someone

just another swiftie in love with marvel who sometimes writes shit | 23 she/her

[readerhead]

Masterlist

Hi pretty soul! First of all, as i always say, English is not my first language so feel free to correct any mistakes (as long as you're not rude or mean ofc). I don't know if what I do could be considered as writing, but I do it because sometimes I have these oddly specific scenarios and I don't find any fanfics that adjust to them and I thought maybe someone would like them too so I share them. I hope you enjoy them! :)

Matt Murdock:

The fella over there

All along

The project

Hits different

The devil I know

Stiles Stilinski:

Invisible string

Seth Cohen:

Locked up feelings ode

Also, I don't know if I should upload them in ao3, I use it really often so I'm hesitant. Anyways, I still need my fake scenarios to sleep so I'll write more.

Current character addictions

P.S.: Interacting with them (specially reblogs) is really appreciated and makes me feel more motivated, but obviously you don't have to if you don’t want.

[readerhead]

why do I get the vibe that antonio cipriano is like a mix of andrew garfield and matthew gray gubler

i mean, it tracks giving i obsessed over all of them

[rosiecherie]

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐓…

not because he knows it makes you flustered, but because he genuinely thinks there's nothing prettier than looking at you while you're talking. if you're telling him about your day, rambling about a class, or explaining something you're excited about, he's completely focused on you. his eyes never leave yours, and somehow that only makes you more nervous.

you've always been a little shy.

even now, almost a year into your relationship, you still struggle to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds before you're looking down at your lap with a little smile tugging at your lips.

the first time he noticed, he honestly thought it was adorable. "baby."

you looked up from your coffee with a quiet hum. the second your eyes met his, your cheeks started warming.

he smiled to himself. "ah, there she is."

"what?" you asked quietly, your eyes looking away, then back at him. "just wanted you to look at me” he smiles.

you let out a giggle before looking back down at your cup. "you're so weird."

he leaned his elbows onto the table, resting his chin in his hand as he continued smiling at you. "you're just really pretty."

your face only got warmer. "john.."

"what?" he asked innocently, his eyes big as he looked at you. "i'm being serious, honey."

you shook your head, looking down to hide your little smile, while he laughed softly to himself. after that, it became something he noticed all the time.

whenever the two of you were sitting together, he'd catch himself watching you instead of whatever movie or show was playing in the background. if you looked over and caught him, he'd never look away. he'd just smile that pretty smile that made your stomach flip every single time. "why are you looking at me like that?"

"'cause i love looking at you, duh" he said so casually.

"you're making me feel nervous, john." you barely got out as you became flustered.

"good thing i'm not planning on stopping."

there was one specific evening, the two of you were curled up on his bed after dinner, your head resting against his shoulder while he played with your hand, the tips of fingers running over your freshly done nails. you looked up to tell him something, only to find him already looking down at you.

not saying anything. just..looking. his thumb kept slowly rubbing over the back of your hand while his eyes stayed on yours. he seemed so serious about it too.

"what is it?" you whispered.

he smiled widely. "nothin, baby'."

"then why are you staring at me?"

he shrugged a little, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "because i missed you today. like a lot. i literally could not stop thinking about you for even a minute."

you felt your heart melt, this boy literally had you down bad for him, "you saw me this morning."

"yeah," he murmured, still smiling, "and then i had to wait a six whole hours to see you again."

you laughed quietly, shaking your head. "you're literally so dramatic."

he reached up, gently tilting your chin with two fingers when you instinctively looked away again. his finger traced your cheek, he mumbled under his breath quietly, “so fucking pretty.”

your eyes slowly found his once more. you tried so hard to keep looking at him, but after a few seconds you couldn't help smiling and dropping your gaze again.

he laughed under his breath before leaning down to press the softest kiss against your forehead.

"you know," he whispered, "one day you're actually gonna look at me for longer than five seconds."

you smiled into his hoodie. "don't get your hopes up, johnny."

he wrapped both arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your cheek was tucked against his chest. "i've got forever to wait, sweetheart."

~ ~ ~

based off this request! i literally love writing john logan fluff sooo much 🥺🥰

[readerhead]

I’M NOT OKAY, FIRST STEPHEN’S AD FOR VERIZON AND NOW ANTONIO’S FOR NESPRESSO

that’s literally what I dream to wake up to in the mornings every night, my god I’m truly unwellsy rn

[readerhead]

artists that i think the music director of off campus should consider for season two as they are into more indie/less known artists:

- alessi rose

- hannah grae

- cate

- eileen alister

- ethel cain

- maisie peters

- ashe (or the favors)

- towa bird

- reneé rapp

I know the last two are a bit ironic given the circumstances lol but I still think they fit the vibe quite perfectly

and yes, I’m aware they’re all women but tbh I don’t listen that much to men’s stuff (I’m not even sorry about this, they should step up, girls are the present and future of music)

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ gasoline, pretty please

john logan x reader

summary: you ask logan for his help after your car's ac stops working, and things certainly get heated. 1,9k words. requested!

warnings: smut! mdni! fingering, grinding, piv. protected sex!

Your problem with John Logan is that not only he is very talented with his hands, but he also looks really fucking hot putting them to good use, even if it’s not how you imagined him to.

“It seems to be a compressor issue,” he says, wrist deep into your car’s engine as he inspects it, “Could be only electrical, but you should definitely check the clutch as well.”

You hum, slurping on a milkshake as you sit behind the wheel, “I think you mean you should check the clutch,” you say, a teasing bite in your tone that makes his lips curve in a subtle smile, “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” he says, reaching up to grab the car hood. 

Logan keeps his hands up there, his undershirt riding up just enough for you to see his midriff skin. You can’t tell if it’s intentional, but if the smirk on his face is any indication, he knows what he’s doing, “It’s not like you to be the damsel in distress type.” 

You drag your eyes up again, “Yeah, but I don’t even know what a clutch is, so.” 

“Fair,” he says, slamming down the car hood. He barely cleans his hands before swiping them over his forehead, failing to get rid of the sweat, “Would you take it inside? I’ll drive it to the autoshop tomorrow, first thing in the morning— It’s just too fucking hot today.”

You shrug, putting the sweaty cup aside as you shut the car door closed, turning the key. The heatwave that has been terrorizing Massachusetts was the sole reason for you to beg Logan for him to check why your AC wasn’t working, and it’s making it impossible for anyone to be outside, especially doing handwork like he is. It’s only fair that you allow him the comfort of doing it later at the shop. 

So you wait for him to open the door for you and back into the boy’s garage, a room big enough to fit a bunch of boxes, training equipment, a little sink where Logan now washes his hands and all four of their cars, though right now only Logan’s pickup truck is there.

“You’re home alone?” 

Logan hums, “Dean’s in New York with Beau, Tuck and Garrett went to Boston for the weekend.” 

“Oh, Boston’s so nice this time of year,” you say, “Very windy. Didn’t you want to go with them?”

“Hm, I– Couldn’t.” he clears his throat, opening the passenger door, “Turn the AC on for me? I wanna hear the noise.”

“Yes, sir.” You say, watching the left corner of his mouth twitches slightly, just enough for you to catch it. 

It’s fun to flirt with Logan, you think. There’s a tension in the air between you two, always present. In your lingering touches under innocent hugs, sustained eye contact during casual conversations — always, always there, like fog surrounding your true intentions. But in moments like this, when you’re all alone and there’s no way around it, where you feel the hazyness clearing up and your feelings growing stronger, a pull from your guts in his direction. 

You keep thinking he feels it too, wondering if the raggedy noise coming from the AC is the only reason why he’s sitting next to you on the passenger seat.

“Oh, that’s fucked,” he says, eyes widening in a way that makes you bite back a laugh. He turns the AC off again, “Yeah, I’ll definitely check the clutch tomorrow.”

You groan, head dropping onto the headrest. “This is awful.”

He chuckles, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It's bad timing. Summer has just started— We have a new heatwave coming every other week.”

“And I’ll get it checked before Monday.” He says, his hand dropping on your shoulder, squeezing in a reassuring way, “Just chill, alright? I’ll fix that.”

You look up at him, eyes traveling up his arms until they find his face, his big eyes staring at you in all their glory, no hair falling on them since it’s all pulled back under a red bandana, a smear of grease right below it being the cherry on top. 

You smile, your own hand moving to his face, thumb pressing on his forehead to smudge it clean. Your fingertips move down to his under his jaw, “You look nice in a stubble,” you mutter, “Frames your face.”

Logan relaxes under your touch, his eyes closing, “I was going to Boston too,” he says, voice barely there.

“Hm?” 

