⊹ 𓂃 john logan's girl

request an imagine. any fandom.

[palletsun]

this isn't a love story | 𝗷𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻

prologue this is my Wattpad fiction with John Logan of Off Campus. Please go check the entire story; the profile is palletlunna_

graphic by me

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00. Changes and Other Minor Disasters

For the friendships that became family. And for the people who stayed. This chapter is for you.

────────────────────────────────────

Ella Menezes was officially tired of stairs.

Not in a poetic or metaphorical way. She was tired of actual stairs.

She stopped at the top of the last flight, leaning one of her suitcases against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. A loose strand of hair escaped the messy bun she'd thrown together for the trip and fell in front of her eyes. With a resigned sigh, she blew it away.

The suitcase seemed to have doubled in weight since she'd gotten out of the car.

Maybe it was the books. Actually, it was almost definitely the books. Her parents had suggested more than once that she didn't need to bring so many.

Ella disagreed.

Books were a basic necessity, right alongside water, food, and oxygen.

She adjusted the strap of her backpack, grabbed the suitcase again, and checked the number on the wall for the third time in less than a minute.

This was the room.

At least one thing was going right.

The hallway buzzed with activity. Open doors revealed families moving in and out of dorm rooms, students unloading boxes, and freshmen trying to act like they weren't completely terrified about starting college.

Ella understood the feeling perfectly.

She was seventeen.

Seventeen.

While most freshmen were already eighteen or nineteen, she'd earned her spot a little earlier than she'd been entirely comfortable with.

Not that she regretted it.

It was just...

Weird.

Really weird.

Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the dorm room and raised her hand to knock.

Once.

No answer.

She frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time.

Voices.

Lots of voices.

And what sounded suspiciously like an argument.

— I'm telling you, this top looks better!

— You said that about the last four!

— Because I was right about the last four!

Ella blinked.

Silence.

Then came a muffled thud.

Another one.

And suddenly, the door opened just a few inches.

Not because someone had opened it.

Because something flew through the gap and hit her square in the face.

Ella froze for a full second.

Then she looked down and found herself staring at...

A bra.

A blue bra.

She examined the piece of clothing as though she were trying to understand the laws of physics that had somehow allowed this to happen.

Inside the room, silence fell instantly.

— Oh my God.

The female voice was followed by hurried footsteps.

The door swung all the way open.

A blonde girl appeared first.

Her eyes went wide.

— Oh my God.

Ella had a feeling this probably wasn't the first time she'd said that today.

— I'm so sorry.

— Hannah, she's alive.

Another girl stepped into view behind her.

Brunette.

Energetic.

Entirely incapable of looking guilty for more than two seconds.

— Are you okay?

Ella looked at the bra still hanging from her hand, then back at the two strangers.

— Well...

She held it up.

— At least now I know I found the right room.

The two girls stared at her for half a second.

Then the brunette burst out laughing.

The blonde tried to hold it together.

She failed spectacularly.

— I'm Allie, the brunette announced between laughs. — And I'd like to say this has never happened before.

— She'd be lying, Hannah said.

— I would.

Ella couldn't help smiling.

The tension she'd been carrying since arriving on campus eased just a little.

Maybe she'd survive this.

Maybe this would actually work out.

— Ella.

— It's nice to meet you, Ella, Hannah said. — And I really am sorry.

— I believe you.

— I don't, Allie said.

Hannah shot her a murderous glare.

Allie ignored it.

— Come inside before another article of clothing decides to attack you.

Ella stepped in.

Her first impression of the place was simple.

Chaos.

There were open boxes, clothes scattered everywhere, sheets still in their packaging, one suitcase lying on its side with everything spilling out, and another sitting open on top of a bed.

It looked as though a small tornado had passed through.

— We're getting organized, Hannah assured her.

— We're losing to organization, Allie corrected before showing their new roommate her side of the room.

Her space.

Her new home.

It felt strange.

A good kind of strange.

But strange nonetheless.

As she looked around, she noticed Allie's gaze settle on her T-shirt.

— Wait.

Allie pointed.

— Is that The Parent Trap?

Ella glanced down at her shirt.

— Yeah.

— You like The Parent Trap?

Ella thought for a moment.

