Heeyyy, I love your writing, as a beginner writer myself, you're doing amazing. I wanted to ask if you're planning on writing other longfics and on other platforms like Wattpad AO3
And if you would add me on your tag list, plss ✨
Omg, thank you so much. That's one of the greatest compliments you could've given me.
Currently have another fic in mind, inspired by one I created a long time ago, but it would fit perfectly with how I write Logan.
I have never used either for my own writings, so what would be the benefit? Is it vastly different? I have my own YouTube channel where I post videos of the universes I've created over the years, featuring many actors as faceclaims.
Bed on Fire | John Logan x Fem!Reader [chapter five]
Summary: No one knew about John Logan’s crush on Hannah Wells except for Y/N L/N, because every time she was looking at him, he was looking at her.
Read the previous part here.
Pairings: John Logan x Fem!Reader
With mentions of Garrett Graham x Hannah Wells and Dean Di Laurentis x Allie Hayes
A/N: I took a bit longer to write this part. For one, because it's the conclusion of Act 1. Welcome to the roller coaster, baby. I included a couple of parts that were important to set up for later, as well as to perfectly display everyone's feelings and emotions. Also, finally figured out how to properly stylize an em dash lmao. Still struggling with showing, not telling, but practice makes perfect. Hopefully.
Again, thank you so much for all the support. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.
A week passed. Your dorm was a mess. Allie’s scripts for tonight's show lay scattered across the floor, along with extra Drunk Shakespeare posters, casting sheets, and Finn’s special drink menus. He’d called you at 2 a.m. two nights earlier, asking for help one last time. You couldn’t refuse. The next day, after class, you spent a few hours designing menus in the play’s theme.
In the meantime, you hadn’t seen anyone much. Everyone stuck to their routines. The hawks had practice. A couple of matches were planned. Finn, Allie, and Dexter were busy preparing for tonight’s Drunk Shakespeare. Hannah continued tutoring Garrett for their oral exam, which he surprisingly passed. You admired her patience. She could be an excellent teacher if she ever decided to change careers. You had considered Garrett hopeless.
The door of Allie’s room opened. She emerged in costume. You looked up, your jaw almost on the floor. She looked incredible.
“What the hell,” you muttered, standing, then sitting, then standing again, too excited to stay still. “Girl!” you shrieked, rushing to her and grabbing her arms.
Her hair was styled as always, except for a detailed pink flower crown of varying sizes. Her hair spilled over her wings. Glitter highlighted her bone structure. Her marine-blue dress hugged her curves. If you didn’t know better, she looked ready for a second dynamic duo party, this time as Flora from Winx Club. She had the look (and body).
“How—who—what—” you stammered, squeezing Allie’s arms as she laughed. “Everyone’s jaw will drop once you’re on stage,” you finally said, glancing her up and down again. She grinned, gently removing your arms, but didn’t let go of them. Narrowing her eyes, an idea popping in her head, she said, “I’ve got another dress. It’s pink, but other than that, it’s pretty similar. Want to wear it?”
It sounded like a love confession. Allie was down on one knee, except she was right in front of you, staring at you with anticipation, wondering if you’d say yes. In her hand, the perfect pink dress instead of a ring.
You nodded slowly, then faster, bouncing on your heels. “Of course I want a pink dress!” you squealed. Allie joined in. She took your hands and pulled you into her bedroom. “To the salon,” she said, voice high.
A few hours later, it was almost time for the show to start. A bright smile played on your face. To say you were excited was an understatement.
The evening air was thick. Dangerous. Disastrous. A sudden cold breeze tangled your hair and made you stumble, almost dropping Finn’s last-minute prop box, which was absolutely necessary to make his vision of ‘A Midsummer Night's Dream’ come to life.
You entered the building behind Allie. The door’s entrance almost hit you. “Thanks!” you yelled, but she didn’t hear you.
You scanned the crowd, heart pounding with a tangled mix of anticipation and dread. The person you secretly wanted to see wasn’t there, so disappointment looped in your stomach. Still, you couldn’t help yourself, and your eyes continued to search for him anyway, your breath catching every time a face popped into view.