“With Tuck and Garrett. I was going with them this morning,” he says, head moving so his chin rubs against your palm, a gentle tickling, “Then you called, and– Well.”

“Wait,” you feel your breath catching, “You stayed back just to help me?”

“Yeah.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing for him to do, because it might just be, “It’s you, y’know?”

Your thumb stops moving across his cheek, staying still as you process what he just said. It’s such a show of his attention towards you, that just like that, the fog that once hid your feelings has now lifted completely — you see Logan clearly in all his intentions, and you desperately want to kiss him. 

Your other hand moves to grab his face too, pulling him to you. 

Logan keeps his eyes shut, but he finds your mouth quite easily, like the image of you it’s printed on his memory. He bends over the console, pressing his lips to yours as his hand moves to the back of your head, keeping you close to him as you kiss, and kiss, and kiss, his mouth moving from your lips, across your cheek to your ear, “Baby,” he murmurs, “come here.”

His hands move to the small of your back, urging you to lift up from the driver’s seat and cross over the car center, your knees on the passenger’s seat astriding him. 

Logan wraps his arms around you, moving up to get his mouth onto yours again, desperate. 

“Been wanting this since forever,” he mutters against your lips, a line of open mouth kisses under your jaw and down to your neck. You throw your head back, mouth gaping as you let out a delicious groan. Logan smiles between kisses, “That good?”

“Shut up,” you answer through gritted teeth. 

Your hands drop to the hem of your shirt, quickly pulling it up under Logan’s stare, his rough hands caressing your sides. Your fingers move to the back of his neck, lifting his head for him to look at your face, “Just keep kissing me?”

He nods, blown eyes watching your every expression as he takes his own shirt off, the loose bandana falling off his hair with it. You giggle at his urgency, your laugh turning into a gasp as Logan runs his tongue against your collarbone, pressing kisses on your cleavage. 

Logan’s hands grab your waist, guiding your hips front and back, pressing you against his lap. He uses your jeans seams to his advantage, the friction nearly driving you insane, your moans driving him insane. “Fuck,” he murmurs, and you kiss him again, thrusting, “fuck, honey.” 

“Logan,” you pant, “Logan, please.” “Please what, baby?” He says, chin resting on your chest as he stares up, “Tell me what you need. I’ll give it to you, anything.”

You groan, his hips jumping up,  “Logan, ah– Please, fuck me?”

His head drops to your shoulder, a warm breath hitting your skin as he huffs, “Fuck, yeah. Yeah, honey. Lift up for me?”

You hover over his lap, his talented fingers finally to good use. Not any tools, not your stupid car engine, but quickly undoing your jeans and pushing them down, just enough for him to fit his hand.

Logan moves his thumb over your panties until he finds your clit, rubbing in slow circles as your eyes flutter closed, a raggedy sound coming out of your mouth, “Logan, babe–”

He shushes you, a quick peck on your lips, “Let me have you like this for a second,”

he mutters, “Yeah? Just watch you for a moment.”

You nod, head dropping to his shoulder. Logan uses his pointer to pull your panties aside, middle finger finding your slit, “You’re soaked, baby,” he says, and you whine.

“You’re such a fucking tease, did you know that?”

He chuckles, “I’ll stop,” he says, but god, you don’t want him to. 

You feel a tightness building your underbelly, a fire that moves down your body growing stronger with every one of his touches, and it all feels so fucking good, you think you could melt with it. 

Logan takes his hand out of your jeans, hand on your thighs to lift you again, “Gotta take these out, yeah?”

You hum, watching as he pulls your jeans and panties out, then moves to undo his pants as well, “You have a condom?”

“Uh,” he looks around, eyes widening, “In my wallet, but it’s inside the house, I think.”

You twist around to face the dashboard, opening the glove box. “I might have some.”

A surprised laugh escapes his mouth, “You keep condoms in your glovebox?”

“I keep hygiene utensils in my glovebox. It just happens that condoms are one too.” You answer, “What about a thank you instead?”

Logan presses his lips on your upperarm, “Thank you so fucking much, really,” he says, taking the condom out of your hands and ripping it open, “You sure you wanna do it?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “Yes, pl—”

He kisses you again, swallowing your plea. He won’t let you say it, there’s only so much teasing he can do. Logan presses into you, hands guiding you down slowly.

It’s like throwing gasoline into the fire in your pit. You moan against Logan’s lips, his mouth opening up to kiss you. You keep moving your hips while he helps you with your slow, steady pacing, until that won’t do anymore.

“Logan,” you whimper, “faster, please.”

His hands squeeze your sides, panting with you, “Oh, fuck, baby–”

“Faster?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “Just— Fuck,”

Your hands go for his shoulders for balance, and you start moving faster and faster. Logan’s head drops as he lets out a moan, “Babe—”

“I know,” you say, lips pressing against his entire face in clumsy, wet kisses, “Please, I’m close too.”

He starts thrusting harder, arms wrapping around your waist to keep your bodies joined completely, nose pressed against your neck. You feel the warmth overtaking you, your legs faltering as you wail out Logan’s name, mouth sinking down on his, a deep kiss as he follows you down the fire.

It takes a more gentle touch from him to pull you from your blissed out state, “Baby,” he mutters against your skin, “You okay?”

You hum, cheek pressed to his shoulder, “Fucking great.”

“Yeah?” Logan’s half-moon eyes stare down at you. Laying down on the car seat, he maneuvers you to join him, pulling you in an improvised cuddle on such a limited space. 

Logan brushes his fingers over your cheek, a peck here and there, “If you want to,” he starts, “We can go inside, maybe take a shower.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still greasy,” you answer, and Logan laughs, rubbing his face against your arms as if to pass it to you. You yelp, pushing him gently, then saying in a softer tone, “In a minute, yeah? I’d like to lay here for a minute longer.”

His lips turn into a smile, “Yeah. I’d like that too.” He says, resting his chin on your shoulder, “Stay the night too?”

“Yeah. Of course,” you say, pulling his hand for a kiss, “But we’re driving to the shop in the morning. Next time I want the AC on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He mutters, then lifts his head a little, “Do you still have that milkshake lying around? I could use a sip.”

You giggle, thinking the poor thing’s probably all melted now. Not that you’re much different.

notes: thank you for reading! i'm still a bit stiff with writing smut so please be nice to me. requests are open, likes reblogs and thoughts are appreciated! <3

john logan masterlist

[johnloganswife]

girls need love

john logan x female reader

summary: y/n has been waiting for logan, who stayed late after practice. mesmerised by how hot he looks, she's suddenly desperate for him, right now. warnings: entirely smut, established relationship, sex in public (nobody around), fingering, penetrative sex, lots of praising (m to f), logan whimpering a little word count: 1794 an: by accident the whole 'girls need love' song by summer walker ft. drake is highkey the situation in this fic lol if you haven't heard it, it's fire, go listen!

Practice ended thirty minutes ago.

I’ve been sitting in the stands waiting patiently for thirty minutes, but I’m growing tired. The place is empty, not a single noise around besides that of Logan on the ice.

My boyfriend, being the anxious perfectionist he is, won’t stop his laps around the rink. Whether he’s taking shots or working on his speed, it’s all becoming a blur and making my head spin.

I begin walking closer to the edge of the rink; Logan notices and slows down, skating towards me.

“John, I’m tired, how long are you gonna be?” I call out.

As he reaches the wall of the rink where I’m standing, he takes off his helmet, whipping his hair back and out of his face.

Fuck, that was hot.

Damp and curly from sweat, his dark hair frames his slightly flushed face beautifully. He looks so masculine in his gear, shoulders broad and strong. The skates also make him taller, so he’s towering over me more than usual.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he looks at me with his big brown eyes, “I don’t know how long I’m gonna take. I just wanna practice until I feel more confident.”

He leans forward, resting his arms on the wall to the side of me. His voice barely registers in my head because I’m so mesmerised by how he looks right now. Shoving my dirty thoughts to the back of my mind, I focus my attention on what he’s just said.

“You work ten times harder than anybody else on this team,” I start, placing my hand on his gloved one, “So, you should be ten times more confident than them too. John, I promise you are so talented. Maybe practice didn’t go how you wanted today, but that doesn’t define you as a player. You shouldn’t overwork yourself, my love. You need to rest.”

Letting out a deep sigh, he releases some of the tension in his shoulders. His doe eyes find mine again and I could just swoon at the sight.

“You’re so perfect,” he breathes, wrapping an arm around my waist, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I smile before he leans in and gives me a gentle kiss.

The familiar feeling of his lips on mine drains the last bit of self control left in me right now.

“Would now be a bad time to say, ‘I really need you’?” I ask shyly.

He raises an eyebrow, unsure if he’s understanding me correctly.