— I like pretending I'm going to meet my long-lost twin sister at summer camp.

Silence.

Allie blinked.

Hannah blinked too.

— Fair enough, Hannah said.

— That is officially the best answer you could've given, Allie declared.

And for the first time since arriving at Briar, Ella laughed.

A real laugh.

Maybe this new beginning wasn't going to be as frightening as she'd imagined.

────────────────────────────────────

tags:

[palletsun]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅'𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 | 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗱𝗶 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘀

part 1

aesthetic by me

The cabin felt far too small for five loud people. Especially when two of them were Garrett Graham and Dean Di Laurentis.

"I'M TELLING YOU, THAT'S CHEATING!"

"You literally made up a rule halfway through the game," Hannah shot back, pointing at Garrett with an indignant expression.

"Strategy isn't cheating, baby."

"You called an UNO Reverse card 'divine intervention.'"

"Because it was."

Sitting cross-legged on the rug by the fireplace, Olivia burst into laughter while Hannah dramatically collapsed onto the couch.

"I'm dating a child."

"You're dating an athlete," Logan corrected.

"Basically the same thing," Olivia replied.

Dean, sprawled across the armchair beside her, lifted his beer.

"Finally, someone sane in this house."

Outside, snow continued to fall in thick, heavy sheets, covering everything around the lake beneath a blanket of white. The dark sky, the wind rattling the windows, and the warmth of the fire made the whole cabin feel impossibly cozy.

Honestly?

It was the first time in weeks Olivia felt like she could breathe.

No exams.

No assignments.

No professors having meltdowns.

Just:

food,

wine,

snow,

and a bunch of idiots.

Mostly Dean.

She could feel his eyes on her again.

Slowly, Olivia turned her head.

Dean was already watching her, wearing that lazy half-smile that always seemed to promise trouble.

"You're staring at me again," she said.

Dean didn't even bother denying it.

"You look beautiful today."

Hannah immediately groaned.

"Ew."

Garrett pointed at the two of them.

"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"About what?"

"These weird romantic comedy vibes you two have."

Olivia grabbed a throw pillow and launched it at Garrett's face.

"Shut up."

Garrett laughed as Hannah practically threw herself onto him on the couch.

"No, seriously," she said, amused. "You two flirt all the time."

"She flirts with me," Dean replied casually.

Olivia slowly turned toward him.

"Dean."

"Am I wrong?"

"You have absolutely zero survival instincts."

A slow grin spread across his face.

Way too handsome.

Annoyingly handsome.

"Maybe I like living dangerously."

Hannah made a gagging noise.

"My God. That was so cheesy."

Garrett pressed a hand dramatically against his chest.

"And coming from Dean, no less."

"You write lovestruck Instagram captions," Dean fired back.

"Because I'm a man in love."

Olivia caught the exact moment Dean rolled his eyes.

But then...

something changed.

Tiny.

Quick.

Because Garrett had been joking.

But Dean went quiet for half a second.

And Olivia noticed.

Of course she noticed.

She always noticed the little things about him.

The way his smile faded ever so slightly.

The way his fingers tapped against the armrest.

The way his eyes flicked away from her just a little too quickly.

Weird.

Very weird.

"It's snowing even harder," Logan commented, glancing toward the window.

The storm really had picked up.

Huge flakes crashed against the glass, the wind swayed the trees surrounding the cabin, and the lake had nearly vanished beneath the snow.

Hannah pulled the blanket up to her chin.

"This has major horror movie energy. Like someone's definitely dying first."

Dean pointed at Garrett.

"Him."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately."

Garrett narrowed his eyes.

"You say 'unfortunately' exactly the way Olivia does."

Dean instinctively turned toward her.

And Olivia noticed the exact second he did it.

Automatic.

Natural.

Like breathing.

Hannah noticed too.

Her eyes widened just slightly before a slow smile spread across her face.

Oh no.

No.

Olivia knew that look.

It was Hannah Wells' I just found gossip face.

Maximum danger.

An hour later, Tucker and Logan had gone outside to grab more firewood while Garrett was trying to convince Dean he'd lose in a fight.

Which was ridiculous.

Dean would cheat first.

Olivia was in the kitchen pouring hot chocolate into mugs when Hannah quietly appeared beside her.