You hated how much you cared. How desperate you looked if you could see yourself in a mirror right now, and you resented the flutter that twisted your insides at the thought of him noticing you tonight. Just as you were about to calm down, Logan’s soothing voice pulled your attention with magnetic force.
“Here, let me help you.”
Your hands were suddenly free. As you looked up, your eyes met Logan’s brown ones. You clutched your dress tighter. Suddenly aware of how much pink Allie had managed to put you. Glitter covered your shoulders, collarbone, and chest.
“Thank you,” you finally managed to say. Logan caught your gaze for half a second. Then he was swept up by an arm around his shoulder.
“Logan! Y/n! How art thee?” he asked, his voice high as he dragged Logan backstage.
Finn had impeccable timing.
You stood rooted in place, heat rising up your neck and almost matching the blush on your cheeks. Allie nudged your arm, giving you a small, knowing smile.
“Don’t combust yet,” she whispered. “You still have two hours of Shakespearean tragedy to survive.”
You snorted, but the sound was shaky. “Please forget all your lines. I want to get drunk.”
Logan laughed loudly at something Finn said. You glanced at him and your brother. Then, you looked back and placed a hand on your friend’s shoulder.
“Scrap that, I need to get drunk,” you said, begging her.
Allie grabbed your hand. Together, you made your way backstage, navigating the chaos of half-dressed students, dresses, and other costumes littered on the floor. You couldn’t help but glance back one more time, hoping that just maybe, Logan was watching you too.
Minutes had passed. The flickering lights signaled showtime. You turned to Allie and Finn and blew them an air kiss, and mouthed, “Good luck! Break a leg.”
You shuffled quickly towards your friends, who had already taken a seat. The seat next to Tucker was free, so you filled it. As you sat down, you glanced at the watermelon he was holding. “Bernado didn’t make the cut?” you asked, laughing. Besides Tucker, the two frat boys started laughing.
“Dean ate him,” he deadpanned, switching the watermelon from his left side to the side you were sitting on. You smiled back at him. “So what’s this guy’s name?” You patted the watermelon softly, like you would pat your dog back at home.
“Life’s too short to name them,” Tucker said, voice sad. You raised your brows, leaned forward to scold the blond and brunette next to him. “Shame on you,” you said. They just laughed harder.
“This seat taken?”
You glanced up and saw Logan. Smiling. At you.
It was the second time he’d startled you tonight. Hopefully, it was the last.
You shook your head slowly. “No, go ahead.”
Logan took the seat next to yours. He couldn’t help but glance at Tucker’s watermelon, about to comment, but you stopped him by touching his arm. His wonderful, muscular arm.
“Don’t,” you whispered, letting your hand linger. “It’s a sensitive topic.”
“Ah,” Logan replied, matching the tone of your voice. He leaned in and smiled his famously wide smile. “Noted.”
You caught yourself holding your breath.
Lights flickered. Dexter appeared on stage. You sighed. He explained Drunk Shakespeare: every time an actor says “line,” everyone drinks a shot.
Last year, Finn got so drunk he finished the show in darkness. Lissandra, then a senior, fell off the stage and broke her arm. Since then, Finn hadn’t been in charge of preparations or allowed near cables.
Your thoughts broke when Dean yelled Logan’s name.
You looked up. Hannah, Garrett, and Logan were on stage. Suddenly, everyone looked at you, the actors and the audience. Dean started clapping, then Beau, Tucker, and the rest soon followed. Tucker pushed you forward. An unfamiliar actor led you to the stage, holding your hand as you leaped up, clutching the veil of your dress.
“Welcome, Helena,” Dexter greeted you as you looked at him with widened eyes. He led you next to Logan, who drummed his fingers against his thigh. You leaned into him, catching the faintest trace of his woody-amber cologne. Your breath hitched just as you were about to ask, “What is happening?”
He laughed and leaned in so close his breath grazed your skin, almost brushing his lips against your ear. Almost. “We’re playing lovers.”
You gulped. His words hit you like an electric shock.