“John,” I say quietly, looking up at him through my lashes, “I need you.”

Realisation settles in his features.

“Practice can wait,” he shrugs, a grin taking over his face.

Wasting no time, I pull him close, our lips colliding. Logan abandons his stick and helmet on the floor, ripping his gloves off along with them. His bare hands find my waist, digging into me through the thin fabric of my shirt. The heat of his body near me is enough to keep me warm in this cold rink. He pulls me close, being slightly blocked by the wall of the rink between us.

“Get up here,” Logan’s gravelly voice demands as he taps the top of the wall, where he was leaning his arms moments ago.

Without hesitation, I swing my legs over, resting my ass on the wall, feet dangling below. Now, with nothing blocking Logan’s path to me, he smirks, spreading my legs apart to stand between them.

“Good girl,” he whispers in my ear before gently nibbling and kissing my lobe.

My stomach flips upon hearing the praise and I can feel my panties turning damp. Logan keeps a firm grip on my hips to make sure I don’t lose my balance, given the fact I’m sitting on a not-so-stable ledge. But, the feeling of his large hands grasping me turns me on even more—it’s possessive but gentle in a way that’s so hot.

By now, Logan has turned his attention to my neck, biting and sucking the sensitive skin, making me whimper softly in response. He moves his mouth back to mine and I start kissing him passionately, eager for his taste. Our tongues collide desperately, searching to deepen the kiss and satiate our hunger. I moan against his lips, feeling my pussy getting wetter by the second.

“John…” I mumble against his mouth, and pull back slightly, “Baby, I’m so wet.”

Immediately, he shifts one hand to reach my throbbing pussy, eager to satisfy my aching desire, but he's blocked by the awkward way I’m sitting.

“You’re gonna have to stand up for me, baby,” he instructs, and I do as he says.

Holding one of my legs up, to create easier access to my soaking mess, Logan reaches into the front of my sweatpants and starts teasing me, rubbing my clit softly. My head bends back as I let out a soft moan of pleasure. This prompts him to start kissing my neck again, before he moves down to kiss the area exposed by the low neckline of my shirt.

“Take your shirt off,” Logan’s voice is deep, starving, and I feel his fingers moving further down my pussy.

“Here?!” I ask, briefly flicking my eyes to survey our surroundings.

“My hand is already in your pants, it can’t get much worse,” he laughs, “Plus, there’s nobody here, it’ll be fine.”

His eyes are pleading with me, and I’m anyways aching to feel him on my bare skin, so I rip off my shirt, discarding it behind me. Logan’s eyes turn dark and he inserts two fingers into me as he begins kissing down my torso. I steady myself, fingers gripping the wall behind me.

“Bra,” he mumbles against me and I unhook it quickly.

He takes one of my tits in his mouth, sucking the nipple and circling his tongue around it sensually. Moaning, I arch my back into him, hoping for more. His fingers have found a steady rhythm inside me, moving back and forth, making me writhe in pleasure. Logan knows exactly how to make me feel good, curving his fingers perfectly to reach my g-spot.

Moving up to start kissing my neck again, he praises me quietly, “You’re taking this so well.”

I whimper, loving the sound of his deep voice encouraging me. His mouth leaves my neck and he stands straighter to look at me. At the same time, the speed of his fingers increases, causing the pleasure in me to build quickly. My back arches further, hips bucking towards him.

Nearing my climax, I whine loudly, “Fuck, John, I’m so close.”

“That’s it, good girl,” he continues to praise me, his velvet voice sliding in my ears, “Let me watch you come.”

His words and frantic movements inside me push me over the edge, and I moan loudly as the orgasm washes over me. The ecstasy is blinding and I see stars, throwing my head back, overcome with pleasure. Logan’s fingers slow, but don’t fully stop as I clench around him, trembling slightly as the orgasm travels through me.

“You did such a good job,” he affirms while kissing my forehead.

Panting, I look up at him as he takes his fingers out of my pants, and I sigh at the loss of contact. Bringing his wet fingers to his mouth, he looks me deep in the eyes as he licks my arousal off himself. The sight has me ready for his touch on me again; I pull him in and kiss him intensely.

My naked torso suddenly remembers the cold and I pull back from Logan.

“As much as I want you right now, I’m freezing my tits off. Literally.” I shiver slightly as I reach for my shirt.

He laughs. The sound is rich and like music to my ears.

“Sorry, baby, I forgot how cold it is.”

I put my clothes on and Logan helps me back over the barrier of the rink before joining me. Holding my hand, he guides me through the tunnel and into the hallway that leads to the locker room. He suddenly stops and turns to face me.

“Is it less cold here?”

“Yea, why—”

Interrupting me with a kiss, he pushes me against the wall.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he murmurs, kissing my already-swollen lips.

His hands are holding my face while his hips grind into me. The feeling of Logan’s hard dick through our clothes has me whimpering into his mouth. He lazily drags his hands down my body before hooking them under my ass and lifting me up. I wrap my legs around him and his hands hold my thighs. To help keep me elevated, he presses me into the wall, firmly enough for his dick to poke me in a way that’s intoxicating.

After pulling one another’s pants out of the way, Logan wastes no time inserting himself into me. Upon doing so, he groans, resting his head in the crook of my neck. I let out a sigh at the feeling of him expanding my opening. He begins to kiss my neck softly while he mumbles to me.

“You feel so good. I love how wet you get for me, baby.”

I hum, beaming at the compliments.

Finally adjusted to the feeling of Logan’s dick in me, he starts grinding into me, hips rolling back and forth. I clutch at his hair, slowly getting lost in the feeling of him fucking me. He starts to speed up, pounding into me with the perfect intensity. My back begins to arch once more, and I let out a deep moan, blinded by pleasure. Logan whimpers slightly at the sound of me, his grip on my thighs tightening.

“Be loud for me,” he breathes, voice hoarse as he continues moving in and out of me.

The coil inside me begins to tighten as I feel my climax nearing, Logan scraping against my g-spot with every movement. My eyes roll back in my head as the pleasure becomes almost unbearable.

“I’m gonna come,” I whine, tilting my head back and arching my back.

Within a couple seconds, I came, moaning heavily as the orgasm ran through me. Logan continued to roll his hips into me, getting sloppy as he neared his own climax.

“Are you close?” I pant, hoping to help him along.

“Mhm,” he whimpers, “Let me come in you, pretty girl.”

“I’m all yours,” I whisper softly in his ear and he quickly finishes, filling me up.

He jerks into me one last time as he comes down from the high, breathing deeply. Lazily kissing along my jaw, down to my collarbone, he smiles against my skin.

“What is it?” I ask quietly.

Grinning, he rests his forehead on mine.

“I’m glad you needed me.”

[readerhead]

i’m writing fics because i only seem to get inspired when i’m procrastinating

not gonna say who are they about in case i don’t finish them so no one has any expectations lol

[flwr-princ3ss]

Hii if requests are open could you write one with Logan x reader, where the gang are at karaoke and reader sings Juno? Complete show including arresting Logan,.if requests are closed please ignore this message!

i feel like perhaps i’m ready to start cranking out some fics again, and i’m going to start hereeeee—btw yes y'all can send me requests, i make no promises i will get thru them super fast w life and my other writing, but feel free to send me a lil something and ill try and fit it in with everything else :)

god bless your dad’s genetics

warning: alcohol, suggestive/implied so MDNI, swearing.

pairing: John Logan x fem!reader; established relationship

also will see dean x allie, garrett x hannah, tucker x snack tray (sorry tuck your girly is coming)

wc: ~3.7k

disclaimer: I do not own Off Campus, any of the characters, the song mentioned in this fic, or any aspect of above. all rights to the creative minds behind them all.

------

“Which top should I wear, this one makes my boobs look good and so does this one, but in black,” Allie held two tops up, gauging your opinion.

“Hmm, I like the red but I really like the black, I think that’ll look cute with the skirt and boots you picked out tonight,” your head laid casually in the palm of your hand, glancing up at Allie from where you were sitting on her bed.

You had been dressed an hour ago and had already helped Hannah in quickly tidying the little apartment the three of you shared. It was both the end of the semester and karaoke night at Malone’s, and that meant you were going out and you were going to do it properly. You were all just waiting for your respective boys—and Tucker with his promised snacks—to make their appearance before you all got carried away with the festivities of the night.

“The boys will be here any second to pregame and you’re still not dressed Allie?” Hannah peaked her head around the door frame, shaking her head at her best friend’s never-ending fashion conundrums.

“It’ll take me two seconds to get dressed, once I decide,” Allie still looked lost in contemplation. 

