plexiglass with such a force that you swear you saw it wobble. He threw his head back and roared when he scored, it took all of your dignity to not start moaning right there and then.
Every time he skated past your section, chest heaving under the padding, you became a little less angry with him. And, somehow, a whole lot more furious with him.
And this wait was making it worse.
The double doors of the locker room finally clicked open; the team flooding out in chaotic chatter. You watched as the partners gravitated towards their boyfriends. That should be you and Logan, but it’s not because you’re ‘fighting’. You stayed with your back against the wall, waiting for the hallway to clear. You knew that Logan wouldn’t be coming out with them.
Once the hallway cleared and the voices faded, you pushed open the door and stepped into the way-too-brightly lit locker room.
Logan was sitting in his stall, his forearms resting heavily on his knees as he stared blankly at the Hawks logo on the carpeted floor. His thick, dark curls fell over his eyes, soaked with sweat. He was still in his uniform, only his skates and helmet were off, discarded somewhere on the floor.
Even from across the room, you could feel the pent-up aggression vibrating off of him in waves.
When the door clicked shut behind you, his head snapped up. You leant back against the it, refusing to come in any further. You’d already taken the first step towards him. Now he had to come to you. His eyes narrowed on you, dark and intense.
“You’re still here,” he rasped. It wasn’t a question, but you answered it anyway.
“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. And, because you were being petty, added, “and, I’m still mad at you.”
Logan snorted, running a tense hand through his damp hair. He slowly stood up and walked over to you, stopping inches away from you.
Without his skates, he didn’t tower over like he would have done on the ice, but he was tall enough and wide enough to make you feel surrounded as you stood up straighter against the door.
His jaw clenched as he looked down at you and you felt a sudden heat pooling between your legs.
“I’m still mad at you,” he fired back.
“Mhm,” you murmured.
Your eyes greedily looked over him. The way his brow was furrowed. The sharpness of his jawline. The way he watched you looking all dark and serious. He looked rugged, undone, and it was so attractive to you that it made your heart ache and pussy clench.
His jaw clenched under your scrutiny, his gaze dropping to your lips as his breathing became shallower, more uneven.
“Have you come to pick another fight?” Logan asked.
“Maybe,” you countered, your voice steady despite your racing pulse. “Why? Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“Well, then I’m not here for that.”
“Then why are you here?”
He knew why you were here, the asshole. He could see your eyes travelling his body. He could see you watching the sweat roll down his neck. There’s no way he didn’t notice your chest rising or the way your eyes had dilated. He just wanted to hear you say it.
He leant forward slightly, hands slamming against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you there.
God, the smell of him. From this close, it was overwhelming. The smell of his sweat shouldn’t have pulled you in the way it did. But there was something so him and so masculine about the way he smelt.
That’s how you knew you were down bad.
You looked up at him, your stubbornness and pride pushed aside by the unadulterated need. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”
He didn’t answer and worse, he didn’t kiss you. Instead, the motherfucker smirked at you. He slipped his hands under your thighs, grabbing a hold of your ass and effortlessly lifted you up. He pressed you back against the door and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him.
The padding under his jersey prevented you from being chest to chest, forcing him to lean forward and tilt his face towards yours.
He hovered there, his lips a fraction away from yours, so close that you could feel the rapid puff of his warm breath on you, but he still wouldn’t kiss you. He stared down at your lips, then looked back up at you. You looked into his eyes, seeing the intensity of last night’s anger, tonight’s victory, and his raw desire for you. It was one of the things you loved most about him, he couldn’t hide anything in his eyes.
You felt a vein in your neck throb. You tilted your chin up, expecting him to crash his lips against yours now that you’ve made the first move. But Logan deliberately pulled his head back just an inch further. Teasing you. Letting you ache for it.
“Asshole,” you muttered, your fingers digging tightly into the damp fabric of his padded shoulders.
“Say that again.”
Instead of answering, you tried to pull his head down, but he held his ground. Keeping his eyes locked on yours, he shifted his weight, deliberately grinding his hips forward to press the hardness in his pants right against you.
“Ass. Hole.” You punctuate each syllable, if that’s what he wanted, you would give it to him.
His eyes flared as heat ran through his body. He ground into you again, making your breath hitch.
Lifting you higher in his arms, he pressed himself against you. His dick was twitching in his pants, and he so desperately needed relief.
“What am I going to do with you?” He let out an exasperated laugh as he tilted his head and leant into you.
The first touch of his lips was just a soft brush, but it still sent a ripple down your spine. You hadn’t expected him to be so delicate after the way he’d been looking at you and teasing you. He lingered there, brushing his lips across yours.
He brushed his lips against yours once more, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, biting and tugging slightly.
You moaned.
The second the sound left your throat; Logan released your lip and kissed you for real. It was bruising and desperate and exactly what you needed to get out the frustrations of the last 24 hours. His hands were suddenly all over you in a frantic blue, sliding up the hem of your shirt, cupping your ass to lift you higher, caressing your face to tilt your mouth deeper into his.
Clinging to his neck, you were only faintly aware that he had begun moving. He kept his lips on yours, carrying you across the room as he stumbled to his locker.
He didn’t break the kiss until he was in front of his locker. As his hands slid from your ass, to your waist, he pulled back, eyes locking onto yours as his chest heaved.
“Pants off,” he said, voice gruff.
The moment you unwrapped your legs from him and stood up, he was there to help you with your jeans. His fingers were trembling as he frantically tried to undo the button.
Once your jeans slid down, you sat back on the black cushion of his locker bench, looking up at him with your heart hammering in your chest.
Logan dropped to his knees, settling right between your legs. His hands gripped your knees, spreading your legs open to look at the wet patch on your panties.
He stayed there for a beat, thinking about exactly how he wanted to devour you first. He settled on your thighs first.
His hands stayed gripped on your knees as he leant forward, pressing kisses and sucking on the sensitive skin along your inner thigh, travelling up. He got unbearably close to where you were waiting for him, already soaked, before trailing back down again.
You let out a frustrated whimper, your fingers clawing at his scalp.
On his third journey up, a heavy hand came to your stomach as he gently guided you to lean back against the wooden cubby. At the same time, his other hand slid around your lower back.
With an effortless tug, he pulled you forward until your ass was right at the edge of the bench. You rested one leg over his shoulder, completely opening you up to him.
It had only been a day and a half since he last had his face buried between your legs, but to him, it might as well have been an eternity.
“Fuck, baby, I missed this,” he said as he buried his face between your legs, inhaling you in.
With one hand, he slid your panties to the side and parted one of your folds so he could lick a fat stripe up your pussy. He did it again, and again, and again, lapping up the juices there before moving to focus on your clit.
Your hips bucked into his mouth as he flicked his tongue against you. He had no more intentions to tease you; he wanted you to cum on his face.
He used his nose to rub against your clit and you shamelessly rolled your hips over it. The friction feeling so good.
A whine caught in your throat as he dove back in with his tongue, flicking from left to right.
“Logan~~.”
He looked up at you, spit and arousal shining on the lower half of his face. “Feel good, baby?”
“So, good, you always make me feel so good.” You curled your fingers in his dark curls, pushing him back between your legs.
Chuckling at your impatience, he went right back to work. His hand slipped under the hem of your top again so he could squeeze and knead your breast, the other still holding your panties so he could get at you.
You tugged at his hair as he pressed his tongue against you and swirled it in uncontrolled circles.
When he was between your legs, all he cared about was giving you exactly what you wanted. What your body needed. You needed, he obliged, tongue continuing to flick and swirl against you.
“Don’t stop– I’ll...” Your thought died on a moan.
The locker room was filled with the wet sounds of him moving his mouth against you, and the loud lewd moans that you freely let out. You didn’t care if anybody was around to hear you. In fact, you wanted them to hear just how good Logan was to you.
He could feel himself getting drunk off of the taste of you, his body was warm and buzzing. He was starting to feel delirious as your hips rolled on him.
The pressure of his tongue on you was perfect, you could feel the pleasure build steadily within you.
“Your tongue feels so good, Loge,” you praised. You were close. So close.
“Then come for me,” he said as he slid two fingers inside of you, curving and caressing your walls.
Shockwaves of pleasure ran over you as you came, clenching on his fingers. He kept his mouth on you through it, humming and moaning at the taste of you.
When your body finally settled, he sat back on his knees, panting heavily as his lips glistened in the harsh fluorescent blue lighting. You reached over, pulling him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.
“Wanna ride you, Loge,” you mumbled against his lips.
Logan didn’t need to be told twice; he was already thumbling with his pants when you pulled back to take your panties off.
The pants were barely down past his knees when you gently pushed him to lie flat on the carpet and straddled him.
“Just lay back, let me take care of you now,” you soothed as you ground against him, leaving a trail of slick arousal on his aching dick.
He practically whimpered as you continued to slide over him.
“B-baby.” His hands came to your waist, thumbs digging into your skin through your top. “Let me fuck you.”
Looking down at him, his eyes were half-lidded as they pleaded you. Who were you to argue with those beautiful brown eyes.
Lifting your hips up slightly, you held his dick to guide it into your pussy.
As your hole stretched around his tip, he let out a strangled moan. You watched him as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, coming to a full seat.
He throbbed and twitched within you, his thick head leaking pre-cum. You circled your hips, relishing in the feeling of him rubbing against your walls.
You hadn’t even really moved yet and he already looked wrecked. His mouth was hung slightly open, eyes squeezed shut. You craved more, to see him absolutely shattered by you.
Bracing your hands on his on the still damp fabric of his Briar U jersey, you began to move. You don’t raise your hips high, choosing smaller bounces and grinds of your hips.
For a few minutes of bounces, he let you set your pace, grunting and groaning as you sensually moved over him.
Each bounce brought him to the brink of desperation, his restraint wearing thin.
The hands on your waist tightened as he helped guide your rhythm in desperation. He needed you faster, he needed you to slam back down onto him harder.
“You were so hot out there.” Your voice was breathy, bouncing on him the way you were had you exhausted. “I wanted to touch myself just watching you play.”
The praise made him grip you impossibly tighter, made him slam you back down even harder.
His dick curved just the right way to hit your g-spot, causing you to see stars as you clenched around him. You moaned in tandem, his head thrown back as a result of your vice grip.
You didn’t care that if anyone opened the door right now, they’d come face to face with you bouncing on it. He didn’t care that the carpet rubbed at his ass as he tried to thrust up into you, limited by his pants around his ankles.
All you both cared about was the way you were wrapped around him, and the sounds that tumbled from his mouth as he got close.
It took a few more harsh bounces from you for him to unload into you. The hands on your waist held you in place as he filled you up. You purposely clenched, milking him for all he had.
“Fucking hell.”
You collapsed against his padded chest, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your breathing slowed. You turned to inhale the fresh sweat on his neck. “You need a shower.”
Logan wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tighter against him. An exhausted smirk tugging at his lips. “So do you, coach is going to be pissed if you drip cum onto his floor.”
You were still furious with him, and his stupidly hot face. You knew the fight wasn’t actually over. But, if this is what being angry with Logan brought you, then you were more than happy to pick another fight tomorrow.
Summary you are at party when you get cornered by a guy who can’t take a hint luckily Logan is there to save you
The party was loud in the way college parties always were, the music rattling the walls, people packed shoulder to shoulder, the air too warm from too many bodies crammed into one house.
You’d lost Logan somewhere around the kitchen twenty minutes ago after one of his teammates dragged him into a conversation, leaving you leaning against the counter with a drink in your hand while you waited for him to come back.
Not because you needed him attached to your side all night. Just because parties were easier when Logan was nearby.
He was easy in a way no one else was. Steady. Familiar. The kind of person who always noticed when you went quiet or when your social battery started draining. Your friend.
Your very attractive friend who you had feelings for and unfortunately for you, you didn’t know how to tell him about your feelings.
“You look bored.”