Far too quietly.

"You're terrifying."

Hannah completely ignored the comment.

"So."

Olivia sighed immediately.

"No."

"I haven't even asked anything yet."

"But you're going to."

"I am."

Olivia handed her a mug.

"Hannah..."

"You and Dean."

Olivia nearly burned her hand on the hot chocolate.

"What about us?"

Hannah stared at her for a long moment.

Then...

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You like him."

Olivia let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Hannah, he literally flirts with everyone."

"Yeah. But he doesn't look at everyone the way he looks at you."

Silence.

Olivia instinctively looked away.

Fatal mistake.

Because Hannah's eyes immediately went wide.

"YOU REALLY DO LIKE HIM."

"Keep your voice down!"

"Oh my God, Olivia!"

Olivia covered her face with both hands.

"This is humiliating."

Hannah started laughing.

"Wait. Since when?"

"I don't know."

"And him?"

Olivia opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

Because honestly?

She didn't know.

Dean was hard to read sometimes.

He hid everything behind jokes, smiles, and teasing remarks.

But lately...

Lately he'd seemed different.

More attentive.

Closer.

More intense.

And that scared her a little.

Before she could answer, Dean walked into the kitchen.

He immediately stopped when he noticed both of them staring at him.

"This feels like an emotional trap."

Hannah smiled with entirely too much innocence.

"We were talking about you."

Dean placed a hand dramatically over his chest.

"Finally. My cultural impact is being acknowledged."

Olivia rolled her eyes, trying to hide the sudden rush of nerves.

Dean walked calmly toward the counter, but his eyes went straight to her.

Like always.

Hannah watched the whole thing happen.

Then looked at Olivia.

Then at Dean.

And smiled with that infuriating expression of someone who had just figured everything out.

"I'm gonna head back to the living room before you two start aggressively flirting."

Dean frowned.

"'Aggressively flirting'?"

"You have the energy of the couple in a rom-com who can't stand each other."

"She loves me," Dean answered automatically.

Olivia slowly turned toward him.

"You're awfully confident today."

A slow smile spread across Dean's face.

"I have my reasons."

Her stomach did something incredibly stupid.

And Hannah literally walked out of the kitchen muttering,

"My God, they're ridiculous."

Later, the snow got so bad that no one even thought about leaving the cabin.

Garrett and Hannah had claimed half the couch.

Tucker was making popcorn.

Logan was trying to pick a movie while Dean made his life miserable purely for entertainment.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Olivia watched all of it.

And for the first time in a very long time...

It felt like home.

The noise.

The laughter.

The ridiculous arguments.

Garrett and Hannah fighting over a blanket.

Dean stealing Tucker's popcorn and pretending he had no idea what anyone was talking about.

She smiled to herself.

Then she realized Dean was watching her.

Again.

Only this time...

he didn't look away.

He just stayed there.

Watching her as though he'd completely forgotten everyone else in the room.

And Hannah, from the other side of the couch, noticed the exact same thing.

She slowly turned toward Garrett.

"Oh... he's screwed."

Garrett looked back and forth between Dean and Olivia.

Then he started laughing.

Quietly at first.

Then far too loudly.

Dean immediately narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Still laughing, Garrett pointed at him.

"You're in love."

Absolute silence.

Tucker froze with the bowl of popcorn in his hands.

Logan immediately lowered his head.

Hannah was practically burying her face against Garrett's shoulder to keep from laughing.

And Dean...

Dean didn't move.

Not even a little.

His eyes went straight to Olivia.

And for the first time since she'd known Dean Di Laurentis...

He looked nervous.

tags:

[afterhyundelight]

"Jane, I need you."

"It's nice to be needed. Anything for you, Lisbon."

[palletsun]

I'm jealous about everyone discovering The Mentalist, which I watch since the age of 8 years old 😭😭😭

appreciate my man above

[palletsun]

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔 | 𝗷𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻

The first thing Layla Monteiro heard when she opened the door to the hockey house was someone yelling,

“THROW WATER ON IT! THROW WATER ON IT!”

Followed immediately by,

“DON'T THROW WATER, YOU IDIOT, IT'S OIL!”