Perfect.
You glanced over at Allie, who noticed and winked at you. She hadn’t forgotten your conversation the morning after karaoke in Malone’s.
You’re going to strangle her.
The show began. It was chaos if you’d ever witnessed it. Bad accents, laughter, and a lot of shots. Allie’s monologue started fine, then shifted. She aired her relationship complaints about Sean, Shakespeare-style, to the whole audience. You clapped a hand over your mouth. “Oh my god,” you chuckled. Hannah stood beside you, mimicking you. “She’s going to call him, isn’t she?” she said.
The show flew by. The shots did too. Midway through the show, you were starting to stumble and slur your words more. Once in a while, you recognized Dean’s voice over the rest of the crowd. Always the first one to drink whenever anyone, on or offstage, called for shots. Who would have thought a Briar U Hawk would love the theatre this much?
If you asked the audience, they would have said the show belonged to you and your friends: you as Helena, Logan as Demetrius, Garrett as Lysander, and Hannah as Hermia. Each of you played one of the lovers tangled up in the Midsummer chaos, which meant you spent most of the play onstage together.
Especially Garrett and Logan. Whenever they shared the spotlight, it felt like watching two toddlers fighting over the same toy. Pure chaos. They also made it their personal mission to get everyone drunk, calling 'line' every few minutes. They got away with it, too, since the cast was too tipsy to care.
During one of your scenes, you tripped over a prop. Logan caught you, steadying you with a hand at your waist. The audience laughed, but you barely registered the sound. Their laughter was subtle, lost amid the hurricane building inside you. Logan removed his hand the moment he was sure you were steady. You sighed and ached for his hand to linger.
So distracted by your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the way his eyes traced your smile. Then he shook his head. Still smiling. Still looking. But this time, his eyes were narrowed as if he was trying to figure something out.
There was a moment. A small moment. Logan and you both broke character. He went quiet during one of his lines. Dexter was holding a cardboard with the exact words he needed to say, shaking the board vigorously, trying to get Logan’s attention.
You leaned in, consumed by the liquid you had been drinking throughout the show. “It’s literally spelled out for you,” you said quietly, laughing.
Logan turned towards you. Your faces were inches apart. Then your laughter died. The world faded. Time definitely stood still. Consumed by the moment, it felt as if the lighting crew directed all the lights onto the curly-haired boy standing next to you. Every freckle, line, and dimple suddenly visible. Like a world-class chef just served his best dish on a silver platter.
“Line!” Finn yelled, and the spell immediately broke. The two of you created more distance between you, and Logan disappeared backstage, leaving you to continue your role as Helena.
He found Allie lounging in an armchair. Her legs against the back, feet in the air as she rested her back against the armrest. “Having fun?” she called once she saw Logan heading towards the drink station. She let her head fall, following his movements with her eyes.
He breathed a laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t expect the night to go like this.” He ran a hand through his curls.
Allie pulled herself up when she felt the heat increasing in her skull. She turned towards Logan, “But are you enjoying yourself?” she asked, studying him. Logan looked up at her. Her wings had fallen a little, and their bands were now resting in the inside of her elbows.
Logan shrugged, but his eyes softened. “Yeah,” he said, “I think so.”
The last part of the show was even more unhinged. Everyone had way too many shots. And everyone was drunk, or almost over the tipsy-to-drunk point. You let yourself be led by the chaos. Enjoying every second of it. Hannah and Garrett’s flirtatious banter. Finn and Allie’s fight for the spotlight.
Logan’s hand accidentally found yours during a scene switch. Your fingers brushed, lingering. You quickened your steps to hide behind a corner offstage. He continued the scene, reading out his line from the cardboard. You closed your eyes, leaning against the wall, listening to his voice. You stayed there for the duration of the rest of the show. Not needed anymore for the play's conclusion.
When the final bow came, Hannah, Garrett, Logan, and you were brought back onto the stage. All the other students in the play joined, including Finn, Dexter, and Allie. You all held hands, bowed towards the audience, clapped, and yelled. Coming back up, you stumbled, quickly catching yourself. Logan, standing next to you, hovered his hand over your lowered back and leaned down.