You glanced over at the guy suddenly beside you and offered a polite smile. “Just taking a breather.”
“Well that’s tragic,” he said easily. “A girl like you shouldn’t be standing alone at a party.”
You resisted the urge to cringe.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
But he stayed planted there anyway, leaning closer against the counter.
“Are you here with anyone?”
Your brain immediately went to Logan before you could stop it.
“Friends.”
“Just friends?”
Something about the question made heat creep into your face.
“Yeah.”
The guy smiled like he’d won something.
“Then I don’t feel bad flirting with you.”
You laughed awkwardly, trying to angle your body away without being rude. “I’m not really looking for anything.”
“C’mon,” he said. “You haven’t even given me a chance yet.”
His hand landed beside yours on the counter, effectively boxing you in enough to make your chest tighten.
You glanced around the room automatically looking for Logan or any of the guys but to your relief you immediately saw that Logan was looking at you. His eyes locked onto yours from across the room instantly, expression shifting the second he noticed your discomfort.
The smile he’d been wearing while talking to his teammates vanished.
You watched him excuse himself without hesitation.
Your pulse skipped stupidly because Logan was quick to drop anything when it came to you.
The guy beside you was still talkiing, oblivious.
Then suddenly warmth pressed against your side.
A familiar hand settled carefully on your waist.
Logan stepped directly between you and the stranger with effortless ease, not aggressive enough to draw attention but firm enough to make a point.
“She’s with me.”
Your breath caught.
The guy blinked. “Oh my bad, man. I didn’t know.”
“You do now.”
Logan’s voice stayed calm, but there was something unmistakably sharp underneath it.
The guy muttered an apology before disappearing back into the crowd.
The second he was gone, Logan turned toward you completely.
His hand was still on your waist.
Neither of you mentioned it.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
But your voice came out smaller than you intended.
Logan’s brows pulled together slightly. “He touch you?”
Your stomach flipped a little at the question. At the concern in his voice.
“Not really.”
“Not really isn’t an answer.”
You huffed out a laugh. “He was just annoying.”
Logan looked unconvinced.
His thumb brushed lightly against your side before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He started to pull his hand away. Without thinking, you caught his wrist making the both of you freeze.
Logan looked down at your hand around his, then slowly he looked back up at you. The music suddenly felt very far away.
“You can leave it there. I want you to leave it there.” you said softly before you lost your nerve.
Something in Logan’s expression changed completely. Gone was the calm, teasing version of him you knew so well. Suddenly he looked almost wrecked by you.
His hand settled back onto your waist carefully, like he was trying not to read too much into it even while clearly reading too much into it.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I really hate when guys hit on you.”
Your heart stumbled. “Why?”
Logan let out a breath through his nose, eyes searching yours.
“Because I’m standing there pretending I’m okay with it when I’m definitely not.”
The confession hit you like a punch.
“Logan…”
“I know we’re friends,” he said quickly, softer now. “I know. I just—”
“We are idiot’s.”
He blinked. “What?”
You stepped closer before you could overthink it.
“I’ve been waiting for you to do something about this for months.”
For a second Logan just stared at you.
Then he laughed once in disbelief, hand tightening slightly on your waist.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before flicking back up.
“So if I kissed you right now…”
“I’d probably stop talking to be honest.”
That finally broke the tension enough to make him grin.
“Yeah?” he murmured, leaning closer.
“Mhm.”
And when Logan kissed you, warm hand still anchored at your waist like he never planned on letting go again, the entire party disappeared around you.
John Logan had been halfway through fixing a loose cabinet door in the hockey house when he heard the front door open, followed by the kind of tired shuffle that told him exactly who it was before he even looked up.
You.
He turned from the counter with a screwdriver still in his hand, and the second he saw you, his face softened.
You were still in your restaurant uniform, hair a little messier than it had been when you left that morning, shoulders slumped, bag hanging off one arm like it weighed a thousand pounds. You kicked the door shut behind you and gave him a weak smile.
“Hey,” you said.
Logan frowned. “Hey yourself.”
You made it three steps into the kitchen before you stopped and sighed dramatically, dropping your bag onto the nearest chair. “I’m so tired I think I might actually dissolve.”
He set the screwdriver down immediately. “Rough shift?”
You gave him a look that answered the question better than words ever could. “Two servers called out, the lunch rush was insane, one guy complained his fries were too crispy, and a woman asked me if the kitchen could make her burger ‘less burger-like.’”
Logan blinked. “What does that even mean?”
“I have no idea,” you said, throwing your head back in disbelief. “I’m too exhausted to unpack it.”
He crossed the kitchen in a few easy steps and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “Sit down.”
You squinted at him. “That sounded suspiciously like an order.”
“It was.”
You huffed, but you were already lowering yourself onto one of the stools by the counter. Logan watched you for a second, then glanced at your face, the dark circles under your eyes, the way you were blinking a little too slowly.
His expression changed.
“You ate?” he asked.
You hesitated.
He pointed at you. “That pause was very incriminating.”
“I had a fry.”
“Y/N.”
“It was one fry.”
Logan stared at you in disbelief. “That is not food.”
“It is if you’re emotionally committed to it.”
He let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between amused and concerned. “You need actual food.”
You leaned your cheek into your hand. “I need a nap.”
“Food first.”
You looked up at him. “You’re bossy when you’re worried.”
He gave you a slow, almost smug smile. “And you’re cute when you’re tired.”
You narrowed your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “Don’t start.”
“I wasn’t starting anything.”
“You absolutely were.”
Logan laughed softly and turned toward the fridge. “What do you want?”
You blinked. “What do I want?”
“Yeah.”
You looked at him like he’d asked a trick question. “Logan, I just told you I may be one bad shift away from becoming a ghost. I don’t know what I want.”
He opened the fridge and glanced over his shoulder. “That narrows it down exactly zero.”
You sighed and rubbed your face. “I don’t care. Surprise me.”
That made his eyebrows lift. “Dangerous answer.”
“Why?”
He shut the fridge and leaned against it. “Because I’m going to make something decent, and then you’re going to get attached to my cooking.”
You snorted despite yourself. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It is.”
He started moving around the kitchen with the kind of easy, quiet competence that always made you a little soft around the edges. Logan wasn’t loud about affection. He didn’t need to be. He showed it in small things: remembering the snack you liked, carrying your bag when you were too tired, checking your water bottle cap was screwed on before you left the house.
Right now, he was pulling ingredients out with focused, efficient movements like he had decided your exhaustion was a personal problem he intended to solve.
You watched him for a while, propping your chin in your palm.
“What are you making?” you asked.
“Grilled cheese.”
You blinked. “That sounds too simple.”
He glanced over at you. “You need simple.”
“That is painfully fair.”
“And soup.”
Your head lifted. “Oh.”
He paused, a little amused by your immediate reaction. “What?”
“Nothing,” you said, but your voice had gone softer. “That’s sweet.”
Logan shrugged one shoulder, but the tips of his ears went a little pink. “It’s food.”
“Soup and grilled cheese is very domestic of you.”
He looked at you over his shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I say it like I like it.”
That earned you a longer look, one that made your stomach feel warm even though you were exhausted. Logan had this habit of going quiet when he was affected, like he didn’t want to ruin the moment by talking too much.
He cleared his throat and turned back to the stove. “Okay. Then sit there and be impressed.”
You smiled and did exactly that.
A few minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the smell of butter and warm bread. Logan moved easily, flipping the sandwiches with one hand, stirring the soup with the other, like he had done this a hundred times. Maybe he had, in different ways. Maybe not with you specifically, but with the same steady care.
You stretched your legs out under the counter. “You know, I did technically survive tonight.”
Logan snorted. “Barely.”
“That’s rude.”
“It’s accurate.”
You smiled tiredly. “I forgot how annoying you are when you’re in caretaker mode.”
He looked over at you, expression amused. “You forgot?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because you’re usually too busy being charmed by me.”
You let out a laugh and immediately covered your mouth because it felt too good and too close to a yawn at the same time. “You are so full of yourself.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
You tilted your head. “That’s because I live here.”
“Convenient excuse.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm.” He plated the food and brought it over to you, setting the bowl and sandwich down in front of you like he was serving royalty instead of a sleep-deprived girlfriend in a wrinkled restaurant shirt. “Eat.”
You looked down at the meal. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
Logan’s face softened in a way that made your chest ache just a little. “I know.”
“So why did you?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just pulled out the stool beside you and sat down, close enough that your knees brushed.
“Because you looked wrecked when you walked in,” he said quietly. “And because I wanted to.”
The simplicity of it hit harder than it should have.
You looked at him for a second, then picked up the spoon and took a bite of soup. It was warm and comforting and exactly what you needed, and you made a little noise before you could stop yourself.
Logan’s mouth twitched. “Good?”
You nodded immediately. “This is actually amazing.”
“I know.”
You laughed through the bite and nudged his arm with your elbow. “You are such a menace.”
He leaned an inch closer. “You’re still eating it.”
“That is because I’m hungry.”
“And because I’m right.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile stayed. After a few bites, the tightness in your shoulders started to ease. The soup was warm, the sandwich perfect, and Logan was sitting beside you like he had nowhere else to be.
That, more than anything, made your throat tighten.
He noticed the silence and glanced sideways at you. “You okay?”
You nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He studied your face for a second. “You still want to go upstairs after this?”
You shrugged. “Eventually.”
He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Take your time.”
There was something so gentle in the way he said it that you had to look away for a second. When you looked back, Logan was already watching you with that soft, attentive expression he got when he thought no one was paying attention.
“You’re staring,” you murmured.
He didn’t bother denying it. “You’re beautiful when you’re half-dead.”
You laughed weakly. “That is not the compliment you think it is.”
“It’s the truth.”
You took another bite of your sandwich, then said around it, “I missed you.”
That made him go very still.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just enough.
When he spoke, his voice was quieter. “I missed you too.”
You looked at him. “You saw me like six hours ago.”
“And?”
You smiled a little. “And you’re dramatic.”
He leaned his shoulder into yours. “Maybe.”
The two of you sat there for a few minutes in easy quiet, the kind that never felt empty with Logan. Every so often he’d ask if you wanted more soup, if the tea he’d made on the side was okay, if your feet hurt, and every time he did, you felt that same tiny squeeze in your chest.
By the time you finished eating, your energy had started to come back in the smallest way. Not much. Just enough to feel human again.
Logan stood and collected the empty bowl before you could protest. “I’ll clean up.”
You frowned. “You already cooked.”
“And you’re tired.”
“I can help.”
He looked at you over the rim of the bowl. “You can absolutely not help.”
“That’s rude.”
“That’s caring.”
You made a face at him, and he laughed.
When he returned, he found you still sitting on the stool, eyes half-lidded now that your stomach wasn’t empty anymore. He leaned against the counter and looked at you for a long second before saying, “C’mon. I’m taking you upstairs.”
You blinked. “Like I’m a toddler?”
“Like you’re exhausted.”
You held out a hand. “Fine. But only because I’m too tired to argue.”
Logan took your hand immediately and tugged you up, then wrapped an arm around your waist when you swayed a little. “Yeah, I know.”
You leaned into him with a quiet sigh. “You’re really good to me.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he guided you toward the stairs. “You make it easy.”
You smiled against his shoulder, your tired body finally giving in to the comfort of being taken care of.
And when Logan pulled you closer on the way upstairs, warm and steady and quietly devoted, you decided that being this loved was the best kind of home.
Summary: Logan and the reader had a massive fight a week ago and haven't spoken to each other since. They cross paths at a party in the hockey house and Logan loses his shit watching you talk to someone else.
Pairings: john logan x gf!reader
Word Count: 5.4k (not proof-read)
Warnings: filth. absolute porn with some plot, MDNI (stay away children) little bit of angst. angry sex turned mushy. edging.