And then,

“I'M GOING TO DIE BECAUSE OF A LASAGNA!”

Layla stopped in the doorway, still holding the grocery bag Tucker had asked her to bring, while smoke poured out of the kitchen like the house was trying to divorce its own foundation.

For one whole second, nobody noticed she'd arrived, because: Garrett was waving a dish towel at the smoke detector, Dean was dramatically coughing like he'd inhaled toxic gas.

And Logan, holding a saucepan in one hand, looked like he was actively reconsidering every decision he'd ever made. Then Logan looked toward the front door.

And froze.

Layla's dark hair was dusted with tiny snowflakes, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and her oversized winter coat nearly swallowed her whole. She blinked slowly.

"...Should I come back later?"

Garrett immediately pointed at Dean.

"HIM."

"Traitor," Dean replied, deeply offended.

Tucker appeared from the kitchen carrying two grocery bags. Then stopped.

"Why is there smoke coming out of my kitchen?"

Silence. Dean slowly raised one hand.

"Before you get mad..."

"You burned the lasagna?!"

"Technically, it caught fire by itself."

"DEAN!"

Layla burst out laughing. Not one of those polite little laughs, a real laugh. The kind that made her shoulders shake. And Logan would've sworn it was easily one of his favorite sounds on earth.

Even if nobody could ever know that. Because nobody knew about them, the stolen kisses, the two a.m. texts, the hands intertwined beneath the table, the countless times they had "accidentally" ended up alone after parties. None of it.

And honestly? Logan was getting tired of pretending.

"I asked for ONE thing," Tucker complained while turning off the oven. "ONE thing, Dean."

"I got distracted."

Garrett snorted before ratting him out.

"He was making out with a girl upstairs."

Layla raised an eyebrow.

"While the kitchen was on fire?"

Dean spread his arms dramatically.

"Love requires sacrifice."

"You don't even remember the girl's name," Garrett teased.

"That's irrelevant."

"You're irrelevant."

Dean pointed at Layla.

"See? Toxic environment."

Still laughing, Layla set the grocery bags down on the counter.

"My God. Do you guys actually live like this all the time?"

"Unfortunately," Tucker sighed. "And now my lasagna is dead."

Layla glanced at the blackened baking dish sitting on the stove.

"Well... there's still time to make something else."

Tucker practically came back to life.

"You brought what I asked for?"

She lifted one of the bags.

"I did."

"I love this woman."

Tucker threw both hands into the air before wrapping her in a grateful hug.

Logan, still standing by the sink, muttered far too quietly,

"...Me too."

Garrett's head snapped toward him.

"What?"

Logan nearly died.

"I love food too," he answered much too quickly.

Dean slowly narrowed his eyes.

"Interesting."

Layla bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Because Logan was absolutely panicking, and she loved every second of it. Forty minutes later, the kitchen had become significantly less hazardous.

Layla and Tucker worked side by side, cooking together while the other three somehow managed to be more of a hindrance than a help. She'd decided to teach Tucker how to make escondidinho de carne seca. Because, according to her,

"If you guys are planning to survive college on nothing but protein shakes and instant noodles, I need to intervene."

"That smells ridiculously good," Garrett commented.

"That's because real food exists, Graham."

"Hey, I eat real food."

She glanced at the giant tub of protein powder sitting on the counter.

"Sure you do. Whenever Tucker cooks."

Leaning against the refrigerator, Logan let out a quiet laugh. Layla immediately looked over at him. Mistake.

Huge mistake.

Because John Logan smiling like that, all lazy and effortless, should honestly be classified as an emotional weapon. She hated the effect he had on her. Especially since she had to pretend everything was perfectly normal.

And Logan wasn't helping. Not even a little. Because every single time she said something, he looked at her like she'd just personally invented the cure for sadness.

Idiot.

Dean wandered over, stealing a handful of shredded cheese. Tucker smacked his hand with the wooden spoon.

"Stop stealing my ingredients!"

"I'm a simple man."

"You're a parasite."

Garrett lifted the lid off the pot.

"Can I taste it?"

"No."

"Just a little."

"No."

"Dictatorship."

Layla laughed as she stirred the sauce.

"You guys are worse than children."

"And you still like us anyway," Dean replied.