You could only giggle as Allie whipped around her closet, pulling out her tops and alternating them in the mirror as if this decision was the most momentous decision of the night.

“I think YN is right, I’ll wear the black. It feels sexy and dangerous, like maybe I should sing a Chicago number tonight. Ooh! Or maybe Burlesque or Moulin Rouge!” Allie squealed as she did a little jazz hand.

You shook your head and smiled as you glanced down at your phone, a message from Logan lighting up the screen.

Be there in 5, baby x- Logan

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir,” Allie sang from the closet, trying to sound sultry as she whipped off her t-shirt to throw on the black top she had finally decided upon with your help.

“I don’t know if Dean speaks French but I’m sure he’ll get the message either way,” you teased as Allie reappeared in the closet door frame.

“Says you, Garrett said he heard you and your loverboy through his speakers and headphones the other day,” Hannah teased back, having joined you in sitting on Allie’s bed.

You could feel your face turn impossibly hot, warmth crawling up your neck and across your cheeks as Hannah’s words registered.

“We were studying,” you offer innocently.

“Studying what, anatomy?” Allie retorted, a giggle following as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at you before she continued.

“You two put me and Dean to shame some days.”

“Okay now that is a reach, Logan has told me about all of the foreign objects he’s pulled out of the bath drain because of you two,” you sat up, ready to counter any argument about your activities with your very loving boyfriend.

“It was like two times,” Allie defended.

“It was way more than two times.”

“Well, Garrett and I have never gotten anything stuck in the pipes,” Hannah chuckled.

“Be so glad Dean isn’t here yet because he would’ve made that sentence so dirty,” you laughed.

“Also you and Garrett are not innocent by any means,” Allie added, pointing at Hannah.

“What are you talking about?” Hannah’s voice inflection raised as she became defensive.

“You guys aren’t quiet either, and maybe you haven’t gotten anything stuck in the plumbing but we all stay clear of Garrett’s back seat for a reason,” Allie raised her eyebrows before turning to adjust her outfit in the mirror.

“It’s true,” you nodded in confirmation.

Hannah’s face had turned pink, the joy of having been called out passed from you to her as Allie unabashedly owned what her and Dean got into.

“Ooh! I forgot I had these!” Allie’s eyes caught something peeking out of her closet.

Your gaze followed as Allie picked up the fluffiest, furriest, pale pink monstrosity you had ever seen. 

“What the hell is that?” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh my god,” Hannah covered her mouth as she cackled in realization.

“My handcuffs! I’ve never used these though, Shawn wasn’t into the idea and I forgot these were sitting in the back of my closet,” Allie shrugged as she tossed them on the bed.

Laughter broke out between the three of you as the group realized the ridiculousness of what lay hidden in Allie’s closet.

“I’m sure Dean will be ecstatic,” you wheezed out between laughs.

“I’ll put them in my purse, you never know when you might need these,” Allie winked.

A knock sounded at the door and was immediately followed by four male voices bantering with each other.

“What the fuck is a dippable, Tuck?” 

“Hannah said I could bring a snack to the pregame.”

“Its only polite, really.”

“Do you think they know we’re here?”

The three of you made your way to the door. You stepped forward to unlock and swing the door open, your eyes immediately finding Logan’s as a grin broke out across both of your faces.

Logan stepped inside, his hands immediately finding your waist and pulling you in as his lips met yours gently. 

“Couldn’t even make it through the front door.”

“Attaboy, Logan!”

“Y/N, I just finished your makeup!”

“Oh, get a room.”

“I brought snacks.”

You reluctantly broke apart from Logan, your eyes flickering to the group as everyone started mingling amongst each other and moving towards the pregame spot you had helped Hannah set up. 

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi baby, I missed you today,” Logan murmured quietly as he pressed a soft kiss  to your forehead.

“I literally slept in your bed last night,” you giggled.

“And I still missed you when you left this morning,” Logan affirmed.

“I might take some convincing but I could be persuaded to spend the night again tonight with you,” you slyly remark, a smirk on your face as you meet Logan’s gaze.

“Oh, I think I can be very convincing,” Logan smirked as his hand slid down your back.

“Ayo, lovebirds? If you two are done being gross we’re trying to get the night started before we head to karaoke,” Dean called out from the kitchen.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed Logan’s hand, dragging him behind you and into the kitchen where everyone else was.

Logan settled against the kitchen counter, a drink in his hand as the other laid against your hip. You were pressed against him, your back to his chest as you took sips of your drink and listened to the animated conversation Allie was having with Hannah and Dean about what songs she was going to sing tonight. 

Unbeknownst to you, Logan was looking at you, angling his body just so that he could see your face and watch as your eyes crinkled as you laughed at the conversation that was happening across from you.

Logan bent down, his curls brushing against your neck as his lips grazed your ear.

“What about you, baby. What are you singing tonight?”

A shiver ran up your spine, the mere touch of this man having you damn near a puddle.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Truthfully, you didn’t know what you wanted to sing tonight quite yet. You were waiting to see what the night brought and what the general vibes were at the bar. You were sure you would find something interesting on the song list, you just hadn’t decided what mood you were in tonight.

Logan only hummed in contentment, moving to rest his head against yours as the two of you absorbed the feeling of each other.

Internally, you let out a small sigh of contentment.

You could stay like this forever.

———

It only took a couple seconds of walking into the bar to realize this was going to be an amazing karaoke night. 

There was a good size crowd at the bar, alcohol was flowing and people were singing and dancing and having fun. Someone had already been helped down off a table, having been yelled at by Della. Jules was emceeing the karaoke sign up and they had been rallying the crowd all night. It was the end of the semester, and you could tell that after locking in and cramming for finals that the students of Briar U were ready to let loose and celebrate.

You were at the bar with Hannah and Allie, piña coladas in hand as Hannah tried to convince you it was the best drink to ever exist.

“Y/N, you NEED to try this one, it’s the best!” Hannah tipsily pushed a drink towards you.

“Hannah, babes, I know. You make me try one every time we go out,” you laughed as you accepted the fruity drink.

“See! And you love it, that’s why you get it every time,” Hannah swirled the little pink umbrella sticking out of her drink, a bright smile plastered across her face.

“Y/N, Logan keeps looking at you like he wants to devour you,” Allie interjected.

Your eyes meet Logan’s from across the bar. 

He had been dragged away from you by the boys to deliberate on what their group performance would be, and they were currently locked into a heated discussion as Tucker tried to convince them to choose a raunchy cowboy song. Dean was not having it, Garrett was reluctant at best, and Logan was not paying any attention. His eyes were trailing up and down your form as he memorized every curve and line as if he didn’t already know your body like the back of his hand.

“He loves me, what can I say?” You broke your staring contest to look back at Allie.

“And you look so hot tonight!” Hannah added.

“Oh babes, nobody is going to be able to sleep at the house tonight if he keeps staring at you like this,” Allie glanced back at the boys again while referencing your discussion from earlier.

“Ugh, you’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of! I think you should own it. You two love each other. Be happy and freaky,” Allie casually said.

“Yeah, maybe,” you reflected on Allie’s point. Really it was nothing to be ashamed of. You two were adults and loved each other and you never got foreign objects stuck in drains. 

A brief moment passed between the three of you, before a light bulb went off in Hannah’s head.

“Oh my god, Y/N. I know what song you should sing!” Hannah squealed.

She leaned over to whisper in your ear, your eyes lighting up as you had just enough alcohol to make that song a good idea.

“Wait—Allie. Did you bring those handcuffs?” 

Allie’s eyes widened, a grin spreading from ear to ear as she nodded. 

“I need to get on that list, now.”

———

The boys were still debating their song choices, Dean pausing his and Tucker’s battle of classic country versus 2000’s pop hits as Allie took the stage. Garrett had given up and was back to wrapping his arms around Hannah, and Logan had once again joined you at your side as you listened to Allie finish up her rendition of Lady Marmalade.

Allie hit the last note—well, attempted to—and you were on your feet and cupping your hands around your mouth to scream for her as she dramatically fell to her knees in her finale.

The crowd erupted into cheers and clapping as she put her heart into that performance. Dean was the loudest, yelling above everyone else for his girl.

“Next up, Y/N! Up to the stage please,” Jules called your name, passing you a microphone as they passed you to sit next to their brother.

“You decided on a song then,” Logan let go of you, holding onto your jacket as you passed it to him.

“Sure did,” you winked at him.

You didn’t give him the chance to ask any more questions, you turned on your heels and made your way onto the little stage set up.

The starting notes played from the speakers, a knowing glance shared between you and Allie as she and Hannah began cheering at the top of their lungs.

“Don’t have to tell your hot ass a thing. Oh yeah, you just get it,”

You made eye contact with Logan, a grin spreading across his face as he recognized the song you chose.

“Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit. God bless your dad's genetics,”

The guys were hooting, Dean clapped Logan on the back as the meaning of the lyrics not lost on the hockey boys.

“You make me wanna make you fall in love,”

You made your way over to Allie, catching the handcuffs that she had slyly pulled out of her purse and tossed to you on stage.

“Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah.

You were directly in front of Logan now, stepping closer until you were just barely touching. You raised your hand to his eye level, his eyes widening as he realized what exactly you were pinching between your fingers and shaking in front of him.

“Wanna try on my fuzzy pink handcuffs? Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, Come on up,”

Just as Logan reached slightly towards you as if instinctually, you took a step back. You tossed the handcuffs onto the table and turned around to flitter back to the stage beyond his reach. Your eyes holding his gaze over your shoulder the entire time. Out of the periphery of your eyes, you could see Jules looking at the handcuffs with a mix of laughter and disbelief. Or maybe it was just disgust, either way it made you giggle as you sang.

“I know you want my touch for life. If you love me right, then who knows?”

You sung directly to him from the stage, enjoying the way his ears tinged a slight pink. It wasn’t often you could throw something at this man and catch him off guard, but you loved when you had the opportunity.

“I might let you make me Juno. You know I just might, Let you lock me down tonight. One of me is cute, but two, though? Give it to me, baby. You make me wanna make you fall in love,”

You danced along to the music, the energy in the crowd matching your own. Everyone was clapping and singing along as you felt the thumping bass of the song, moving your feet to the rhythm.

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived.” 

You made your way to the table Allie and Hannah were at, winking at them as they giggled. Allie reached her arm up and gave you a quick high five as you flittered across the floor back to where Logan sat with his sibling.

“Sorry if you feel objectified. Can’t help myself, hormones are high, Give me more than just some butterflies,”

You were twirling around, bouncing to the beat. Your smile blown so wide, having the time of your life. The energy of the crowd was electric, but you hardly noticed that anymore. All you saw was the love of your life, John Logan, completely enraptured in your performance. You were going to make sure this was a karaoke night to remember for him.

“You make me wanna make you fall in love. Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah, Wanna try out some freaky positions?”

An idea sprang to your mind as you moved back to stand in front of Logan, quickly bending and raising your leg as your arms mimicked a bow and arrow, hitting Logan’s signature archer pose from every time he scored.

“Have you ever tried this one?”

Logan was laughing and shaking his head, his attention never once leaving you. He couldn’t help himself as his eyes raked over your frame, drinking in every bit of you he’d memorized time and time again. He was enamored, wanting to commit this moment to his memory eternally. He was incredibly lucky, Logan knew this deeply. Ever since you had come into his life, everything seemed brighter and more full of life. He couldn’t imagine a day in the life without you now. He was completely and totally a fool in love with you and all of your silly antics. He could feel his cheekbones start to hurt from grinning so much as you finished up the chorus and came to stand in front of him once again.

“Adore me, hold me, and explore me,”

You hand was laid against his chest, Logan was sure you could feel how hard his heart was beating.

“Mark your territory,”

Your hand slid up and found the back of his head, entangling your fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck. You gently twirled his curls, continuing to sing to him as if he was the only person in this bar with you.

“Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one,”

Your hand slid to the side of his neck, your thumb coming up to delicately rub his jawline, the stubble prickling lightly against your fingers.

“Adore me, hold me, and explore me,”

You moved so close you were practically straddling Logan where he sat at the table, your thighs resting on his. Logan was sure you could feel everything he was feeling at the moment.

“I'm so fuckin' horny,”

Everyone screamed the lyrics with you, Dean arguably the loudest. Hannah and Allie were cheering off to the side, Logan not daring to look away from you now.

The final chorus played, you removed yourself off Logan’s lap to make your way back to the stage. Logan was fixated on the way your hips swayed as you walked, and he couldn’t help but notice the heated flush you wore as you continued to hold eye contact with him until the end of the song.

“Give it to me, baby. You make me wanna make you fall in love.”

Cheers and applause broke out across the crowd as you finished the song, only slightly out of breath from all of the dancing and singing. Well, that and your moment with Logan where it felt like just the two of you in your own little bubble.  

You passed the microphone off to Jules, your friends jumping to meet you at the edge of the stage as you joined them.

“Let’s hear it for Y/N!” Jules rallied the bar into cheering for you once again, only now did it register how many people heard you sing about how Logan made you feel, so to speak.

“Thank you Y/N for that fantastic performance and for something new for me to talk about in therapy,” Jules finished, a grimace on their face as they read through the list for who was next. 

Hannah and Allie flanked your sides, the girls giggling and hyping up your performance as you all took your time walking towards where the boys had congregated around Logan. He was still watching you, you held his eye contact as you got closer.

“Girl, I can’t believe you just did that!” Hannah gushed.

“Babes you had that man dumbstruck the entire time, that was insane!” Allie grabbed your hand and squeezed as she laughed.

“We’re going to go buy you a drink, our treat! We’ll be right back.”

The girls left you as you made it to the table, the boys sharing knowing looks before finding excuses to leave you and Logan alone.

“Ayo Y/N that was crazy good! You've inspired me to go solo tonight” Tucker raised a cup in your honor, leaving to chase after Jules to put his name on the list.

“Let’s leave these lovebirds be for a little bit, what do ya say Graham?” Dean clapped Logan on the shoulder as he and Garrett made their way to the bar, following their girls. 

You finally looked up, meeting Logan’s gaze as your cheeks warmed up before looking down at your shoes.

Not having it, Logan grabbed your waist and brought you closer.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting shy now,” Logan murmured, his lips brushing over your cheekbones and pressing soft little kisses towards your ear and down your neck.

You squirmed in his grasp, the soft curls of his hair lightly tickling against your skin.

“I told you, I decided on a song,” you said quietly.

“You did,” Logan exhaled.

“It just didn’t cross my mind you would be whipping out a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs in the process, baby,” Logan chuckled.

“Did you like it?” You asked, meeting his gaze once more.

“I love any time you sing. But I especially loved hearing you sing about how much you enjoy, well…” Logan trailed off, his pupils dilating as a lazy smirk found its way onto his face.

You fully blushed, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you groaned.

“Logannn,” you drew out his name as you whined. You couldn't help but turn into a puddle when he looked at you like that.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be saying my name a whole lot more later,” Logan winked at you, enjoying his turn to make you flustered.

You could only groan again, this man would be the end of you.

You felt his chest reverberating as he laughed before standing up and pulling you with him to join your friends at the bar. 

“Let’s go join the others before I find a reason to leave early,” Logan said.

As enticing as the idea was, you wanted to enjoy your night out with friends first before you and Logan got too distracted. You wrapped your hand around his, your fingers intertwining as you let him guide the way through the karaoke crowd. As your friends came into view, a new thought came to mind.

“I think Garrett needs to get better headphones.”

general taglist: @run-for-the-hills @sue-me-i-wanna-be-wanted

[matt-murdockk]

one bed enemies to lovers trope with john logan x reader 👀🙈

coming right up, m'lady

Nothing good happens after 2 AM

pairing: john logan x reader words: 3.1k summary: you and logan couldn't stand each other on a good day, got along for the sake of your friends. So, sharing a bed with him should've been a piece of cake, right ? warnings: language, one single mention of a boner, it's all fluff baby a/n: it started as a blurb i swear

Briar U students knew how to party. There was always something to keep everybody occupied. Great alcohol, decent food, groups of people on the dance floor, some singing their souls out, students in corners and couches discussing everything from the latest episode of Love Island to Astrophysics. Everybody was happy.

So happy that often times after a party ends, some people don't leave. Every inch of the house would be covered in either something sticky and moist that needed no further pondering or a whole ass person who was already fast asleep. Couch, porch, hallways, living room, bedroom, everywhere. It was a miracle if someone got to sleep in the bed.

Logan predicted that this would be the case, halfway through the party. People already started to slump and lean on walls; it was a matter of time before his own room was auctioned off to some random people he had never met in his life. He ran up to his room, locked it, put the key safely in the pocket of his denims and walked back down to the party.

"What are you so happy about?" you chided. You were at the bottom of the staircase, two solo cups with something strong, one in each hand.

Logan pressed a hand to his chest in mock surprise. "Offering me a drink? What's the occasion?" He gasped, hand to chest. "Did someone die?"

You fixed him with a flat look. "In your dreams, hockey boy." You shoved the cup at him hard enough that some of it sloshed over the rim. He accepted it and leaned against the wall as he took a sip.

"Tucker asked me to give it to you. I'm just the messenger. Don't read into it."