💌: I watched a video of angry logan and it made me lose my shit y'all. This is based on what i think angry logan would be like. This might have some plot holes pls ignore i was in the pits. (If y'all wanna watch the video, i reblogged it right before this post 😋) Also might write a short prequel to this, like what exactly happened in the fight, angst central station babayyy
The music from the off-campus hockey house wasn’t just simply filling the room, it was pulsing through the walls, rattling the windows, and vibrating through Logan's boots, the bassline matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. The bass was loud enough to blur conversations into background noise, but somehow every laugh, every shout, every burst of drunken cheering only seemed to increase his irritation.
The hockey house was packed full of drunk students, who were definitely going to regret the decisions made under the influence.
Someone was winning a beer pong game in the kitchen, their teammates erupting into cheers loud enough to make Logan lose his mind; another group was singing terribly to music that wasn't even playing. Couples squeezed past one another in narrow hallways, red cups spilling onto hardwood floors that had long since become sticky with alcohol.
The entire hockey team was there.
Garrett had his arm lazily slung around Hannah while Dean argued with Allie over some ridiculous card game. Tucker was laughing so hard he nearly dropped his drink, and Birdie was already halfway to being completely hammered. To everyone else, it was another Briar party.
But for John Logan, it was pure torture.
He stood near the kitchen island, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket while the other loosely held a sweating beer bottle he had long forgotten, opened twenty minutes ago. His beer was warm and untouched. His jaw had been clenched for so long it physically hurt.
He had plans to get absolutely hammered tonight, a small break after a whole week of extra practice, but all that went down the drain the moment he entered his living room.
Garrett noticed before anyone else did. Every few minutes, his eyes flicked toward Logan with increasing concern. He knew the expression that Logan had written all over his face. Logan wasn't just quiet, he was dangerously quiet, his shoulders completely locked and his jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the beer bottle so hard his knuckles were turning whiter by the second. It meant he was on a warpath.
Eyes fixed on one thing, he wasn’t listening to the music or whatever bullshit Dean was spewing in a drunken haze, his eyes were focused towards the corner of the living room, refusing to look away.
Garrett followed his gaze. ‘Oh, shit.’
His entire universe had narrowed down to a single corner of the living room.
To you.
You looked beautiful without even trying, a simple outfit that somehow made every other girl at the party disappear. Your hair was slightly messy from dancing; your cheeks were flushed with the light pink colour he loved.
For the first time in the past seven days, you looked happy, carefree, and peaceful.
A whole week.
Seven days since your fight.
Seven days since you both screamed until neither of you had anything left to say.
Seven days since he convinced himself that walking away was the mature thing to do.
For one brutal, agonizing week, Logan was trying to do the right thing. He was staying away. After that massive, exhausting fight about his erratic training schedule, the constant media pressure of the upcoming NHL draft, and the heavy cloud of your own insecurities, he convinced himself that you needed space. He thought he was being unselfish. He thought he was protecting you from the chaotic vortex of his life.
He repeated those excuses so many times that he almost started believing in them.
Almost, almost being the key word.
As he stared down at you, he was getting more and more pissed, not at you, rather, at the guy standing next to you.
He was some guy from a fraternity, probably rich, Logan could tell by the perfectly styled hair, the pearly white sneakers, and the expensive casual jacket. He was leaning in way too close, his mouth practically brushing your ear, to be heard over the speakers. He said something to you, flashing a dazzling practiced smile, and you giggled. Not the polite little laugh you gave to strangers. This was a real laugh, your head tilting back, your smile actually reaching your eyes.
The insides of Logan’s stomach twisted violently.
The guy smiled wider, looking at your lips. He said something else. You playfully rolled your eyes before nudging his shoulder slightly. It was innocent, most probably, but Logan couldn’t tell, he was already raging because jealousy had already painted everything in him red.
It felt like a physical blow to his chest. A toxic, overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated jealousy flooded his veins, turning his blood to fire.
Watching another man step into the vacuum he had left behind, watching someone else try to make you laugh, try to catch your eye, try to charm his way into your life.
‘Who the fuck is he?’ the question echoed inside him.
‘Get the fuck away from her.’ The thought screamed through Logan’s head, obliterating every shred of his logic, his patience, and his self-control.
Garrett quietly appeared beside him, ‘You okay?’
Logan didn't answer.
‘Logan.’
Still nothing.
And then, the frat guy reached out. It was a casual, fleeting movement where he just had his hand resting on the bare skin of your forearm to emphasize a point, but to Logan, it was no less than a declaration of war.
It was gasoline thrown onto an open flame. His breathing had gone frighteningly slow.
The kind of calm that always came right before he lost every ounce of self-control.
Garrett looked from Logan to you, then back again. ‘Oh no, don't do it, Logan.’ Garrett muttered, trying to get him to stop.
He set the beer bottle down on the counter with a heavy clink and started moving.
He didn't politely navigate the crowded room, he cut through it. People instinctively stepped aside as the 6’2 hockey player cut a straight line across the living room, his broad shoulders forcing a path through laughing strangers who suddenly stopped laughing the moment they saw his face. He bumped a freshman out of the way without looking, his eyes locked entirely on the target.
His eyes never left yours. Never leaving the man standing far too close.
Before the guy could slide his hand down to your wrist, Logan stepped directly into the space between you and him, physically blocking the guy from your line of sight, his broad shoulders creating an impenetrable wall. A solid wall of muscle, anger, and barely restrained jealousy, his shadow falling over you.
The conversation around you died instantly.
‘Hey,’ Logan's voice cut through the noise like a blade; it was low, dangerous, and deep with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly thin. ‘We need to talk. Right now.’
Not a request. A demand.
You gasped, stumbling back half a step as the sudden, overwhelming scent of cedar cologne, and familiar warmth filled your nostrils. Your eyes traveled up his chest, past the silver chain resting on his tense collarbone, only to find Logan staring down at you. His dark eyes were flashing, wide and wild with a possessive anger that made your stomach do a violent flip. You knew that look very well, ‘Logan?’, you breathed, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Then, your own defensive walls flew up, ‘What the fuck? What are you doing? I'm in the middle of a conversation.’
‘I don't care,’ Logan breathed, not breaking eye contact with you for even a fraction of a second. He tilted his head just enough to address the guy behind him, his tone dropping into a lethal, quiet growl, ‘Walk away, man, right now. Unless you want a problem.’
And every person standing close enough to witness it immediately understood one thing, the party was about to become the least interesting thing happening in the house.
You stared at him in disbelief. Every muscle in his body looked coiled so tightly you thought he might actually snap.
The guy beside you awkwardly cleared his throat, looked at Logan’s rigid posture, the clenched fists at his sides, and the terrifying look of the massive hockey player ready to tear someone apart. He raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, ‘Uh man, I was just- easy man, no trouble,’ he muttered, quickly melting back into the safety of the crowded living room. He disappeared into the crowd so quickly it almost looked like he had been swallowed by it.
You rounded on Logan immediately, ‘Are you completely insane?’, you yelled, the words hitting hard as the sheer audacity of what he just did hit you. ‘You don't get to do that Logan. You can’t just march over here, act like a caveman, and scare off people who I'm talking to! We are on a "break" Logan! Isn’t that what you wanted?’
‘A break does not mean you let some idiot frat guy put his hands on you, in MY house!’, Logan yelled back, his voice thick with a mixture of rage, desperation, and suffocating jealousy.
Garrett leaned against the kitchen doorway with Hannah beside him, both of them watching carefully. Dean muttered something under his breath. Allie stood there with a hand on her mouth. Tucker was in the backyard, tending to a puking Birdie.
The room suddenly felt far too aware of the two of you. Logan noticed it too. He exhaled sharply through his nose.
‘We are not doing this out here’, he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. ‘Come with me.’
Before you could fire back another retort, ‘I'm not asking.’
‘And I'm not agreeing.’
His hand found your wrist, his fingers curling loosely around it. His palm was warm against your skin, his grip firm enough to stop you from storming off but loose enough that you could've pulled away if you'd really wanted to.
‘Come on,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, giving an exaggerated tug against his hold.
‘Logan.’
‘Five minutes.’
‘You don't get to-’
‘I'm asking for five damn minutes.’
‘John.’
‘Please.’
The word stopped you. Not because it was loud. Because it was broken. He sounded broken and he never sounded like that before.
‘I'll walk.’ you said quietly.
He yanked you forward, turning on his heel and pulling you up the stairs of the hockey house.
He reached the end of the hall, kicked his bedroom door open with the heel of his boot, pulled you inside, and slammed the door shut behind him. He threw the lock with a sharp, definitive click, instantly silencing the outside world in the safety of his room.
The sudden silence in the bedroom was heavy; it felt as if you would explode any given moment, charged with electricity.
‘Don't you dare touch me when you're acting like a lunatic,’ you breathed, pulling your arm back the moment he released his grip. You backed away until the edge of his wooden desk pressed against your lower back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. You were trembling, a mix of adrenaline, anger, and a deep, agonizing hurt threatening to spill over. ‘You don't own me, Logan. You don't get to dictate who I talk to, who I smile at, who I want.’
‘You think I want to feel like this?’ Logan exploded. He couldn't stay still. He began pacing the length of the hardwood floor like a man losing his bearing, his fingers aggressively gripping and dragging through his dark hair, disheveling it.
He stopped abruptly, pivoting to face you, his chest heaving violently under his shirt. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind for the goddamn week! I haven't slept a full night. I can't focus on the ice, Jensen chewed my ass out twice today because I'm completely checked out. And why? Because every time I close my eyes, I wonder what you're doing. And then I walk into my own living room and see you smiling at some guy who doesn't know a single real thing about you? Some guy who looks at you like you're some prize he can just casually win for the night?’
‘He is my classmate, Logan! We were literally talking about the syllabus for a group project!’, you shouted back, tears of frustration and hurt stinging the backs of your eyes. ‘But you wouldn't know that, because instead of talking to me like a normal human being, you just explode! You panic, you push me out, you tell me you need to focus on your future, walk out on me and then you get mad when I try to just exist in the same room as you!’
‘Because the thought of you not being in my life is killing me,’ Logan bellowed, his voice cracking on the last word. His admission hung in the air, raw and bleeding.
In two long strides, Logan closed the distance between the two of you. He didn't stop until he was looming over you, his shadow completely enveloping you. He was so close you could feel the radiating heat of his body, could see the tiny amber flecks in his dark eyes, wild with an agonizing vulnerability.
‘Even the thought of it makes me physically sick to my stomach,’ he whispered, his jaw trembling, ‘I saw him touch your arm, and I lost my shit, I wanted to destroy everything in sight. I'm sorry I'm a mess. I'm sorry I don't know how to handle this perfectly or calmly. But don't you dare stand there and act like what we have is just some casual thing you can walk away from.’
God, he looked so hot. Jealousy was such a good look on him, it practically made your mouth water. It was as if he sensed you being turned on by his outburst, or maybe he just saw the way you squeezed your legs together when he came closer to you; nothing went past this man.
‘You're mine,’ he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, turning rough and gravelly. ‘I don't share, baby. You know that very well.’
Oh, this motherfucker knew all right. He knew what he was doing; he knew what this was doing to you.
Your breath hitched. The anger in his eyes wasn't a turn-off for you, not even close, and he knew that. The raw, possessive intensity of it sent a thrill straight down your spine, going places that made you want to jump his bones. Your eyes dropped to his chest, focusing on the way the silver chain rose and fell with his heavy breathing. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers hooking around the cold metal of the chain, tugging him just a fraction of an inch closer.
‘Then do something about it, John,’ you challenged, your voice a sultry whisper, ‘Stop pacing and show me. Prove it to me. Prove that I’m yours.’
The anger was still there, buzzing like a live wire between your bodies, but it was twisting, morphing into a desperate, passionate hunger that neither of you could fight anymore.
Logan’s eyes darkened to black. He clenched his jaw so hard, you could see the muscle tense, and for a split second, the room went entirely still. And then, he snapped.