She opened her mouth to answer, but Logan beat her to it.

"She clearly needs therapy."

Layla slowly turned toward him.

"So you're taking their side now?"

"I'm taking the truth's side."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Fine. Then you don't get to eat."

Logan's eyes immediately widened.

"That was low."

"Very low," Garrett agreed.

Tucker watched the two of them for a few seconds before sighing dramatically.

"You two flirt so loudly I'm losing track of the recipe."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Dean slowly turned his head.

Garrett blinked several times.

Layla nearly dropped the spoon.

And Logan simply closed his eyes like a man exhausted by his own existence.

"Tucker..." he began.

"I'm just saying."

"Nothing's going on," Layla answered far too quickly.

Dean burst into laughter.

"Well, now there definitely is."

"Shut up."

"Logan's blushing."

"I AM NOT."

Garrett looked at him.

"Dude... you're really blushing."

Layla had to turn around because she was seconds away from laughing again. This was a disaster. A very beautiful disaster.

The snow had really started coming down by the time they finished eating.

Outside, the wind rattled against the windows.

The entire street was disappearing beneath a blanket of white.

And Tucker's phone wouldn't stop buzzing with weather alerts.

"Alright," Garrett said, glancing out the window. "Nobody's leaving tonight."

Layla sighed.

"My luck is incredible."

"There's no way in hell you're driving in this," Logan replied immediately.

Too quickly.

Far too concerned.

Dean's gaze slowly shifted between the two of them.

Interested.

Very interested.

Layla crossed her arms.

"I'll survive."

"That's probably exactly what people said before getting into accidents," Garrett pointed out.

"You're dramatic."

"You're staying here," Tucker decided. "End of discussion."

And honestly?

Layla wasn't all that interested in arguing.

Because her apartment suddenly seemed a lot less appealing than this warm, noisy, chaotic house.

Especially when Logan looked at her like that.

Like she was something precious.

"You guys live like animals."

That's what Layla said two hours later, standing in the middle of the living room while the four of them argued over what movie to watch.

Dean wanted an action movie.

Garrett wanted a comedy.

Tucker wanted literally anything without explosions.

And Logan kept saying, "I don't care," while very obviously hating every single one of Dean's suggestions.

So Layla took control.

"You're all watching a Brazilian movie."

"That sounds like a threat," Garrett replied.

"Because it is."

She put on Elite Squad.

And immediately regretted it.

Because:

Dean started repeating Portuguese lines with an absolutely terrible accent.

Garrett asked a question every five minutes.

Tucker was doing his best to keep up with the subtitles.

And Logan...

Logan just kept looking at her.

She noticed halfway through one of the scenes.

Turned her head.

And found his eyes already on her.

Steady.

Soft.

Like he'd completely forgotten there was even a movie playing.

Her heart stumbled violently.

She arched an eyebrow.

Logan answered with a lazy little smile.

Idiot.

Complete idiot.

By the time the second movie ended, Tucker had fallen asleep in the armchair.

Garrett was complaining about being tired as he headed upstairs.

Dean pointed at the two of them before disappearing down the hallway.

"You two are suspicious."

"Goodnight, Dean," Logan answered immediately.

"Very suspicious."

Then he was gone.

The living room fell quiet.

Only the television cast a soft glow across the room.

Outside, the snow kept falling in thick sheets.

And suddenly, the couch felt much smaller than it had before.

Layla pulled the blanket higher over her legs.

"I think he's starting to figure it out."

"Dean can smell trouble from a mile away."

She laughed softly.

Then she felt Logan's shoulder brush against hers.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Her heart started racing all over again.

"Tired?" he asked quietly.

"A little."

"Come here, then."

She turned to look at him.

"Logan..."

"You were practically falling asleep sitting up."

She hesitated for two seconds.

Then she gave in.

Resting her head against his shoulder.

His arm settled around her.

And that was it.

She was never going to have emotional peace again.

Because Logan immediately went completely still.

Utterly still.

Like he was terrified of ruining the moment.

She smiled against his T-shirt.

"Relax."

"I am relaxed."

An outrageous lie.

She could feel how fast his heart was beating from where she was.

The room stayed quiet for several minutes.

Comfortable.

Warm.