“Easy there.” Logan’s voice was gentle as he steadied you. You met his eyes, warmth spreading through you, and managed a soft, "Thanks."
“Yo rockstars, come here!” Dean yelled, calling out for all of you. Immediately, you turned towards the direction his voice came from, spotting Dean, Tucker, and Beau at the same spot you left them before the show started. With a grin, you led the way to your friends. Garrett and Hannah trailed behind, followed by Finn and Allie. Logan hung back, watching all of you.
You spun into Beau’s arms, laughing as he twirled you. “Who knew little Bambi looked so good as a fairy?” he teased, and you ducked your head, cheeks burning. Logan watched you laugh at Beau’s words, a pang in his chest. He shook his head, forcing a smile, joining the others just in time for Allie to drag you into a photo. She forced her phone into Finn’s hands and asked him to take a picture of her, Hannah, and you.
After Finn snapped two pictures, Beau and Dean joined. Dean towered over Allie. Beau loosely let his arms hang over your shoulders. Logan’s smile faltered, noticing how Beau’s arms were inches away from your breasts. His stomach plummeted as if he had just stepped off the ledge of the stage, faceplanting the ground.
And just like that, his eyes widened. Not exactly, but it felt like they did. As if they were about to bulge out of his sockets at any moment. His heart beat faster. His breathing quickened.
He took a glance at Hannah, standing between you and Allie. She was laughing at Dean’s antics, and he couldn’t help but notice the way she took every opportunity to look at Garrett. Her eyes lit up every time he looked back. Her hand brushed his arm. Logan glanced at the ground. He realized his breathing was steady again. He didn’t feel like throwing up whenever Hannah and his best friend smiled at each other. Relief bloomed in his chest, and Logan learned he was happy for them.
The afterparty exploded into a night of nightlife. Music thumped through the speakers. Sweat and bodies packed tightly together on the madeshift dance floor. Logan found himself searching the crowd for you, throat aching, heart pounding as he’d just sprinted laps at the rink. As if he were deprived of air and you were the oxygen he so desperately sought.
You drifted from group to group until you found yourself beside Beau. He leaned close, his shoulder brushing yours as you both shouted the lyrics above the music. For a while, the party faded around you. You spun during a change of beat, took a half-step back, and caught Logan’s eyes from across the crowd. It was there for a second. Then gone again, like a skipped beat or a ghost. It was so small. So quick you almost forgot it happened. Almost.
Logan sighed. The words from earlier echoed in his head: “Lysander, keep thy Hermia. I will none. If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourned, And now to Helen is it home returned, There to remain.”
And maybe. Just maybe. Logan found himself in a similar pickle as Demetrius did in tonight’s play. And it was only just the beginning.
Neither of you knew exactly where the script of your story would go next, but something had shifted tonight. The stage was set. If only either of you dared to step into the spotlight.
Can you do like whimsical reader, like they dress funky has fun hair, nails, and glasses and pair them up with Dean. Reader doesn’t do casual and is wondering why Dean notices her because all he does is casual. I really hope that makes sense!!
As morning broke, sunlight replaced the darkness in the room. The first thing you registered was the pounding in your skull, radiating to the back of your eyes. You groaned. The dull ache made it painful to even touch them.
Next, you noticed the missing family photo on the wall you teased Finn about. He had his eyes closed, but it was the only recent picture you had of the two of you and your parents. You blinked and sat up too quickly, making the room spin. Logan slept on a chair in the corner. “No, no, no,” you whispered. “Fuck me.” You grabbed your head, trying to ease the ache and steady the room.
Then you remembered the night at Malone’s. Tucker’s and Hannah’s singing. Your conversation with Logan, which almost blew your cover. The car ride home. The #82 jersey.
You were so sure it was Finn’s room. Why did Logan have your brother’s jersey anyway? You peeked at the dresser. The jersey was nowhere in sight. Did you sleepwalk, or did someone play a prank on you?