"Sure," he took another sip, eyebrows furrowed in serious thought. "You know, you could've just asked Tucker to fuck off and bring it himself?"

"I could've," you agreed. "But then I wouldn't have gotten to watch you be wrong about something, and that's basically my, like, favourite hobby."

He tilted his head. "Funny. I thought your favourite hobby was pretending you don't stare at me at games."

You laughed incredulously. "You are so full of yourself."

"Right." He pushed off the wall and fell into step beside you, completely uninvited, because that was just what Logan did. Took up space like he was entitled to it. And as much as you pretended to be annoyed, you really, really weren't.

"And it has nothing to do with the fact that I look incredible in gear."

You turned to look at him slowly. "You are genuinely insufferable, you know that?"

Slowly, the crowd trickled down, shoulders slumped, and eyes started to droop. By 2 am, most people were passed out from exhaustion, alcohol, or both.

Logan finally headed up to his room, feeling accomplished that he got to have it all for himself. He changed out of his denims and into some comfortable sweatpants. His shirt was almost fully off when his door opened.

"Hey, mind if I— Oh shit." You slapped a hand over your eyes.

"What the fuck," Logan said, less a question and more a general statement of grievance at the universe. He yanked his henley down over his head and turned around. "Why are you in my room?"

"Garrett said I could crash here." You lowered your hand cautiously, confirming the situation was PG again.

"Crash here." He stared at you. "In my room."

"In your room," you confirmed, like it wasn't your ideal choice of a sleepover either.

"Garrett." He said the name the way someone might say black mould or tax audit. "I'm going to kill him."

"Incredibly valid," you said. "But maybe after? Because I genuinely have nowhere else to go."

He crossed his arms. The henley was dark green and soft-looking and you were absolutely not noticing that. "Garrett's room."

"Hannah's there."

"Right. Dean's?"

"Allie's in there, and I am not mentally strong enough to know what's going on behind that door." He just sighed.

"What about Tucker?"

You gave him a look. "There are five people in that room. I counted. Someone's sleeping in the bathtub, Logan, I am not going in there."

He considered his options, staring at the ceiling.

"And before you ask, both couches are occupied." You leaned against the doorframe and hated that you were about to do this. "Dude, I will sleep on the floor. I'm not even asking for the bed. Just— floor space. And a tiny little pillow."

Logan gave you a once-over as he considered.

You were still in your party clothes— some soft-looking sweater that had ridden up on one side where it'd gotten caught on your hip, dark jeans that were probably uncomfortable as hell at this point. Your hair was a mess, with strands falling around your face. You had that specific kind of tired that came from too much socialising and not enough sleep, your eyes a little glazed, your shoulders curved inward like you were trying to make yourself smaller.

You looked exhausted, vulnerable in a way he had never seen you before. You dragged your sweater down by the hem, suddenly self-conscious.

Something in his chest did something he didn't like.

"Do you have anything to change into?" he caught you off guard. Wow, okay. He did not have to do that. His back was already turned to you as he started rummaging through his closet.

"Oh? Um, no, no, I don't."

After about a minute, he threw a t-shirt and some pants in your direction. "Here."

You caught with the grace of a drunk person at 2 AM, trying to prove they had hand-eye coordination. Immediately after you caught it, he turned around, facing the wall. She stood there for a moment holding his clothes.

They smelled like him. Something clean and warm and distinctly so Logan that made the whole thing feel somehow you'd never felt before. You tugged your sweater over her head and stepped out of your jeans, suddenly very aware that he was maybe five feet away and actively not looking, which somehow made it feel more intimate than if he had been.

"Done," you said, after a couple of minutes, and your voice came out quieter than you meant.

Logan turned around slowly, like he was giving you time to object or change your mind. His eyes did this thing where they swept over you. He took in the sight in front of him. You, in what he'd never admit was his favourite t-shirt that he owned, standing in front of him, looking up at him, all tired and soft like you belonged there, in his room, in his clothes.

His jaw tightened.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he said, and it came out rougher than he meant because he was already annoyed at himself for caring. He pulled back the covers on the side closer to the wall and nodded at it with all the warmth of a government official. "Take the bed."

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"Also, the bed." He said it flatly, daring you to make it weird. "It's a queen. We're adults. Stay on your side, and we'll both survive the night."

"Yes, sir," you said, with as much dignity as someone could muster while wearing someone else's sweatpants. He looked at you as if he were studying you, which wasn't doing you any favours.

You wanted to argue. You really did. But the bed looked soft and inviting, and you were so tired, and his clothes were warm, and some part of you, the part you that you would vehemently deny existed if anyone asked, didn't actually hate the idea of him being there.

"I know I'm in your bed and all, but if you snore, I am smothering you with a pillow."

"Noted." He was already pulling back his side of the covers. "If you steal the blanket I'm throwing you out."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You got in without looking at him. He got in without looking at you. There was an unspoken agreement. We say nothing, do nothing, and we fall asleep.

You both stared at the ceiling. For a long time. The only sounds either of you could hear were the soft hum of the AC, leaves rustling and crickets from outside, and each other's breathing, which oddly put you at ease.

He knew you were awake. You knew he was awake. And it was getting increasingly hard to just lie there doing nothing next to a fully conscious person in the vicinity of your personal space. You decided to break the silence. Might as well.

"So, uh, how have you been?" You immediately winced. Why was that the ice-breaker you decided to go with, Jesus Christ.

"You know we don't have to make small talk. We can just sleep like, you know, regular people."

"I know, it's just— I am not used to extended periods of silence, and it is way too quiet in here, and if we don't keep talking, I think we will hear some things from Dean's room that we can never unhear for the rest of what will be our tragically short lives. So, what I'm getting at with way too many words than necessary is please keep talking to me."

He looked at you for what felt like forever before bursting into laughter.

"You know," Logan said eventually, still looking at the ceiling, "most people would've just said they were scared of hearing Dean."

"Dude, I am scared of hearing Dean."

"Fair."

You smiled despite yourself. The silence settled again, but it wasn't awkward like before. Logan volunteered this time.

"You looked like you were having fun tonight."

You turned your head slightly toward him, smirking at what he was implying. "Is that your way of asking if I was talking to anybody?"

"No," he scoffed, which came out less nonchalant and more defensive.

"Oh, it absolutely is."

"It's not."

"You are so obsessed with me," you teased, to which he just stared at you, deadpan. He knew you couldn't see it in the dark, but you could feel his eyes on you, and that made all the difference.

"No, you're right. I am deeply obsessed with you," he replied, voice devoid of any emotion.

You grinned into the darkness and hugged your pillow tighter. Why this revelation made you feel all warm and sappy, you were in no hurry to find out. You decided to keep pressing his buttons because it was surprisingly easy and fun to get on his nerves.

"Wow, you're terrible at this."

"At what?"

"Small talk, subtlety, all of it, really."

He snorted at that. "Good thing I wasn't trying."

That sent an unexpected flutter through your stomach that you promptly ignored because you were not giving John Logan, self-proclaimed frenemy, the satisfaction of making you blush.

"So," you said carefully, "how was your game last week?"

"You were literally there?" he said in a tone that bordered on incredulous.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You remember?"

"Of course, I do. You sit in the same section every single game."

Heat crawled up your neck faster than you could process. What did he mean he remembered?

"Wha— No, I don't!" you defended.

"Sure, you do."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do."

"You are making things up."

"You wore that ugly yellow beanie—"

Your jaw dropped. "It is not ugly. You take that back!"

"It looked like a highlighter."

"It was cute!"

"It was bright enough to guide ships through fog."

You shoved his shoulder, and Logan laughed. He actually laughed, and it wasn't the smug grin he usually wore. Not the annoying smirk that made you want to throw things at him. Not that knowing smile that made your skin crawl.

And suddenly you understood why people liked him so much. You noticed how he was effortlessly charming, how he cared very loudly, not thinking twice about the consequences or what others thought. You paid attention to the fact that he absolutely did not have to let you sleep in his bed, let alone entertain you or put up with your bullying talking.

Which was deeply unfortunate for you specifically, because now you couldn't stop smiling.

The conversation just drifted after that. There was no more arguing just for the sake of arguing, no more trying to best one another at whatever imaginary rivalry you had going. You just... talked. Classes, shitty professors, first relationships, last relationships, friends, family, home, everything, really.

Eventually, the room grew quieter. The words started to slow. At some point, you rolled onto your side. He did too. Eventually, your replies became single words. Then hums. Then nothing at all.

The last thing you remembered was hearing him say your name. It was way too soft and filled with... something you had no energy to unpack. He said it like he was making sure you were still awake. You weren't.