Intimate.

Until Logan spoke.

Very softly.

"I'm tired of hiding this."

Her chest tightened.

She slowly lifted her head.

He was already looking at her.

Serious now.

Vulnerable.

And that was rare.

Very rare.

"I know this was supposed to be casual," he murmured. "But I like you so damn much, Layla."

That was it.

She died.

Officially.

"And honestly..." He let out a nervous laugh. "It's starting to drive me crazy pretending I can't do this."

Then he cupped her face.

And kissed her.

Slowly at first.

Warm.

Careful.

But only for a few seconds.

Because Layla grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him closer, and Logan laughed against her lips before kissing her properly.

Like someone who'd been waiting far too long for that moment.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both smiling like complete idiots.

"So..." Layla whispered. "Was that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?"

Logan rubbed the back of his neck.

"Maybe."

"Worst confession in history."

"I can try again."

She smiled.

Logan gently took her hand between both of his, and for the first time all night, he looked genuinely nervous.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

Outside, the storm kept tearing through Hastings.

But inside that warm living room, filled with the smell of homemade food, brigadeiros, and the quiet sound of a movie still playing on the TV...

Layla realized she'd probably never felt more at home.

image from: pinterest one shot by me aesthetic of the top by me

If you wanna read more, check my Wattpad page, my user is palletlunna_

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔:

[palletsun]

Esta Não é Uma História de Amor | 𝗷𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻 (on Wattpad) Hey guys, this is my story on Wattpad. Can you please give me some support? I made this story with my heart, even if you doesn’t understand the language can you vote on the cap? https://www.wattpad.com/story/412326970-esta-n%C3%A3o-%C3%A9-uma-hist%C3%B3ria-de-amor-%F0%9D%97%B7%F0%9D%97%BC%F0%9D%97%B5%F0%9D%97%BB-%F0%9D%97%B9%F0%9D%97%BC%F0%9D%97%B4%F0%9D%97%AE%F0%9D%97%BB?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=palletlunna_ Esta não é uma história de amor. É uma história sobre livros marcados com post-its coloridos. Sobre tinta espalhada pelos dedos. Sobre receitas escritas em guardanapos. Sobre fotografias tortas. Sobre músicas cantadas baixinho quando ninguém está ouvindo. Sobre murais cheios de memórias. Sobre uma garota tentando descobrir quem quer ser. É uma história sobre crescer longe de casa. Sobre guardar coisas demais. Sobre perder algumas pessoas e encontrar outras pelo caminho. E sobre um jogador de hóquei extremamente irritante que parece aparecer em todos os lugares. Mas definitivamente não é uma história de amor. Ou pelo menos é isso que Ella Menezes continua repetindo para si mesma. john logan x oc iniciada: 03/07/2026 finalizada: ? capa por: voidlacy / laryzyx todos os direitos reservados @palletlunna_

[palletsun]

This is not a love story | 𝗷𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻

This is a little excerpt from my Wattpad fanfic, enjoy this little taste, sweeties 💕

At that moment, however, she had exactly twenty minutes to get ready.

Which should have been enough.

Should have.

Ella opened her closet and started looking for an outfit that didn’t look like it had been chosen by someone with absolutely no coordination skills. Five minutes later, she had already ruled out half of her options and regretted not getting ready earlier with Allie’s help.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to herself.

That was exactly when someone knocked on the front door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Ella froze.

Then came the voice.

“I know you’re in there.”

She closed her eyes, and the voice repeated:

“This isn’t going to work.”

Her answer came immediately.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know because you use that line every week.”

“And I’m still trying.”

With a resigned sigh, Ella left her room and opened the door.

Dean Di Laurentis was standing in the hallway with a backpack hanging from one shoulder and an expression that suggested he had been deeply offended by the existence of that morning.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“Exactly.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to me.”

Dean walked past her without hesitation, as if the house belonged to him, or at least partially belonged to him.

“Is there food?” he asked while heading straight to the kitchen.

“You didn’t even say hi.”

“Is there food?”

Ella closed the door behind him.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Dean opened one cabinet, then another, then the fridge.

Then his eyes landed on the cake.

“I knew I liked you.”

“You’ve known me for almost two years.”

“And I’m still finding reasons.”