In one fluid motion, his hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your supple bottom. He didn't just pull you in, he lifted you completely off your feet from the table, your legs wrapping around his waist like clockwork, and crowded you back onto the mattress. The impact wasn't enough to hurt, cushioned by the heavy blankets, but it was authoritative enough to make you gasp. Before you could even blink, Logan was hovering over you, pinning your wrists on either side of your head with a grip like iron.
‘You want me to do something about it?’ he growled, his face inches from yours. His chest was pressed flush against yours, the ribbed cotton of his tank top hot against your skin. ‘You think this is a game, baby?’
‘I think you're all talk right now,’ you rasped out, intentionally baiting him.
Logan let out a low whisper, ‘Yeah, baby?’ that vibrated directly against your ribs. He released one of your wrists, only to slide his hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into your cheek to tilt your head back. He stared at your cheeks squished between his fingers, and suddenly he came down on your mouth with a ferocity that stole the oxygen right out of your lungs.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was punishing and demanding. He tasted so good. Oh! How much you had missed him.
His tongue parted your lips with zero hesitation, claiming your mouth with a rough dominance that made your toes curl. You tried to arch up into him, but his weight was like a heavy anchor pinning you down. The feeling of his tongue exploring the crevices of your mouth made you unbelievably down bad for him, you moaned against his mouth.
When he finally pulled back for air, his lips were wet and his breathing ragged. The silver chain dangled down, the cold metal brushing against your collarbone, creating a shocking contrast to the burning heat of his skin. Fuck, him looking like this was doing things to you. ‘Logan, off’, you whimpered, your fingers instantly finding the hem of his black tank, wanting it off, wanting to feel him against you.
‘No honey’ he muttered, grabbing your hands and pinning them back above your head. He looked down at you, a wicked smirk playing on his lips despite the lingering tension in his shoulders. ‘I'm still mad at you. You don't get to dictate the pace tonight, you're going to be a good girl tonight and you're going to listen.’
He shifted his weight, his knee forcing your legs apart as he wedged himself between them. The friction of his jeans against you felt unbearable. Logan reached down, his fingers working the button and zipper of your skort with a rough impatience. He didn't bother being gentle as he tugged the fabric down your legs and tossed it carelessly onto the floor, along with your revealing top.
You were left in your underwear, completely exposed to his burning gaze. Logan took a moment to look at you, his eyes sweeping over your body with an intensity that made you flush from head to toe. ‘Beautiful,’ he muttered, though his voice was still rough around the edges, ‘So fucking beautiful and all mine.’ His lips find your neck, finding your sweet spot almost instantaneously, sucking softly which unravels you even more as you wither under him, trying to get a semblance of relief.
‘John, please’
‘You drive me insane, you know that?’, his mouth crashes onto yours as you gasp into him, fingers curling into his black tank which is fitting him so well that it makes your mouth water. You tugged on his hair, eliciting a guttural groan from his throat, his mouth moving from your now swollen lips to your neck, then chest , leaving a string of deep red marks, his hands feeling up your body once more, your nerves heightened with every grab and squeeze. You're whining, teeth clashing as he's biting at your bottom lip.
Your hips moving against him, grinding softly against him and he pulls away, ‘What did I tell you baby? It sure is a shame that you acted out today, you could've gotten my mouth or my fingers, I know how much you love those’ he begins, crawling on top of you, the dip of his weight pushing you back down.
‘But you're just going to get my cock, deep and rough until I make sure you aren't able to walk for a week straight.’
With that, your legs are pulled apart, panties practically ripped from your lower half as he throws them to the side like he's tearing open a christmas present.
Your bra is gone in what feels like seconds, making things easier and a lot more satisfying for him. His hands on your body feel hot and rough, but so right in so many ways. His aggressiveness only turns you on more, you're soaked and practically leaking down your thighs, moving and clamping your legs together to get some sort of relief from the emptiness you've felt all week.
His hands grip your tits vicariously as he starts to knead them, suck and bite them, making you whimper out as he runs his hands down your hips. He is latched onto your chest as if it's something he has been craving for so long, leaving red harsh hickeys all over.
‘Such a pretty body baby. I'm going to prove just how much you're mine, can't wait to ruin you.’ Your heart is hammering in your chest so loud you can hear it beating in your ears, and suddenly he's leaning up, one hand cupping your cheek, covering the side of your face as his lips harshly connect back to yours.
‘Will you let me?’ he almost whispers, eyes darkened with desire and hunger. You can't help but to feel warmth wash over your entire body as you look up at him. You know that he's asking for your permission, your consent king. Only John can make angry sex consensual, and the thought makes you giggle a little.
‘Yes john, I want you.’ He didn't waste any more time. He stripped off his own sweatpants, leaving him in all his glory. The sight of him, broad, muscular, clad only in that black tank and the damn silver chain, was enough to make your mouth go dry. He looked completely feral. As he took off his boxers, you saw his cock spring up, looking so hard, all red, angry and delicious.
And in an instant, your legs are being wrapped around his muscular torso, heels digging into his tailbone as he places one arm to your side and the other gripping the swell of your soft hip as teases your clit with it, you arched into his touch, a choked sob escaping you as his dick found your clit, rubbing softly, making you wither under him with a soft string of curses leaving your mouth.
‘John, please,’ you begged, your hips moving instinctively.
He hooked his hands under your knees, pushing them back toward your chest, opening you up completely to him. Taking his cock into his hands, he positioned himself, eyes locking onto yours. There was no hesitation, no slow teasing anymore as Logan pushed forward, driving himself deep inside you in one heavy thrust; he slammed into you.
A loud gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instantly flying up to grip his shoulders as your fingernails dug into the taut muscles of his back, but he didn't even flinch from it. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his chest heaving against yours. The silver chain swung gently, resting against your throat. You wrapped one hand around the metal links, holding him close, his cock stretching you out and filling you up with a sweet stinging sensation as you got used to the feeling.
‘Fuck, you're so tight,’ Logan groaned, his eyes closing for a brief second as he fought for control, pulling himself out and glancing down at the glistening wetness that is coating his dick before pushing himself back in, your hand clawing his back and holding him even closer by the chain.
The only thing you can focus on is the gorgeous man on top of you, his sturdy body hovering over yours as he begins to pound into you. ‘John, oh god fuck’, you cry out, feeling so full of him. The pace he set was punishingly fast and rough, a brutal, driving rhythm, his hips slamming against yours with a raw force that had the bed creaking loudly against the wall. Every thrust was deep, hitting the exact spot that sent electric shocks of pleasure through your entire body. You were completely at his mercy as he gripped your waist, his large fingers digging into your skin to hold you as he hammered into you. He was taking all his frustration, all his jealousy, and pouring it into you.
‘Look at me baby, I bet you talked with him on purpose huh baby? Just to feel my cock? Just to get me riled up into fucking you till you're shaking like a mess under me? Sneaky princess, ’ he coos, reaching up to stroke your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb as he looks at you as if you're the best meal he's had all week.
You can't even muster any words, not when he's fucking you like this, so hard that the bed is practically moving off its hinges and if you tried to speak, all that came out was whimpers and moans. Your eyes are rolled back as you arch your back, feeling him even deeper inside. He then glances down, slowing his pace as he takes one of your hands off his shoulder and places it on your lower abdomen. He looks back up at you with cocky, treacherous eyes, his large hand placed up on yours as he presses down against your belly, resuming his pace fucking you into the mattress. ‘You feel that baby? I’m all the way up there, princess. Pussy is made for me, isn't it?’
You can't contain the whimper that spills out from your throat as he lets you grip his shoulder again. He takes full pride in seeing you quiver and shake under him, cheeks all red and flustered, eyebrows pulled together as your eyes roll back in pleasure. ‘Please, please don't stop baby, fuck’, you beg, needing to feel full of him for as long as possible. You felt him hit the soft spot inside you and let out a hard whimper, crying out his name.
‘Am I gonna make you cum, baby? Are you gonna make a mess around my cock?’ He's kissing your neck now, warm wet lips on your skin as he nips and sucks at your sweet spot.
‘Yes, y-yes! Fuck, Lo, please let me cum.’, you whimper, trying to hold on to him as best as possible as he fucks you exactly how you like.
‘If you can hold out, I'll let you cum the second.’, he says back, voice husky and rough as his forehead gleams with the layer of sweat making him look ethereal, as his painfully handsome face hovers only inches away from yours. You squeeze out a small yes, one of his hands moving in between the two of you. You suddenly become hyper aware of what he's about to do.
Two fingers are placed on your sensitive clit, before he begins rubbing in harsh, sharp circles. ‘Fuck, Logan, I can't last when you, oh fuck’, you moan, nails digging into his bulging biceps as he holds himself up, one arm between your bodies as he continues to make your mind melt into a puddle.
‘Hold it.’ his voice is demanding and serious, eyes looking into yours with such intensity. Your bottom lip is between your teeth as you struggle to hold in your orgasm. ‘That's it, baby, hold it for me, ’ he encourages, taking his hand off and watching you come back down from the edge.
He dips down, taking your breasts in his mouth to keep you preoccupied before he denies you another orgasm. You moan out, hands flying to his dark array of curls. You nearly cry as he takes his mouth off and brings his hand back down between your legs, taking a hold of your clit. ‘Logan, please, I can't-’ He interrupts you with a rough kiss. You can't help but nod as you look at him, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, pupils blown out in a feral state as his heavy body ruts against yours, hips working at an impossibly fast pace.
Even with how rough he's being, you can still feel warm on the inside from the closeness between the two of you. You can feel every muscle flexing underneath his skin, his tummy pressed up against yours and his thighs rubbing up against the outside of your own. Your walls stretch around him, and wetness makes his movement so utterly smooth, coaxing his cock deeper. He wont admit but he has needed you this whole meek. It felt as if it had been ages since he had you under him like this, a quivering mess. He needed to let out some of the anger, and hell, even the fear.
You are the only thing that makes him feel better, nothing else will ever or could ever put him at ease like you do.
‘Logie fuck, please let me cum.’ you were so wet and incoherent, your wetness leaking all over him, making it so slick and easy.
He clenched his jaw, trying to stay focused as the effects of his own pleasure were getting the best of him. You simply have something no one else does, the feeling of you is not only one of a kind, but something he won't ever be able to get enough of.
‘Hold it baby, just a little bit longer.’ and you did, you tried your best to hold it together, your lower abdomen screaming for release, the build up was such a euphoric high, that everything around you felt unreal, especially Logan, until he stopped for the second time. Leaving you with an empty feeling as his pace shifted once again. You whine at the feeling of another edge that he left incomplete.
He slings your legs over his wide shoulders, the new position allowing his cock to hit the bundle of nerves resting deep within you.
‘Oh, yes Loge- fuck.’, you cry out, his massive hands gripping your thighs as he looks down watching himself disappear in you.
‘Look at how beautiful you are baby, can't even stay mad at you, can I?’ he coos, kissing right above your left knee as he fucks you into oblivion. At this point he couldn't even hold up his act.
You feel that burning pressure in your abdomen again, tingling prickling you in your oversensitive areas. You can tell he's close too, just by the way his face pouts, and his cheeks get sucked in. He gets this look in his eyes and starts making some noises which are music to your ears. The sight of him fucking you with such relentlessness and rigour does something to you, you start to unravel, the buildup becoming too much to handle.
‘I cant- please Logie please- please-’ he cuts you off, rubbing up and down your thighs softly, still fucking you at a pace too hot to handle, ‘Come for me, my sweet girl’
And you're completely done for, your legs attempting to clamp together as the blissful feeling washes over you, hitting you so so hard after two denied orgasms, radiating up your spine as your walls convulse around him. Looking at you unraveling under him, he can't hold it in any longer either, not with moans escaping your lips and his name rolling off your tongue in such a sweet way.
He holds you tight as his chest heaves up and down, body stiffening and breath halting for a moment as his hips bucket into you, filling you up.