—

Morning arrived far too soon. Pale golden rays of sunlight crept in through the gaps in the curtains that swayed slightly from the AC. The light painted lazy strips across the room's hardwood floor, climbing over the dresser, the rumpled blankets, and eventually right across Logan's face. He frowned in his sleep and buried his face deeper into the pillow like that would somehow stop the sun from existing.

The first thing you noticed was warmth. The second thing you noticed was that the warmth was breathing. What the hell?

Your eyes flew open. Oh. Oh no.

Somehow, at some point during the night, every promise about staying on your respective sides of the bed had completely failed. One of Logan's arms was around your waist. Your face was buried against his chest. One of your legs was thrown over his. You were practically sprawled on top of him.

For a solid five seconds, your brain simply stopped functioning. Then all the memories came back. The party. The bed. The talking. The sleeping. The fact that you were currently cuddling Logan. Mortification hit you like a freight train.

This wasn't even the side of the bed you went to sleep in. You froze.

Unfortunately for you, Logan chose that exact moment to wake up.

"...Morning." His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual, and it travelled right through your body in a way that had you reeling. You considered launching yourself through the nearest wall.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Logan made the mistake of looking down. You looked up at him, and immediately looked away again. "Oh my God."

"Yeah," he replied, like he had accepted his fate.

"Oh my God."

"I know."

You carefully untangled yourself and scooted backwards at approximately the speed of light. The movement made Logan grimace. You frowned.

"You okay, dude?"

His expression somehow became even more uncomfortable. Then realisation hit. Your eyes widened. His eyes widened. The silence that followed could've killed a Victorian child. Finally Logan dragged both hands down his face.

"Before you react," he said, staring firmly at the ceiling, "this is a perfectly normal, biological thing."

You immediately covered your face.

"Oh my God."

"It's literally just biology."

"I know it's biology."

You sat up, way too flustered to react like a normal person. He immediately sat up as well and grabbed your pillow, using it to protect what little dignity he had left. "Okay, then."

"I'm very aware, it's normal, i know."

"Good."

"Why are we having this conversation?"

"Yeah, I don't really know."

Another horrifying silence. You groaned. "I was basically sleeping on top of you, I'm sorry."

"It's alright, I'm sorry for... enjoying it too much?" he tried to manage, but let's be honest, that only made it worse.

"Nope."

"Yeah, that wasn't it."

"This is probably not helping."

"Definitely not helping."

You dropped your face into your hands.

"Fantastic."

"Fan... tastic."

It was silent for another lifetime before Logan decided that he had to protect his honour.

"In my defence, you were practically sleeping on top of me."

"Okay, in my defence, I don't remember doing that."

"You were using me as a weighted blanket," he argued. A laugh escaped before you could stop it.

The pillow shifted. Logan looked at you. You looked right back at him. And somehow the whole situation became so ridiculously awful that it wrapped right back around to funny.

You started laughing. Logan held out for maybe ten seconds before he cracked. "Wow, you're laughing at me right now?"

"No," you tried, but it came out as a high-pitched something that barely sounded like a word.

"Wh— you are!"

"I'm laughing at the situation."

"The situation is me living through the worst morning of my life."

"The situation is you getting a raging boner from basic human contact!"

"You and I have very different definitions of basic human contact."

That only made you laugh harder. Then the two of you were sitting there laughing like idiots over absolutely nothing.

A few minutes later, once the crisis had officially passed, you stood and gathered your things. Neither of you quite met the other's eyes.

"Well," you started.

"Well."

"We never speak of this."

"Oh, hell no."

"This goes to the grave."

"Absolutely. Scout's honour."

"You were not a Boy Scout."

"Not even close to the point, by the way."

You levelled him with a look before you continued. "If Garrett finds out, I move to another country."

"If Garrett finds out," Logan said darkly, "I'm killing him."

You nodded. "Call me if you need an alibi."

That pulled another laugh out of him, a sound that you were growing to enjoy more than you cared to admit. You glanced at him. He glanced at you. Something softened in his eyes that you were trying hard to convince yourself wasn't really there.

"So..." You shifted awkwardly. "Thanks."

"For what?"

You looked down at the oversized shirt hanging off your frame.

"The room, the clothes, the bed, everything really."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, don't— don't mention it."

The smile that appeared on your face felt impossible to stop. For the first time in a long time, neither of you had a sarcastic comeback ready, which was probably a much bigger problem than either of you realised.

Immediately after you left, he fell back against the mattress and scrubbed a hand over his face. His pillow and sheets still smelled like you, and it didn't bother him as much as he'd expected to.

He was staring at the ceiling in disbelief. Logan, who was aggressively a morning person, who loved waking up early for practice and catching the sunrise, had slept through four alarms. This was the best night's sleep he had had in ages. Fuck.

[readerhead]

when i finished off campus i was so sure i was a dean girlie, now i’m so fucking obsessed with john logan to the point that i genuinely think it’s not healthy anymore

(i still love dean tho, both can coexist in my heart)

[roughpenalty]

having to call your ex john logan when your car breaks down in the middle of the night…

john logan x reader smut

18+ minors do not interact.

details: piv, oral (f-receiving), public sex in a hidden area, on the hood of a car, past lovers, jealousy, angst & emotions, not pure enemies to lovers but definitely some bickering.

your car breaking down on the side of the road is not how you wanted to spend your night. especially when the worst heartbreak of your life is literally a mechanic, who you haven’t spoken to in a bit… your roadside service gave you an estimate of a 3 hour wait which feels cruel at the hour. you knew better than to try driving it, but there was a party which means there was a distraction available.

despite your distraction attempt, the universe won’t let you let him go. you stared at his contact in your phone for a few minutes as if it would suddenly change, like all the unspoken tension could resolve itself. if it was daylight you would tough it out and let your ego win, but it’s 10 pm.

it only rings twice giving you no time to change your mind. “yeah?” logan answers, no greeting with a coldness in his voice that makes your stomach sink.

“oh, hey…” you say beginning to think this was an awful idea.

“…what’s up?” he asks.

“i’m great. i just– well, my car isn’t. it died on me and i’m–” you spill nervously before he quickly registers and cuts you off.

“where are you?” he asks with his voice a lot more gentle now.

“by main street… well, a bit before it on some grass” you say.

you now hear shuffling which makes you assume he’s busy. it takes everything in you not to start wondering what he’s doing or who he might be with.

“look, a tow will be here in a couple hours. i can get it fixed this weekend. but i could really use some instructions on how to get it on long enough to pull to a store or something where there’s actual lights on. i tried googling but i don’t even know what to google.”

“what’s it doing?” he asks, sounding uninterested in your ramble.

“uh… this noise, kind of like a rattle? then it decided it was done driving.” you say.

“should i bother to ask how long has this supposed rattle been happening?” he asks voice showing amusement now, clearly fighting a laugh at your attempt at car terms. you missed hearing joy from him, even if it’s for half of a second.

“it just started…” you lie.

“mm, right.” he responds sarcastically, a familiar sound that infuriates you. he knows you better than you know yourself, and you’re not in the mood to see the smug look reminding you of that.

“don’t start. can’t you just tell me how to jump it or-” you ask trying to back out of this situation quickly.

“i’ll be there in five.”

—

“i told you not to get a fuckin altima…” he mutters.

leaned over the hood of your car like it’s a puzzle to solve. it’s hard not to stare when his biceps are on display in a white tank top and jeans with car grease scuffs, clearly just coming from the shop. you wonder why he must have been there so late but have to remind yourself he’s not your problem anymore.

he managed to drive it to a lot that was fortunately around the corner, behind an abandoned convenience store with just enough light with a dying streetlight.

you sit on the hood of his car, trying to look at anything else besides him biting down on his lip focused. you’re snapped back to reality when he starts speaking again, “seriously, when was the last time you got an oil change?”

you avoid answering with a look on your face giving you away. he turns to face you to wonder why you’re not answering, but instantly reads you. “don’t tell me i was the last one to change the oil.”

“no, of course not.” you say. another lie from you.

–

the last time the oil was changed was at the shop on a hot summer day. your feet kicked on the dashboard, playfully whining for him to hurry up while he insisted on changing it. he pulls open the passenger door resting his hands on your bare thighs, his sweating forehead pressed against yours teasing “you’re such a spoiled brat, you know that?” making you giggle and pull him in.

you shake that memory from your mind fast. thinking about that weekend and how it all went wrong will only make your night worse. the reminder of the distance between you two physically right now is infuriating enough.

“you’re not the only mechanic on earth, john…” you say frustrated at the whole situation just thinking about it. he rolls his eyes at the name because he fucking hated when you used his first name, but then he stops in his tracks with a realization.