Despite the pounding in your head, you pushed yourself off the bed and shuffled to the dresser. You checked the first drawer, found nothing, then opened the rest until you found the blue jersey. “Let’s see,” you muttered, holding it up and turning it around. Your eyes widened. “Perfect.” It felt like the jersey mocked your predicament. You glanced at it again: #22 in bold blue letters.
“What are you doing?” Logan asked beside you. You screamed, dropping the jersey on the floor. Both of you winced at the scream that came out of your mouth. Logan’s voice was still raspy due to the fact that he’d just woken up. “Jesus, Y/n,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, then his eyes. He pushed himself out of the chair to sit straighter, a groan leaving his lips. You couldn’t imagine he lay comfortably in the chair, and you started to feel a little bad that you forced him to sleep in it.
To defend yourself, you didn’t force him. But you did appreciate that he went out of his way to be respectful towards you. It meant more than he probably realized.
He finished rubbing his eyes and looked at you. You glared, rubbing your temples. “You can’t just sneak up on people. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
He blinked, then gave you a crooked smile. “You’re the one digging through my dresser at sunrise. Thought you were robbing me.”
You pressed your palms to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut. As well as trying to hide the redness that crept up on your face. “Don’t do that,” you muttered. “My head is killing me.”
He held up his hands in surrender, a lazy half-smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just woke up.” He shrugged, standing and stretching, the blanket covering his bare chest falling onto the ground next to his jersey.
Thank god your hands were still covering your face, because you could feel the embarrassment burning through you. You were probably red as a tomato, and the heat only got worse when you peeked at Logan through your fingers. He bent to pick up the blanket, glancing back at you, and for a second, the fluster in your chest almost drowned out your headache.
You cleared your throat, focusing on your headache instead of Logan, who stood just inches away, bare-chested. “You didn’t have to sleep in the chair, you know?” you muttered, removing your hands from your face and staring at the floor. “Next time, just shove me. I don’t bite.”
He folded the blanket over his arm and turned towards you. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then thought better of it. “Noted,” he said finally, his voice quiet. A beat of silence filled the room. It was thick and a little too intimate. You looked at the jersey still on the ground. Then back at Logan, who, thankfully, decided to put on a shirt.
Logan broke the silence. “You feeling okay?”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just a headache,” you muttered, picking up the jersey and clutching it to your chest. “Thanks, though.” You paused. “For letting me steal your bed,” you added, half-joking.
Logan smiled, glancing at the way you held his jersey. “Anytime.”
You allowed yourself to wonder, briefly, what it would be like if your mornings were always like this. Mornings full of jokes, laughter, kisses. Then you quickly shoved the thought away and winced as another wave of pain hit.
Logan narrowed his eyes, looking concerned. “I’ll get you some water and Advil. And if you promise not to yell at me again, I can make you some coffee.” You rolled your eyes at the curly-haired boy in front of you, which also put a strain on your eye sockets. “I didn’t yell at you, I yelled because of you,” you said, smiling weakly, “But deal.”
He smiled back, placing the blanket on the top of his dresser, and left his room to walk downstairs.
Allie was already at the kitchen table when you wandered in, sunlight revealing the golden highlights in her hair. She had her phone in one hand and a mug in the other. As you took your first steps on the kitchen floor, a shiver ran through you from the cold tiles. Logan was in the kitchen, too. He smiled as he saw you arrive and handed you your coffee. “Thank you,” you said, grabbing the mug with both hands. He glanced at Allie, then back at you, and said, “I’m going to take a shower.”
When Logan walked upstairs again, Allie looked up, scanned your face, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Jesus, did you sleep in a dumpster?” she jokingly asked, then a grin appeared on her face. “No, I know, you slept in Logan’s room,” she sang.
Your eyes widened. You ran to her and clamped your hand over her mouth. “What the fuck, Allie. Not so loud,” you begged. “It was an accident.”
You felt her grin against your hand. You rolled your eyes and let go. “I thought it was Finn’s room. I even saw his jersey,” you explained, sighing. She snorted. “Don’t you know where your brother sleeps?” she asked.