‘Oh fuck- Oh fuck baby’, he groans his eyes squeezing shut and lips parting with laboured breaths as his voice becomes shaky.
He slowly pulls out of you, leaning down, taking your body into his arms as he lays down on the bed, as soft kisses are pressed to your shoulder and neck.
‘Baby, you okay? Was that too much?’ he coos in your ear as you pull up to reality, your face cupped in his hands.
‘I'm okay Logie, just a little spent.’ you nuzzle your face in his neck, taking in his warmth.
‘I missed you so much,’ he whispered as his fingers intertwined with yours.
‘I saw him making you laugh,’ he admitted. ‘And I realized something.’
‘What?’
‘I would rather fight with you for the rest of my life than spend another day pretending I don't love you.’
You looked down at your joined hands and then looked back up at him, ‘You don't get to fix this overnight. I'm still very mad at you y’know’
‘I know, you should be.’
‘No disappearing, No deciding what's best for me without talking to me.’
‘Never again baby.’
Outside, the party carried on.
Inside, neither of you cared.
For the first time in a whole week, the silence between you wasn't filled with anger.
It was filled with the promise that this time, neither of you was walking away.
𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 : john logan x fem!reader
𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : mild makeout-could probably pass as multiple separate kisses, swearing.
𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : Dating John Logan came with many benefits, great sex, cute puppy dog eyes, free coffee and an eternal study buddy. But the one thing that you couldn't align on- hockey.
You couldn't wrap your head around the sport, he lived and breathed the glorified ice version of boxing. And it had never been a point of contention, you hated how understanding he was about it, so before the game with eastwood- you were determined to understand the game. For Logan.
𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 5.8k words
𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : So. I don't really have anything to say, except, it had started out as a chill 3k, and then I edited once. Twice. And now we're here, thank goodness I'm on break right now. Don't say I never feed ya'll! Thank you @pinkyups for the gif and @uzmacchiato for the dividers !
𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 : I would really appreciate if you could send in an ask to be on my taglist, it's easier for me to manage and make sure everyone is added!! here is the post of my current taglist. Also, if your user is bolded, I'm going on a prayer that youve been tagged but Tumblr wouldn't let me properly do so. I would recommend checking your privacy settings to allow other people to tag you.
You had spent the first several months of your relationship aggressively indifferent toward hockey. Perpetually confused, even. The first time Logan ever tried explaining icing to you, you had stared at him in complete silence before saying,
“That genuinely sounds like a lie you all collectively agreed to tell freshmen.”
You still kind of stood by that, because hockey was, in your objective opinion, absurd.
It was freezing. Violent. Loud enough to rearrange your internal organs. Men willingly hurled themselves across ice wearing knives on their feet while crowds screamed over what looked, to you initially, like a cursed little crumpet. The fact that Logan not only participated in this willingly but genuinely loved it remained one of the great mysteries of your relationship.
Every time someone tried explaining rules to you, it somehow became less understandable and every game clip Logan showed you always ended with men punching each other while commentators spoke about it like it was a weather update.
However, the longer you dated him, the more hockey stopped feeling like just a sport and started feeling like another language Logan spoke. And the thing about loving Logan was that eventually, inevitably, you started to want to understand every version of him.
Not because he demanded it, in fact he was so unbelievably accommodating to your icy indifference with his sport.
He never once complained when you skipped games, wouldn’t even think to pout when you chose studying over away game road trips and barely blinked when you accidentally called a puck a ball once, something that nearly sent Tucker into cardiac arrest.
He just smiled gently every time you asked questions, explained things patiently without a care in the world and kissed your forehead whenever you came to post-game parties even though you didn’t understand half the conversations happening around you.
That alone made you want to understand the things that made his eyes light up.
At first you noticed things, the long list of superstitions before games. Ranging from a ‘sex ban’ 48 hours before a game to a suspiciously secret tradition involving all four of the boys and an egg. It was the little things too, the way Logan got quieter on game days, more focused- how he’d spend the evening before carefully taping his stick.
You noticed how his entire body language changed on the ice during one of the live-streams you had playing in the background, confidence settling into him differently there than anywhere else.
So, slowly, secretly, you started learning.
It began accidentally.
One night Logan had fallen asleep half sprawled across your bed, dead to the world in the way only he seemed capable of being, especially after practice, and you had ended up watching game highlights on your laptop while he snored softly into your shoulder.
At first it was purely observational, you’d watch these men shout and scream across the ice- you’d flinch when the plexiglass walls would lurch and heave as fans slammed their hands against it.
Then it became mildly educational, to the point where you found yourself googling,
“what is forechecking hockey”
followed immediately by,
“difference between forechecking and offensive pressure???”
And since that night you discovered something about yourself, your brain did not know how to engage with things casually.
Once you decided to learn hockey, you learned hockey with the intensity of someone preparing for a final exam. You made notes. With headings.
You watched game analyses while brushing your teeth, recognising penalties while making breakfast- sometimes before the commentators would even announce them.
At one point you spent forty straight minutes trying to understand defensive formations in the shower and accidentally gave yourself a headache.
Which was what led to Hannah eventually finding you sitting cross-legged on the apartment kitchen floor at midnight surrounded by colour-coded sticky notes while muttering about neutral zone pressure.
She had simply stared, worried that if she moved, the scene would turn into a cheap horror chick-flick. You looked up slowly, energy drink in one hand, flashcard in another.
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were absolutely going to say something.”
“I was actually going to ask why there’s a diagram of a hockey rink on your flashcards.”
You glance down.
“…this does seem excessive now that you mention it.”
Hannah sat beside you eventually, still visibly fighting laughter.
“You know you could just ask Logan this stuff, right?” She grabbed a stack of flashcards, eyes widening when she saw just how detailed they were, how far gone you were in the world of hockey.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because then he’ll know I care.”
Hannah blinked.
“He’s your boyfriend.” She blinked at the look you gave her, like the fact had close to no bearing on what you'd said, ”Does that mean you're studying hockey in secret?”
“Yes.”
“That counts as caring.”
“No, this is research.”
And after that it became a deeply embarrassing problem.
Because miraculously, Garrett Graham had somehow become your reluctant hockey tutor. Mostly because he made the mistake of answering one text at 2 am. Which led to another. And another. Until suddenly Garrett’s phone was buzzing at ungodly hours with notifications popping up, like:
Hannah’s friend #2
Is a power play momentum shift tactical?
Garret had looked at his girlfriend, who ushered him to answer, glad that you were finding interest in the game. Begrudgingly, entirely for her benefit, he replied:
what the fuck happened to you
Or even worse, when you had asked him:
Hannah’s friend #2
What does it mean when Dean says Logan's defensive positioning is sexy?
Garrett, unfortunately, answered. In detail. Which made you make Hannah promise never to mention defence positions in a room with you or Garrett ever. This also happened to be the time that she caught you watching breakdown videos in the apartment kitchen and nearly cried laughing when she realised you were taking notes.
“Do you have colour coding?” she asked, horrified.
You looked up from your laptop defensively, pausing the analysis that was blaring through your airpods.
“It helps me retain information.”
“It’s hockey.”
“It’s important to him.”
That shut her up.
Mostly because your voice was disgustingly sincere. And because, objectively, it was kind of adorable how dedicated you were.
So naturally, Hannah started helping too. And with Hannah came Allie, who explained penalties with the exhausted patience of someone teaching a medieval peasant how taxes worked.
And slowly, the sport began untangling itself into something understandable. Not fully understandable, that would take eons and perhaps steroid adjacent studying-enhancement drugs. But it was enough
Enough that when Briar’s first major home game of the semester rolled around, you found yourself standing outside the arena wearing one of Logan’s hoodies beneath your coat while your stomach buzzed strangely with anticipation.
Logan, meanwhile, looked deeply suspicious.
“You know,” he said slowly as the two of you walked toward the entrance together, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder, “you don’t actually have to stay the whole game.”
You gasped dramatically.
“John Logan,” you placed a hand against your chest, “how dare you.”
“You fell asleep during SportsCenter last week.”
“It was midnight.”
“It was seven thirty.”
You ignored that.
Instead, you grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and tugged him slightly toward you through the cold, “I’m supporting my boyfriend,” you informed him firmly.
Logan’s expression softened immediately at the way you called him your boyfriend, with enough conviction that made him blush and hide a giddy smile.
“You already support me.”
“No, I need to support you everywhere,” you corrected seriously. “That includes here. Athletically”
“That doesn’t sound grammatically correct.”
“It probably isn’t.”
He laughed quietly then, leaning down just enough to kiss your forehead before the team called him over. Logan squeezed your hand once, letting you peck his cheek and whisper a, “good luck” against his skin.
He jogged up to boys who had watched the interaction with teasing smiles, some of them had hollered behind you both.
You stuck your middle finger up at their antics, refocussing your attention to Logan, who had looked back to you momentarily, “You’ll text me if you get bored?”
You rolled your eyes, and shooed him away with a flap of your hand. The other one had been looped through Allie’s elbow- who was dragging you towards the main entrance of the arena.
“I’m not going to get bored.” You called back.
Logan looked unconvinced and shook his head while watching you stumble through the doors with your friends.
Because up until this point your understanding of hockey had mostly consisted of:
Logan looked hot playing it.
Skates seemed like something that should be banned for public health reasons.
Everybody was always weirdly sweaty.
But tonight was going to be different.
Tonight, you knew things.
Like zone entries.
And power plays.
And something called cycling the puck which still sounded vaguely culinary but you were getting there.
The arena itself was overwhelming in a way you hadn’t fully anticipated. Everything felt louder inside.
The lights reflecting off the ice so brightly it almost hurt to look at directly, music blasting through speakers between plays, the constant scrape of skates carving against the rink like someone sharpening knives directly beside your ear.
And the students.
Dear god, the students.
Briar hockey fans behaved less like spectators and more like emotionally unstable addicts. Every hit was treated like a personal attack. Every save triggered screaming intense enough to register the game as a spiritual gathering of some sort. You sat wedged between Hannah and Allie, clutching a hot chocolate you kept forgetting to drink because every thirty seconds something else happened on the ice.
“Okay wait,” you said during warmups, already squinting analytically toward the rink, “why are they all skating in circles.”
Hannah didn’t even look up from her phone. “They’re warming up.”
“But why are they humping the ice?”
Allie snorted beside you.
“They’re hockey players.”
You were about to ask for elaboration, but the jab fell limp on your tongue. Allie looked up at your gaping mouth and followed your glassy eyes, Logan had skated past the glass.
Logically, obviously, you knew your boyfriend played hockey.
You have seen photos. Kept live streams on in the background of your life. You had sat through enough post-practice cuddling sessions to know exactly how broad his shoulders got underneath all that padding.
But seeing him on the ice in person felt different.
Like the version of Logan you knew off the rink - warm hands, sleepy morning voice, constantly stealing your fries - had fused with something faster and more dangerous.
He skated backwards effortlessly while talking to Garrett, helmet tucked beneath his arm, hair damp already from warmups and curling slightly at the edges.
Then his eyes found yours through the glass. He grinned at your face and mimed for you to close your mouth. You shook yourself out of the stupor and furrowed your eyebrows, along with flashing him a polite middle finger- you ignored the way a smile broke through your mock-annoyance when he blew a kiss at you with a cheesy wink.
“Oh,” Hannah said beside you quietly, watching your expression change. “Allie I didn’t realise we were in a danielle steel novel.”
Allie pinched your cheek affectionately and stuck her tongue out at you when you harrumphed and whacked her hand away.
“I’m literally sitting here.”
“No,” Allie corrected, “you wish you were down there, cus you’re in loooove.”
You rolled your eyes and focussed back on the ice, “Unfortunately.”
The game started before they could bully you further.
And, in your defence, when the puck dropped you really tried to behave like someone who was allowed within 500ft of social settings, someone who just casually attended sporting events.