Before she could even respond, he was already grabbing a slice.

“You’re a parasite.”

“And you cook really well.”

“That’s not an argument.”

“It’s an excellent argument.”

Dean settled onto one of the kitchen stools and pointed his fork at her.

“Why aren’t you ready yet?”

“Because I have time.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Dean.”

“Ella.”

“Class starts in forty minutes.”

“And I like getting there early.”

Ella stared at him.

“You literally just complained about being awake at ten in the morning.”

“Those are different things.”

“They’re not.”

“They are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head.

Some things never changed.

Ella crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head slightly to the side, watching Dean finish another bite of cake like he was getting paid to do it.

“So stop complaining that I’m not ready and come help me,” she said, pointing toward the door of her room.

Dean looked up at her and slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Help with what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Pick an outfit.”

The hockey player placed a hand over his chest, putting on an exaggerated offended expression.

“Sweetheart, at least take me to dinner first.”

Ella showed no reaction other than a completely bored stare.

“I’d rather eat glass.”

“Cruel,” Dean mumbled, shaking his head in disapproval as he took another bite of cake.

“Realistic,” she replied without missing a beat.

Dean pressed his lips together in a dramatic expression.

“You break my heart.”

Ella narrowed her eyes.

“You have a heart?”

He pointed the fork at himself.

“Some people say I do.”

“Do those people actually know you?” she asked while starting to collect the plates from the counter.

Dean placed a hand over his chest again.

“That was personal.”

“That was the intention.”

“See?” He pointed the fork at her like he was presenting undeniable evidence. “That’s why you’re going to end up alone.”

Ella let out a small scoff.

“And yet I’m still the least annoying person in this conversation.”

“Disagree,” he answered immediately.

“Nobody asked.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

Ella rolled her eyes and walked away from the kitchen.

“Are you coming or not?”

Dean stared at the stairs for a second, pretending to seriously consider the situation.

“I’m evaluating my reputation and whether it’s worth entering a girl’s bedroom.”

“Dean, everyone knows you don’t have one. You just don’t eat electrical outlets because they shock you.”

A smile immediately appeared on his face.

“Fair enough.”

He got up from the stool, picking up the plate with the slice of cake like it was a priceless possession.

“But if anyone asks, I want it on record that I was dragged into your room against my will.”

Ella was already halfway there when she looked back.

“If anyone asks, I’ll say you followed me because of food.”

Dean pointed his fork at her.

“Because that is exactly what happened.”

“I know.”

If you want to read more, my Wattpad username is palletlunna_

[palletsun]

Esta não é uma história de amor | 𝗷𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻

esse é um trecho da minha fanfic no wattpad, aproveitem essa degustação xuxus

Naquele momento, porém, ela tinha exatamente vinte minutos para se arrumar.

O que deveria ser suficiente.

Deveria.

Ella abriu o armário e começou a procurar alguma roupa que não parecesse ter sido escolhida por alguém sem coordenação motora. Cinco minutos depois, já tinha descartado metade das opções e se arrependeu de não ter se arrumado antes com ajuda de Allie

— Isso é ridículo. — murmurou para si mesma.

Foi exatamente nesse momento que alguém bateu na porta da frente.

Uma vez.

Duas.

Três.

Ella congelou.

Então veio a voz.

— Eu sei que você está aí.

Ela fechou os olhos e a voz repetiu

— Isso não vai funcionar.

A resposta dela veio imediatamente.

— Você não sabe disso.

— Eu sei porque você usa essa frase toda semana.

— E ainda estou tentando.

Com um suspiro resignado, Ella saiu do quarto, abriu a porta.

Dean Di Laurentis estava parado no corredor com uma mochila pendurada em um ombro e uma expressão que sugeria que havia sido profundamente ofendido pela existência daquela manhã.

— Você parece cansado.

— Estou cansado.

— São dez horas.

— Exatamente.

— Isso não faz sentido.

— Faz para mim.

Dean passou por ela sem cerimônia, como se a casa fosse dele, ou pelo menos parcialmente dele.

— Tem comida? — perguntou enquanto caminhava direto para a cozinha.

— Você nem disse oi.

— Tem comida?

Ella fechou a porta atrás de si.