You shrugged. “Apparently not when I’m drunk.” You looked at her. Both of you laughed.
You sat on the stool next to Allie, leaned your head back, and stared at the ceiling. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”
“Because we’re young and stupid, and apparently need more ‘shared experiences,’” she replied, making air quotes. “Dean said you and Logan talked way more than usual.” You rolled your eyes, about to retort, then stopped. “Wait, you and Dean talked?” You felt her forehead. “Are you sure you aren’t burning up?”
Allie patted your hand away, smiling and rolling her eyes. “He brought two girls home. The prick almost had sex on top of me!” she explained, shrieking, thinking about it. “I got mad, and so did the girls he was with, so they left without him. Then he and I talked.”
You nearly choked on your coffee. “I talked about Sean. About our relationship,” Allie said, trailing off. You fixed her with a stare. Disbelief flickered in your eyes, half-amused, half-appalled. She met your eyes. “I know. But it was kind of therapeutic. He gave me his number.”
You quickly shook your head and opened your hand towards her. “Nope. Not going to happen. Give me your phone.” She rolled her eyes again, but gave you her phone anyway. With practiced ease, you unlocked her phone and navigated to her contacts. Dean’s number stared back at you. You selected it, fingers flying as you typed, then handed her phone back.
She read what you wrote. “Do not call?” she asked, laughing.
“With caps and red flag emojis,” you said, adding to it.
She laughed and placed her phone upside down on the counter. “Anyway, he also said it got quite heated.” She poked you with her foot. “Spill.”
You hesitated, tracing the rim of your mug. “Logan and I talked. That’s all.”
Allie narrowed her eyes, like she could smell secrets. “So, what did you actually talk about then?”
You looked away, hesitated, then said quietly, “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not Sean, and definitely not Hannah. It extends pinky promise level of seriousness.” Allie’s face grew serious, but you could see the glee in her eyes. “Swear on my secret Hot Cheetos stash.” She mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key.
You took a breath. “Logan has a crush on Hannah.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And why are you upset by it?” she asked. You gasped, your mouth falling wide open. Then you stuttered, trying to find your words, but not finding any. Finally, you said, “I’m not!” Allie’s jaw dropped. “Shut. Up. Shut up! You like him! Is this new? Is this why you were staring at him like he was some Ferrero Rocher chocolate?” she said, excitedly, but quiet enough it wouldn’t reach any of the rooms upstairs.
You laughed despite yourself. Allie knew you too well. You could deny it, but maybe it was good someone else knew. Heat prickled your cheeks as you looked down. “It’s stupid. I don’t know. I just kept noticing he would light up whenever Hannah walked in.” You remembered yesterday at Malone’s, when Hannah touched Logan’s wrist. He went all awkward, like it was the first time a girl touched him. Your heart sank at the thought.
Allie smiled, soft with sympathy. “You deserve someone who lights up for you.” You smirked, trying to lighten it. “What, like an old library light?” She patted your face away. You avoided it dramatically. “You know what I mean. And for the record, if you ever need to talk, or cry, or drown your sorrows in Hot Cheetos, I’m here.”
You smiled, real and small, and a little sad. “Thanks, Allie.” She hugged you. It was a kind of hug that lingered. A hug that carried a couple of years of friendship. Then she pushed herself off without letting go of your arms. “Now, tell me every detail about your conversation, especially this morning. If I’m going to be your secretkeeper, I want to know everything. Don’t leave out the awkward parts.”
And for a while, you did. The kitchen filled with more morning light, giggles, and many secrets. For now. Just between the two of you. You told her about every glance, every heartbeat that stuttered when Logan’s eyes met yours, every time an excitement rushed through your body when you accidentally touched. You told her everything you couldn’t tell anyone else.
YAY... okay, so it has to do with the moment Dean asks Beau, "Who is that?" When he looks at Allie dancing, but instead of her and the party, they're in the library, and he sees a bookworm girl by herself, and he's oddly curious.
Ohh funn <3 I'll make a req list!
Storytelling is a very powerful thing @natywrites - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