It lasted maybe six minutes.
Because once the first hockey stick slapped the little disc across the ice, everything became movement, and anything static got flung to the boards
The whole rink was fast, sharp, constantly shifting movement that made your brain feel like it was trying to keep up with something half a second ahead of reality. And it didn’t take long for you to stop thinking about looking calm, collected, like someone who was not about to have an emotional breakdown over line changes.
Somewhere around the first big defensive turnover, you heard yourself say, involuntarily,
“Oh that was actually a really clean zone exit.”
Allie turned slowly toward you.
“…what did you just say?”
“I don’t know,” you replied honestly, eyes still on the ice, you slowly turned to face her- slightly horrified but mainly interested at the chemicals firing in your brain, “but I think I meant it.”
Logan got his first assist of the night not long after, a sharp interception, a quick pass, and Dean finishing it off in a blur of movement that sent the arena detonating into noise.
You were on your feet before you realised.
“THAT TRANSITION WAS INSANE,” you yelled immediately, gripping Hannah’s sleeve. “LIKE THAT WAS ACTUALLY PERFECT SUPPORT THROUGH THE NEUTRAL ZONE-”
Hannah blinked at you.
“…you’re speaking hockey now.”
“OH MY GOD I ACTUALLY LEARNT SOMETHING.”
Down on the ice, Logan had already turned.
And he was staring, which, considering the fact that Briar hockey games operated somewhere between collegiate sporting events and active war zones, was probably not ideal.
But he couldn’t bring himself to snap out of it, all he could do was stare up at you like his brain had temporarily stopped functioning in all areas except affection.
Garrett skated past him mid-celebration, “She knows what neutral zone support is now?” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth in a way that looked damn near comical with the huge, padded gloves and slow motion sliding on the ice that came with his question.
Logan didn’t answer, just shook his head and skated over to his friend, grinning like you had personally rearranged his entire understanding of love.
By the second period, Logan realised something was very, very wrong. In the best possible way.
Mostly because every single time he glanced toward the stands, you looked aggressively invested. You were leaned so far forward in your seat that you practically looked ready to physically enter the game yourself. Reacting before goals even happened,
“Oh he’s got space-”
“WAIT THAT’S A TWO-ON-ONE-”
“That’s a bad line change, right? THAT’S A BAD LINE CHANGE-”
Allie slowly slid away from you like she was afraid you might combust, bracing particularly hard when you stood up so fast, you nearly took out the person in front of you.
“OFFSIDE-” you shouted confidently.
There was a pause.
Then Hannah leaned forward slightly, squinting to see the referee’s hand gestures
“…that wasn’t offside.”
“Oh.”
You sat back down immediately.
“Never mind.”
At one point, Dean made a clean hit near the boards and you stood up so fast your drink nearly launched into orbit.
“THAT WAS SUCH A GOOD FUCKING FORECHECK!”
Your voice carried over to the ice, somehow louder than the majority of the audience combined and Logan nearly missed a pass. The slip up got him benched for a cool-down until the third period. He turned toward the stands so quickly that Tucker barked out a laugh from beside him on the bench.
Because what in the ever loving God had happened to his girlfriend?
“Oh my god,” Tucker wheezed, “she learned hockey.”
Logan stared up at you, eyes wide in disbelief. You were still standing, pointing excitedly at the ice while talking animatedly to Hannah.
“NO BECAUSE DID YOU SEE THE ZONE ENTRY?”
“What did you do?” Tucker asked, genuinely curious.
Logan shoved him lightly.
“I don’t know.”
“You created this.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You made her care about our weird little ice game.” He put the apt description in quotation marks, a direct quote of what you said in passing to Tucker.
It wasn’t even that you understood hockey perfectly now, in fact half the time you were still wrong.
You kept yelling “offside” at moments that were very clearly not offside, you confidently called icing before the puck had even crossed the line. But you were evidently trying. For him. And every single time Logan looked at you tonight, you looked so genuinely excited to be there that something warm and helpless kept blooming in his chest.
It got worse in the third period.
Briar was up by one, Eastwood was getting frustrated and the arena was quiet, almost vibrating with anticipation- every hit was louder, every pass sharper and every second stretched tighter as the clock counted down.
You watched with bated breath, hands clasped tightly in front of your face, Logan was everywhere and nowhere, to the point where it was hard to keep track visually and you had started listening for the crisp sound of his skates across the ice.
For every blocked shot of his, you sucked in a victorious breath. He kept the puck moving with such speed, that you were surprised the little shit hadn’t broken in half yet.
Then it happened.
A clean breakout.
A pass that sliced through two defenders like it wasn’t even there.
Dean finished it clean.
GOAL.
The arena exploded.
Students screaming, pounding against the glass, bodies surging to their feet in waves of blue and gold while the team slammed into each other near the boards.
You grabbed Hannah and actually shook her.
“I KNEW THAT WAS COMING-DID YOU SEE THE READ-THAT WAS SO CLEAN-”
Hannah laughed breathlessly,
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about anymore!”
Players poured onto the ice, helmets came off, teammates yelled over each other while music blasted through the speakers loud enough to vibrate through your chest. And through all of it, Logan’s eyes immediately found you.
You looked ecstatic, jumping up and down wildly hand in hand with Hannah and Allie, who were just as excited, maybe even more given the sheer amount of energy you had. You brought both hands over your mouth when you caught him looking up at you, your entire face lit up, “THAT ASSIST WAS INSANE, BABY!” before immediately dropping them again so you could start clapping wildly.
Dean folded over laughing.
Garrett looked seconds away from tears.
Logan, meanwhile, felt something dangerously close to heart failure. Because you sounded so proud, like it would take a natural disaster and a half to make you believe that he was anything less than incredible.
And the second you saw the team filling off the ice you were moving, actually, more like sprinting.
Through the crowd and down the stairs, moving so fast that you could barely hear Hannah yelling something behind you that sounded vaguely like “DON’T BREAK YOUR ANKLE.”
Logan was just stepping off the ice when you reached him, one second he was pulling off his gloves and the next you had jumped into him without hesitation, he barely caught you in time, laughing breathlessly as your legs wrapped around his waist and nearly sent both of you crashing backward into the wall.
“You were actually insane tonight,” you blurted immediately, still half shouting over the noise. “Like your forecheck was disgusting and your gap control was SO tight-”
Logan froze slightly mid-laugh, his eyes turning thoughtful as he pushed your hair out of your face and cupped your cheek,
“…my what?”
You pulled back just enough to look offended.
“Your gap control.”
“Since when do you say gap control?”
“John,” you gasped dramatically, “I have been studying.”
From behind him, Garrett’s voice carried over immediately.
“I wouldn’t really count it as studying, but she has become one of us.”
Logan didn’t even turn around, “Shut up.” He was staring at you, completely and entirely enamoured.
You began your rambling again, barely noticing the painfully soft look in his eyes,
“No wait because explain the power play rotation one more time because I SWEAR that guy cross checked you in the second period and the refs just ignored it-”
Logan kissed you mid sentence, genuinely unable to help himself- you just looked unbearably cute in his arms chattering about hockey like you hadn’t spent the majority of your relationship painfully sitting through his explanations, entirely fuelled by the fact that you love him enough to go through the torture.
His hand cupped your jaw while he kissed, you made a startled sound against his mouth before immediately melting into it anyway, laughing softly when he finally pulled back.
His forehead dropped against yours.
“You learnt hockey for me?” he asked quietly, you blinked and bit your smile.
“…maybe.”
“How many?”
You hesitated which made Logan narrow his eyes.
“How many?”
“Enough that Garrett started sending me links voluntarily.”
Garrett pointed aggressively from nearby.
“I’m like her hockey gandalf- or yoda.”
“You’re built like yoda”
“You’re legit hanging off of your boyfriend right now.”
You stick your tongue out at Garrett and laugh when he makes a disgusted face- tucking Hannah under his shoulder.
You turn back to Logan, who looks genuinely overwhelmed by the information, and smile softly, your hands sliding up into the damp hair at the back of his neck.
“I just wanted to understand it,” you admitted quietly. “Because you love it.”
“You watched hockey for me,” he whispered, still awestruck by how casually you were telling him about it- as if it was something so purely instinctual for you to do. You shrugged at him.
“That’s insane.”
“You’re insane for playing this game,” You corrected.
He laughed and pressed his forehead against yours for a second like he needed to reset his entire nervous system.
“You were cheering for me.”
“Of course I was.”
Something in Logan’s expression completely gave out after that, and you swear you felt his knees shake just before you to kissed him again.
“Oh, we’re so never hearing the end of this,” Garrett muttered in the background, you barely registered Dean and Tucker murmuring affirmatives next to him.
The group had split off momentarily, Allie and Dean had disappeared long before the others- and it was a polite mystery as to where and what they were doing. One that would not be solved anytime soon.
The rest of you had disintegrated momentarily, the boys going to change out of their equipment while you and Hannah hung back, chattering about whatever suited you in the moment. That was until Garret swooped through and plucked her away, letting you know that in a few minutes you’d all be heading to Malones for some drinks, and Logan was waiting at his truck for you.
The parking lot outside the arena was still buzzing when you found him.
Not in the loud, electric way it had been inside-no screaming, no thundering bass of music bleeding through speakers, no collective roar of thousands of people losing their minds over a puck and some ice and a group of boys who looked like they were half animal, half adrenaline.
Now a certain quiet had settled around you, like the world had finally exhaled after holding its breath for ninety minutes.
The kind of quiet that made you suddenly aware of your coat not being warm enough and the faint sting of cold air against your cheeks, and the way your heartbeat still hadn’t quite realised it was allowed to slow down just yet.
Logan’s truck sat a little off from the main crowd, headlights off, frost beginning to gather along the edges of the windshield like lace. He was leaning against the driver’s side when you approached, his gear messily packed into the Briar brand gym back that he had slung over his shoulder, his hair was half-dry- probably from the shower, after which he had worn a pair of sweatpants and one of your favourite hoodies of his.
His head lifted when you got close enough, instantly turning off his phone as his expression shifted. Like whatever else he was holding in his face-adrenaline, exhaustion, residual competitiveness-just softened and made room for you without even trying.
“Hi,” you said, slightly breathless, like you had run more than you actually had.
His mouth tilted like a child who had just discovered a major secret,
“You were talking about gap control,” he said immediately, his expression was gleeful as you groaned, embarrassed by what your adrenaline made you do a few hours ago.
“I said it twice.”
“Four time actually.,” he corrected easily.
“It was relevant,” you insisted, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you and the cold metal of his truck at your back.
Logan huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, trying not to make it obvious how much he enjoyed this exact version of you. Then his hand found your belt loop without hesitation, pulling you in with a kind of ease that seemed to become second nature for him.
You melted into him instantly, like your body had been waiting for it without telling you.
Cold air on your skin, warm him everywhere else.
It never stopped feeling slightly unfair how easily that balance worked.
“You were really good tonight,” you said again, softer this time, like the words were refusing to stay inside you.
His eyes searched yours, flicking between them as a slow, bashful smile spread onto his face.
“Yeah?”
You nodded, looking up at him properly now.
“Yeah.”
There was a beat where neither of you really moved, like the space between you had tightened into something neither of you wanted to break first. Then he leaned down and you met him halfway.
Logan kissed you with a certain permanence, a sweet, saccharine kind that made you feel like honey would start dripping from your pores. His hand tightened slightly at your waist, thumb pressing absentmindedly there as if he needed to confirm you were still solid, still real.
When you pulled back, you didn’t go far, just hovering over his mouth as your mingled breath turned into pristine white puffs in the cold November air. His forehead hovered against yours, “You actually learned all that stuff,” he murmured, like he still couldn’t quite compute it.
You gave him a look.
“I did.”
“And why would you do that?”