— Você é inacreditável.

— Isso não responde minha pergunta.

Dean abriu um armário, depois outro, depois a geladeira.

Então seus olhos encontraram o bolo.

— Eu sabia que gostava de você.

— Você me conhece há quase dois anos.

— E continuo encontrando motivos.

Antes mesmo que ela pudesse responder, ele já estava pegando uma fatia.

— Você é um parasita.

— E você cozinha muito bem.

— Isso não é um argumento.

— É um excelente argumento.

Dean se acomodou em uma das banquetas da cozinha e apontou o garfo para ela.

— Por que você ainda não está pronta?

— Porque eu tenho tempo.

— Não tem.

— Tenho sim.

— Não tem.

— Dean.

— Ella.

— A aula começa em quarenta minutos.

— E eu gosto de chegar cedo.

Ella ficou olhando para ele.

— Você acabou de reclamar por estar acordado às dez da manhã.

— São assuntos diferentes.

— Não são.

— São sim.

— Não.

— Sim.

Ela balançou a cabeça.

Algumas coisas nunca mudavam.

Ella cruzou os braços diante do peito e inclinou levemente a cabeça para o lado, observando Dean terminar mais uma garfada do bolo como se estivesse sendo pago para aquilo.

— Então para de reclamar que eu não to pronta e vem me ajudar. — Ela disse, apontando para a porta do quarto dela

Dean ergueu os olhos para ela e arqueou uma sobrancelha lentamente.

— Ajudar com o quê? — perguntou com desconfiança.

— Escolher uma roupa.

O jogador levou uma das mãos ao peito, assumindo uma expressão de falsa ofensa.

— Gatinha, pelo menos me leva para jantar primeiro.

Ella não demonstrou qualquer reação além de um olhar completamente entediado.

— Eu prefiro comer vidro.

— Cruel. — Dean murmurou, balançando a cabeça em desaprovação enquanto levava outra garfada à boca.

— Realista. — Ela rebateu sem perder o ritmo.

Dean apertou os lábios numa expressão dramática.

— Você parte meu coração.

Ella estreitou os olhos.

— Você tem um coração?

Ele apontou o garfo para si mesmo.

— Algumas pessoas dizem que sim.

— Essas pessoas te conhecem? — perguntou enquanto começava a recolher os pratos da bancada. Dean levou a mão ao peito novamente.

— Isso foi pessoal.

— Era a intenção.

— Viu? — Ele apontou o garfo na direção dela como se estivesse apresentando uma prova irrefutável. — É por isso que você vai acabar sozinha.

Ella soltou uma risada nasal.

— E ainda assim eu sou a menos irritante desta conversa.

— Discordo. — respondeu imediatamente.

— Ninguém perguntou.

— Isso nunca me impediu antes.

Ella revirou os olhos e se afastou da cozinha.

— Você vem ou não?

Dean observou a escada por um segundo, fingindo ponderar seriamente a situação.

— Estou avaliando minha reputação, se vale a pena entrar no quarto de uma menina.

— Dean, todo mundo sabe que você não tem uma, você só não come a tomada porque dá choque

Um sorriso surgiu imediatamente no rosto dele.

— Justo.

Ele se levantou da banqueta, pegando o prato com a fatia de bolo como se fosse um bem precioso.

— Mas se alguém perguntar, quero deixar registrado que fui atraído para o quarto contra a minha vontade.

Ella já estava na metade do caminho quando olhou para trás.

— Se alguém perguntar, vou dizer que você me seguiu por comida.

Dean apontou o garfo para ela.

— Porque foi exatamente isso que aconteceu.

— Eu sei.

Se quiserem ler mais meu user no wattpad é palletlunna_

[zendeyas]

Zendaya wearing MATIERES – New York premiere of The Odyssey

[palletsun]

Between Silence and Light

There is a kind of peace that only arrives after the storm, when even the wind learns to speak softly.

Flowers never rush the spring. They simply remain, roots steady, petals open, trusting that the light will find its way.

Maybe this is what it means to live: to keep blooming even on the days when the sky forgets its color.

And still, morning always returns, as if it had never stopped believing in us.

palletsun

[estudandoarte]

Waterlilies

Claude Monet, 1904