It wasn’t teasing, not fully. There was something softer underneath it now, like he was genuinely curious as to why you went to all the trouble. You shrugged slightly, fingers fiddling with the edge of his sleeve, feeling the worn fabric beneath your fingertips.
“Because you care about it,” you said simply. “And I like when your face does that thing when you’re explaining it.”
He blinked.
“…what thing?”
“That thing,” you repeated, smiling. “Like you forget everything else exists for a second.”
Logan went quiet for a beat, then he laughed under his breath and kissed you again, shorter this time, like he couldn’t help interrupting you just because he could.
“You’re dangerous,” he muttered against your mouth.
“Me?” you said, pulling back slightly. “I sat through an entire sport I used to think was a conspiracy.”
“You called icing a government lie.”
“It still feels like one.”
That finally got a proper laugh out of him, soft and unguarded, shoulders loosening slightly as he opened the passenger door for you and nudged you inside gently. The warmth of the truck hit you immediately, the soft, familiar heat that smelled faintly like him and whatever energy drink he’d abandoned earlier wrapped around you like an old friend while you nearly tripped over the lingering traces of hockey gear, that somehow never got cleaned out- no matter how many games had passed.
He climbed in after you, shutting the door carefully like he didn’t want to disturb the bubble that had formed the car.
Outside, the world still moved- distant voices, doors slamming, the faint echo of celebration still clinging to the air- but in here, everything felt slightly slowed down, like someone had turned the volume of life down just enough to make breathing easier.
Logan leaned back slightly in his seat, head tilting toward you,
“You were loud tonight, could hear you from the ice” he said eventually.
You made a face at him, “I was engaged.”
“You were aggressively engaged.”
“Thats called a personality baby”
He laughed again, shaking his head slightly, but his hand found yours anyway, fingers threading through yours like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“You kept watching me,” he said.
“I always watch you.”
“No,” he shook his head slightly. “Tonight was different.”
You hesitated, watching how your fingers tucked into the divots of his knuckles, you wiggled your hand in his and looked back up at him, “I was trying to understand it properly,” you admitted. “So I could actually see you, not just… you know, the chaos.”
You could see your words did something to him, the way his jaw softened and eyes dropped briefly to your mouth, like he was desperately trying to not get distracted. His thumb paused mid-circle against your hand like he’d forgotten what he was doing for a second.
“You’re kind of insane,” he said quietly.
You smiled and scrunched your nose at him, “You knew that already.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning in again. “But it’s getting worse.”
You laughed softly into the next kiss, this one lingered longer again, slower, like neither of you were in a hurry to come up for air or reality or anything beyond this small, warm space you kept making for each other. Your fingers curled into the edge of his hoodie collar, pulling him closer in a way that made him breathe out something faintly amused against your mouth. His hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your skin like he was memorising the way your face molded into his.
When he pulled back slightly, he didn’t fully let go,
“You were asking questions the whole game,” he murmured.
“Everything can be a learning opportunity johnny,” you bumped his nose with yours
Logan's face crumpled disapprovingly at the nickname, “Johnny? How much did Garrett teach you?.”
“Enough to know what you guys do with the eggs before a game.”
He groaned softly like he had given up entirely, instead he opted to press his forehead against yours, one of his hands slipped between your knees that lay across his lap. He leaned further into you, keeping his other hand between your head and the car door.
Then, quieter, like it slipped out before he could think better of it,
“Keep talking.”
You blinked at him, brushing his hair away from his forehead- you rubbed your thumb against a small cut on his lip.
“About what?”
“Hockey,” he said simply. “Just… talk.”
There was something about the way he said it that made your chest feel a little too full all at once. “You just want me to keep explaining things so you can kiss me mid sentence again,” you accused gently.
His eyes flicked to yours, like he’d been caught halfway in the cookie jar.
“…maybe.”
That earned him a laugh from you as you leaned back against his hand.
“Okay,” you said, pretending to think, tapping your finger against your chin whilst pointedly avoiding his expectant grin. “So basically forechecking is-”
He kissed you immediately, you jumped and let out a half protest and half laugh against his mouth, a small noise from the back of your throat that burst out as a fit of giggles when he pulled away, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I knew it,” you whispered accusatorily.
Logan grinned, his face so close to yours that you could count each of his brown eyelashes, “You talk too much,”
“You literally asked.”
“I asked so I could do that.”
You stared at him, then shook your head, smiling despite yourself.
“You’re impossible after wins.”
“You were screaming at the ref from the stands.”
“It. Was. Off. Side,” you gripped his shoulders, pulling him over your body as you enunciated each annoyed word. Obviously, you felt very strongly about this, and Logan could tell when you weren’t even focussed on the love-struck look in his eyes, instead you were looking off into the distance chattering disapprovingly.
He nudged your cheek, prompting you to face him. You cut yourself off, grinning sheepishly but the apology didn’t leave your lips since Logan had begun to popcorn kiss your mouth. Ignoring your protests and swallowing your laughs, “The poor guy looked ready to retire.”
“Logan.” You whined, feeling guilty about traumatising the referee.
He just smiled down at you, that slow, slightly wrecked smile that always made it feel like he was about to do something entirely unfair to your self-control, he leaned in again-slower this time, like he was planning to take his time convincing you to forget whatever you were about to say.
Which, unfortunately for you, was working- very easily from the way your arms looped around his neck and you shuffled down in his hold so you lay beneath him along the passenger seat.
Just as you were about to kiss him, you were interrupted by a muffled sound,
“Logan,” came a voice suddenly from outside the truck.
Then another.
“Bro- are you actually hiding in your truck right now?”
You froze against one another, your eyes popped open and you sighed when logan groaned quietly against your mouth,
“Of course,” he muttered.
Dean’s silhouette appeared near the window, followed immediately by Garrett. And then, far too amused, Hannah.
You pulled back slightly, trying not to laugh as Logan rested his forehead against yours for a second like he was considering his life choices.
“I chose this voluntarily,” He shook his head, eyes lifting to the sky as if God was at fault for his choices that led to this interruption. Namely, the first time he ever held a hockey stick.
“Five minutes,” Dean called, slapping the bonnet of the truck.
Garrett swung his arm around Dean's shoulder, or maybe Tucker’s- you couldn’t make out anything clearly from beneath your suffering boyfriend, “Ten seconds.” Garrett substituted.
Hannah leaned in closer, squinting at the fogged window, she had her hands cupped around your eyes as makeshift binoculars.
“Are they-?”
“Do NOT finish that sentence,” Logan said immediately, jumping off of you and unlocking the door. You slinked down after him, sitting half outside the truck with your legs swinging outside the door. Allie had come up to you and started tugging at your shoes, urging you out of the vehicle, Hannah not far behind her- the three of you were now laughing at Logan, who was threatening the boys who had interrupted him.
“I swear to god dean, I’m marinating all of your condoms in hot sauce,” Logan smacked his friend upside the head, rolling his eyes when Dean responded, claiming he was more than happy to go without them.
Garrett’s eyes widened, “Please no, it took so long for us to get you onto condoms. Poor Tucker was cleaning cum out of the bathtub every day.”
You burst out laughing, incredulously staring at Allie, who winked back but cringed when Tucker stared at her, a blank, haunted look behind his eyes.
“I’ll pay you back Tuck,” Allie offered, patting his shoulder.
And just like that- you were pretty sure that you’d be coming to a lot more of Logan’s games.
heyy could you do a john lohan x gf reader where like she goes to his games and wears his number and all and she gets a temp tattoo of 22 on her back and shows him after the game when they’re celebrating
22 for you | john logan
john logan x reader!gf
summary: you have always been a supportive girlfriend. wearing your boyfriends jersey, attending every game, and defending him in every hockey debate. after a big win, logan discovers a surprise that’s meant just for him.
word count: 1,7k
warning: fluff, kissing
authors note: guys i’m not gonna lie im really enjoying writing for logan he is just such a cutie
————————————————————————
it all started after you and your best friends, hannah wells and allie hayes had watched one tree hill the morning before your boyfriends would play.
“wait, wait, wait,” allie sat up straighter on the couch. “I just had the funniest idea.”
you immediately groan, remembering the last time allie had a ‘funny idea’
“that’s never a good sign.” hannah said
“oh come on” turning to hannah while saying “hannah back me up on this”
“ y/n should get a fake tattoo of logan’s number.’”
“why?” hannah said with confusion written on her face, not quite sure where this was leading to.
“to see lover boys reaction, duh.” allie said
the entire room went silent for a second.
before you could tell allie it was a stupid plan, hannah started backing up allies plan
“wait, that’s actually hilarious.’”
“seriously hannah.” you say staring at her with a fake offended look
“y/n, please do it.” allie said while looking at you with a pleading look
you looked at your friends like they’d both collectively lost their minds.
“you want me to pretend I got a tattoo?”
“yes.”
“of logan’s number?”
“exactly”
“you people need hobbies.”
“no, seriously,” allie laughed. “don’t tell him it’s fake. just walk up and be like, ‘surprise!’”
“he’d have a heart attack.” hannah said
“exactly”
you tried not to smile, because unfortunately they weren’t wrong. you could practically picture logan looking at the tattoo trying to figure out what just happened.
trying to hide your smile from the girls and failing miserably. allie starts shaking hannah while saying “she’s going to do it”
“guys, he’d freak out.”
“in a good way or a bad way?” hannah questions
“both.”
the two girls burst into laughter.
“he’d be so proud of himself.”
“that’s what I’m saying!” allie pointed dramatically. “his ego would grow three sizes.”
“he’d tell every single teammate.” hannah said agreeing with allie
“immediately.”
“dean would never let me live it down.”
“which makes this even better.”
you buried your face in a pillow.
this was such a terrible idea.
a terrible, hilarious idea.
“okay,” you mumbled giving in.
the room exploded.
“WAIT, REALLY?” the girls said collectively.
“only if one of you buys the tattoo.”
the cheering got even louder.
“logan is about to have the best and worst day of his life.” allie said while she and hannah pulled out their phones looking for somewhere they could find the temporary tattoo.
“okay moment of truth” hannah says while slowly removing the film of the tattoo, while allie nervously stands looking over her shoulder.
as she removes the film, allie gasps.
“oh my go-”
“stop allie what”
“it looks so good”
hannah takes her phone out to take a picture of the tattoo to show you, as she’s doing so she starts agreeing with allie
“it does, and it looks so real too”
she shows you the picture and a cheesy smile starts forming on your face.
“guys why do i kind of love it?”
the girls start cheering, ending the cheer with a high-five.
“maybe you should get a real one” allie says excitedly
you smirk at her while saying “depends on his reaction”
you guys get ready to go, late as always but this time you guys actually have an excuse.
not that you could tell them
watching logan on the ice never got old. everything seemed effortless when he played. the speed, the confidence, the way he weaved through defenders as though they weren’t even there. sometimes you found yourself forgetting to breathe whenever he had the puck.
the boys were on fire tonight, finishing the game with a win and a huge score difference. a win for the briar boys always meant a huge party afterwards at the hockey house.
you, hannah and allie wait for the boys after the game to congratulate them. starting obviously with your boyfriends and moving on to your friends.
you see logan walk out the changing rooms. he always looked so good after games and practices, cheeks flushed, wet hair, you just loved it.
he makes his way towards you with a grin.
“hey”
before you could say hey back he cuts you off with a soft kiss to your lips. between kisses you congratulate him, praising him for how good he played.
he pulls away halfway to kiss your forehead then pulls away completely.
“thank you baby.”
logan’s hand found your waist, pulling you a little closer. what started as a quick kiss quickly turned into something more, neither of you eager to pull away. resting his hand on your lower back not realising what was hiding underneath. every time you broke apart for a breath, you found yourselves leaning right back in, unable to stop smiling.
eventually getting cut off as dean knocks his hockey stick against logans leg.
“come on guys, party tonight” he says excitedly.
the party was in full swing but you had spent the last twenty minutes avoiding logan.
which, unfortunately, only seemed to make him more determined.
“there you are.”
you groaned as logan appeared beside you.
“i’ve been looking for you.”
“really, i’ve just been with the girls.” you say trying to convince him he was just imagining it
his eyes narrowed.
“why are you being weird?”
“I’m not.”
“you are.”
across the room, hannah and allie exchanged looks.
you pointedly ignored them.
logan crossed his arms.
“what are they smiling about?”
“nothing.”
“what are you hiding?”
“nothing.”
his eyebrows shot up.
“you’re definitely hiding something.”before you could stop yourself, you glanced toward hannah and allie.
mistake.
a huge mistake.
because now logan looked even more suspicious.
“y/n.”
you sighed.
“fine.”
you grabbed the bottom of his shirt pulling him behind you and dragging him close to his room.
out of the corner of your eye you can see hannah and allie trailing behind you giggling as they do so.
“then what’s going on?”
for a moment, you considered dragging this out longer.
then you remembered hannah and allie were probably lurking trying to eavesdrop.
“fine.”
logan waited.
you set down your drink.
then you began to lift your shirt just enough to reveal his number on your body.
for a second, logan just stared.
then he blinked.
looked at the tattoo.
looked at you.
looked back at the tattoo.
“is that…”
his mouth fell open.
“no way.”
you immediately started laughing.
“omg, your face.”
“Y/N!”
from behind a wall came the sound of hannah and allie losing their minds.
“we knew he’d react like that!”
logan pointed toward them.
“they knew about this?”
“maybe.”
“i knew it”
his gaze returned to the tattoo.
“you put my number on you?”
“It’s fake.”
“I don’t care!”
his grin was impossible to miss.
somehow, that only made you laugh harder.
because you friends had been right.
his reaction was absolutely worth it.
he pulls you to him, your waists touching.
“i actually liked it” he said while staring at your lips slowly leaning in with a smirk just before he could close the gap hes cut off by hannah and allie.
“right, that’s our cue to leave”
“yeah we’re just gonna go”
as they leave you and logan break out in giggles, he gently grabs your face pulling you in for a soft kiss. the kiss going from soft and sweet to more passionate.
it felt as if he was your oxygen
after a few minutes, your lips bruised, each breath coming out shaky your chest rising too fast to calm down, your cheeks flushed, logans hair slightly messy from your hands in it, his eyes half-lidded, dazed if this was his reaction to a temporary tattoo, how would he react to a real one
you guys made your way back to your friends, immediately when you get to them dean is practically floating after hearing about this tattoo
“alright let’s see it.” deans says enthusiastically like you were about to show him your first born
“wait.”
dean held up his hand after seeing the tattoo
“you’re telling me,” he said slowly, his eyes moving between you and logan, “that she got your number tattooed on her?”
“It’s fake,” you immediately said.
dean ignores you and carries on.
“that’s not the point.”
“It’s literally the entire point.”
dean turns to logan and immediately starts to interrogate him.
“did you cry?”
logan immediately dismissing that while looking offended
“I didn’t cry.”
“you look like you cried.”
“I didn’t cry.”
dean pointed dramatically.
“see? that is literally exactly what someone who cried would say.”
“shut up.”
“no, because I need to know.”
dean stepped closer.
“when you saw it, did wedding bells start playing in your head?”
logan groaned.
“dean.”
“logan i am being so serious right now.”
“well dean i am not having this conversation.”
dean gasped.
“omg.”
“what?”
“you totally imagined your future together, are you guys having kids together, no wait what’s the colour scheme for the wedding.”
“I hate you.”
“you did!”
logan buried his face in his hands.
across the room, garrett looked seconds away from falling off the couch laughing.
meanwhile, was just getting started.
“you know what this means, right?”
“no.”
“she’s officially your biggest fan.”
“she’s my girlfriend.”
“not anymore.”
logan looked up.
dean pointed towards you.
“that girl has got your jersey number tattooed on her body, come on logan”
you snorted.
“It was temporary.”
dean waved you off.
“details, immediately.”
then he looked back at logan.
“you’re never recovering from this.”
the grin spreading across logan’s face completely ruined any chance of arguing that.
dean immediately pointed.
“just look at him.”
“what about me”
“he’s smiling again.”
“am not.”
“he’s smiling.”
“am not.”
“he’s smiling at the tattoo.”
logan groaned.
dean leaned back triumphantly.
“best prank ever.”
“best prank ever,” hannah agreed.
“best prank ever,” allie echoed.
logan looked towards you.
unfortunately, the stupid smile returned instantly.
dean saw it.
and immediately started screaming.
authors note: guys if i’m being honest im not sure how i feel about this, love the idea but i think i could’ve done better. after he finds out about the tattoo, i wasn’t sure how to go on from there so i decided to throw dean in just to make it longer.
omg guys i just edited this i did not know it had so many mistakes 😭
you’re pressed flat under him, cheek smushed against the pillow, breath coming in little hitches like your lungs can’t catch up. legs? jelly. thighs? trembling. slick with the evidence of the last....three? four? orgasms he’s wrung out of you.
but he hasn’t stopped.
logan’s still right there, chest plastered to your back, mouth biting little marks into your shoulder blades while his hips grind slow, lazy circles, his length slick and heavy – still – where it’s nestled between your thighs.
“y’ feel that?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and rough.
“feel how wet you still are, hm?”
you can barely nod. your fingers are still fisted around the sheets of his bed, body a pure puddle of surrender.
he doesn’t wait for an answer anyway – never does when you’re like this – just shifts his weight, hooks one arm under your hip to tilt your ass up and pushes back in.
the slide i s obscene. you’re still dripping wet and slick, providing absolutely no resistance, just that soft, wet pop of his cock sinking home, seating himself in so deep a small whine ripped out from your throat.
“shh” he hums softly, starting to move. slow at first, deep, dragging out every inch before pressing back in fully, hips meeting your ass with a soft slap.
“just a lil’ more baby, so good for me.”
you’re already soo full. so full it hurts in the best way, your walls – fluttering, oversensitive – against his length and he still doesn't slow down, if anything, he picks up the pace – a stedy, punishing rhythm that has your eyes rolling back all over again.
“c’mon baby, take it.” he mutters lowly, speeding up, fucking into you harder, his grip on your hip bruising.
he’s trying to make it stick. you can feel it in the way his thrusts turn frantic, desperate, his breathing turning more and more ragged against your neck with every push.
“log-” you start, words slurring out into a gasp and then a whimper.
“shut up,” he groans, but it’s not mean, it’s wrecked.
“shut up and let me – fuck-”
his hips slam forward, once, twice, and then he’s burying himself to the hilt, his whole body shuddering against yours. you feel it – the hot, thick pulse of him spilling inside you, wave after wave, flooding your already-sore insides. he stays there, grinding shallowly, fucking it deeper, making sure every drop stays where it belongs.
when he finally stills, his forehead drops to your back, breathing a mess.
“there.” he whispers, lips brushing the nape of your neck. “there. that’s my good girl.”
and you’re still pinned, still full, still leaking around him as he stays buried inside you, not pulling out.
not yet.
maybe not ever if he has his way. and you wouldn’t complain.
you were lying on john’s bed half asleep, your notes laid out in front of you, serving no purpose. you stirred awake to the heavy slam of his bedroom door, john’s boots thudded across the floor as he barged in, still reeking of the arena, musky cologne, and sweat from hours of drills.
his shoulders stayed locked tight, jaw grinding and tense from that blowup with garrett over the way he was disrespecting everyone, that little confrontation had dragged the whole practice into overtime.
“baby are you okay? how was practice?” you murmured quietly. you never liked how stressed he would get over practices, especially when they ended up with arguments involving garrett.
he didn't bother with words, just stripped off his gear piece by piece in the bedroom, eyes locked on you with that hungry dark look.
the second he climbed into bed his mouth crashed down on yours, tongue pushing deep in a rough kiss that stole your breath and left your lips swollen.
his hands ripped the blankets aside and peeled away whatever you had on until nothing separated your skin from his. you were laid out pretty and bare for him just the way he liked it.
everyone knew how gentle john logan was with you. always making sure you’re okay, kissing you gently, and speaking to you with the softest tone. but days like these when he was frustrated and missing you, all he wanted to do at the end of the day was fuck you senseless.
john spread your thighs wide and dropped his head straight between them, wasting no time, dragging his tongue in one thick, slow stripe right through your wet folds. you moaned loudly the pleasure flowing through you all at once.
he buried his face there, sucking your clit between his lips with hard pulls while his tongue shoved inside your pussy again and again, lapping up every drop of your essence as it slicked his chin.
at the same time two thick fingers pushed in deep, pumping steady and curling to hit that sensitive spot inside with every thrust.
the pressure built fast, your back bowing off the mattress as the pleasure slammed through you in heavy waves, tears stinging your eyes from how intense it felt. “oh my god!” you barely got out, your body getting hot all over.
he didn't ease up, mouth working your swollen clit nonstop while his fingers stretched and fucked you open, the wet sounds echoing loud in the room as he growled low against your skin.
"this perfect pussy belongs to me," he muttered between licks. "spent the whole practice thinking about burying my tongue in it. take every bit, baby." his tongue flattened and circled your clit slow before sucking it back in, fingers never slowing their deep drive inside you.
your hips rocked up to meet his face without thinking, moans pouring out of you as the heat climbed higher until your vision went blurry from the tears of raw pleasure.
he worked his fingers slowly, hitting your spot every time, having you moaning and arching off the bed, while his mouth stayed glued to your clit, sucking until your legs trembled hard around his head.
when he pulled back, mouth glistening and gaze dark, john lined his thick cock up and drove inside you in one hard thrust, sinking to the base. he started pounding right away, giving you no time as he usually would to adjust.
his hips began snapping forward in sharp, deep strokes that shook the bed frame. the both of you already knew the guys would tease him about this later. logan didn’t have it in him to give one fuck, not when you were squeezing him so well.
his hands pinned your wrists above your head, body pressing you flat as he fucked into your pussy without holding back, using every inch of you to work off the anger from practice and the fight with garrett. "you squeeze my cock so perfectly, honey," he growled, voice raspy and filthy as he talked you through it.
"so tight and soaked for me. feel how deep i'm hitting? yeah, take it all, good girl. let me fuck this pussy the way you want it."
you melted into it completely, desperate and lost, kissing him messy between every moan and agreeing to every dirty word he threw at you. "yes, john, harder, please," you gasped against his mouth, body lifting to meet his aggressive rhythm.
"i need it, use me, fuck me just like that." he kept driving into you, dirty talk flowing nonstop. "look at you taking every inch like you were made for it. this pussy feels so good clenching around me. you love when i have a bad practice, cause you know i fuck you well after it, don't you? say it."
your lips found his again in another hungry kiss, tongue sliding against his as you nodded and whispered back, "yes, i love it, don't stop, fill me up."
john let go of your wrists only to grip your hips tight, yanking you down onto his cock with each thrust, the new angle letting him grind deep against your front while he kept talking.
"gonna make you cum all over me. squeeze me tighter, baby. that's my girl, always taking this dick so well."
he shifted one hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight circles while he fucked you even harder, the added pressure pushing you straight to the edge. your nails raked down his back, pulling him closer as you kissed him desperately and agreed to everything between broken sounds. "yes, john, i'm yours, cum inside me, please."
his pace turned rougher, balls slapping against you with every stroke, sweat slicking both your bodies as he used the heat of your cunt to burn through every bit of leftover tension from the long day. "good girl, just like that, cum for me while i fill this pussy up."
the orgasm crashed over you hard, body clamping down around his cock as tears slipped down your cheeks from the intensity, and john followed right after, burying himself deep and pulsing hot inside you with a low groan, hips jerking through the aftershocks while he kept you pinned and kissed you through it all. he looked down at you lovingly, you looked so messy and perfect for him. “my beautiful girl..” he whispered as he stroked your cheek.