“so who’s the new guy?” he asks, not making eye contact or show he’s phased.

“what?” you ask, caught off guard.

“the mechanic…?” he clarifies, but you know he’s full of it. he doesn’t care who touches your car. he cares about who’s been touching you.

you don’t give him the satisfaction of answering, so he breaks your annoyed silence himself… “fine. well tell whoever’s been touching it hasn’t been doing very well, because she’s still acting up.”

“she?” you question.

“the car.” he lies. you should really start keeping tally of everyone’s lies tonight.

heaviness fills the air as he finishes up. you try to distract yourself with looking at literally anything else; the flickering street light that probably hasn’t been redone in ages, your shoes, the rock on the pavement. fortunately he always knows what he’s doing and it doesn’t take long.

“until it gets a full rework, make sure you check on this before you use it. if it looks anything like that again, don’t drive. take an uber. you’re lucky you didn’t get hurt.” he lectures, while you shrug off the protective speech. “knock it off and come look. you need to know what you’re looking for unless you want to break down on a highway or something worse.”

you hesitate for a moment wondering if you can behave yourself to be that close to him again but the sincerity of his tone clear with worry at the fact you risked it. he would’ve never let you drive this but he has no say anymore. he gives you a soft reassuring expression, almost as if he’s begging for you to take it seriously before meeting him at the hood.

leaning against it by his side, he rambles on with car terms but all you can watch is his hands. truthfully you aren’t going to remember any of it even if you tried. he probably knows that. when he’s done, he closes the hood and leans against it to face you.

“so, who was it?” he asks.

“what?” you ask.

“the new guy.” he says.

“you’re still on that? god, you’re unbelievable.” you sigh frustrated. you know he won’t take that as an acceptable response. “why do you care all of a sudden?”

“just curious who’s house you were coming from dressed like that.” he nods to your skirt, watching his gaze on your thighs making you shiver.

“you used to like me in short skirts.” you say confidently, boldly looking up into his eyes now. his clear jealousy makes you feel like you can play back.

“well you used to like me taking them off.” he retaliates, not breaking.

“did i? i don’t recall.” you play. he sneaks behind you on the hood, leaning over you just an inch away from your skin. he knows what he’s doing, and you can’t let him win. the usual smell of his cologne you loved hits your heart making this much harder. he hasn’t changed.

“mm… right. remember the costume party where you insisted on staying to dance with allie? totally a set up from you two. you grinded up against me in that crowd for like a half hour until i had to drag your ass to a room. that skirt came off pretty quickly.” he says tilting his head closer, placing a hand on your jaw.

“well, you seem to remember it well.” you respond.

“how can i forget?” he says with a lower tone, making your breath catch. his lips so close yours now, the next move has to be a decision. whether you leave everything behind or open this door back up again.

“then what happened… in this room?” you seal your fate.

“i could tell you…” he places his hands on your hips, before putting his lips against your ear tauntingly “or just show you.”

“you should do that.” you whisper out, earning a chuckle from him while yanking you closer to break the distance of your lips. his mouth crashes against yours hungrily, your hands immediately go to their favorite spot his hair fighting the urge to tug him desperately but you refuse to show it yet.

the aching slowness of the kiss feels like punishment for everything, unsure of who’s punishing who at this point. not allowing your need to take over first, he lets his. his tongue finally slips into your mouth sending familiar shivers down your spine, then moving to your neck to tease you with soft taunting kisses.

“logan…” you whine out, feeling his smirk when you finally call him by his preferred name.

“missed that sound.” he lets a smile slip into his last kiss making his teeth mark a bite on your shoulder, making you squeal out.

he gets off the hood hardly breaking contact, stepping directly in front of you letting your legs wrap around his body. “if you want me to drive you to my place, i can. or i can fuck you here where there’s nobody but us… or we can just turn back now–” he asks, while you glance around at how far you are from life. it would be hard to get caught this late, and at this point you hardly care.

“you have a big enough backseat.” you say.

“yeah, if you want… but i have a hood too.” he says, quickly yanking your skirt up before getting on his knees in front of you. pulling your panties to the side, his mouth kisses along your thighs before opening your legs around his face. his tongue tastes your folds softly, purposely slow, making you gasp. “still so sweet.”

your moans get louder as he devours you. one hand on your toying with your clit, how he remembered used to make you cry in pleasure. the sight of the boy you’ve missed so much in front of you on his knees eating you out, makes you orgasm come much faster.

“cum f’me.” he mumbles what he can out against you, refusing to release on his tongue from your sweet spot. you hold your hand over your mouth to keep it down while the pleasure floods through your body.

before you can catch a breath, he stands gripping your thighs pulling you close to his waist as he unbuckles his jeans. your hands find the zipper for him aching for more.

“unless you want to call your other mechanic…” he snickers, making you blush playfully hitting his shoulder.

“fuck me before i change my mind.” you beg while he grinds himself against you, still so sensitive from your orgasm. his eyes are filled with a familiar affection in awe of you, but he still fights it and grips his hands tight in your hair.

“tell me how many first…” he says.

“how many w— fuck. are you serious?” you argue, but your voice still begging. “you’re almost inside me and you’re starting shit.”

“not starting anything, baby… just finishing our conversation.” he teases your entrance nipping your ear while he speaks. you roll your eyes both in pleasure and frustration, knowing he knows the answer already or he wouldn’t be being so cocky.

“there hasn’t been anyone, since you…” you beg.

“i know.” he groans pushing into you, his thickness filling you up and stretching you out. “can’t touch anyone else either.”

he thrusts into you roughly, still possessively keeps an eye on your skirt, adjusting it so you’re covered enough despite no one being around and the fact they’d still see you getting railed regardless but he can’t help it. “fuck– perfect. you’re still fucking perfect.” he mutters.

“i missed you…” you cry out letting your guard down, whimpering at the feeling of him picking up the pace now. you buck your hips as much as you can to meet his.

“i assume so considering you’re letting me fuck you in a parking lot…” he teases unable to stop the comfort of your banter he missed so much, before softening again “been a mess without you.”

you both get sloppy as you both come close to the edge, the thrill of how messy this is heightening every nerve in your body. the feeling that he’s needed you this much makes you hold back a smile, even though you both let out a few glancing at each other’s sounds.

he always knows when you’re close and he can’t hold back either. he leaves one last soft claiming kiss on your lips like he doesn’t want this moment to end, before giving you the cue.

“my favorite girl… cum with me, sweetheart.” he chokes out as his own orgasm takes over, yours following the second you feel him twitch inside you. your hands encouragingly rub down his back, finding joy in the fact you make him feel so good too. he groans against your neck, letting his body collapse melting into you.

you both sit in the silence for what feels like forever, but likely just a few seconds. not wanting to move or pull out or deal with the mess you just made (physically and mentally) he finally says gently–

“you can always call.”

[puckingcuckbunny]

🜼 — 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬 # 𝟐

thank you @phaea for the dividers

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 𝟑, 𝟖 𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐲 — 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 !

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝, 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 ! 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 🜼

Morning always made Logan softer. Not in the most obvious ways, but it managed to make his edges quieter. You’d wake up to one of his arms banded heavily around your waist, his skin warm beneath your cheek as you’d rise to the view of his hair flattened from one side of sleep and his voice a lower baritone than usual. 

The room was pale with early light. A thin, grey-blue wash coming in through the blinds, catching on the dresser, the abandoned hoodie near the chair, the water glass on the nightstand, the edge of the shirt you were wearing.

His shirt.

Because at some point during the night, after the party had ended and the hockey house had gone quiet in waves, you had stolen it from the floor and put it on without asking. It smelled like Logan. Laundry detergent, skin, something warm and clean beneath it. It hung loose over your body, soft from use, the hem falling high on your thighs when you shifted.

You had woken before him.

That was rare.

Rarer still was the fact that you had not immediately moved. Normally, your brain began making lists the second your eyes opened. Things to do. Texts to answer. Hair to fix. Lip balm. Water. Breakfast. Whether it was socially acceptable to leave without speaking to Dean if Dean was in the kitchen.

But Logan was behind you, breathing slow against the back of your neck, and his hand was tucked beneath the shirt at your stomach, palm warm against bare skin.

So you stayed.

For a while, at least.

Then he woke. You knew because his fingers moved first. A slow flex against your stomach. Then his breath changed, mouth brushing the back of your shoulder in something too lazy to count as a kiss.

“Morning,” he murmured.

His voice did something unfair to your spine.

You closed your eyes again.

“Morning.”

His hand shifted under the shirt, not quite purposeful yet, just finding you. His thumb dragged softly over your skin. You felt him inhale against your neck, felt the pause that followed.

Then, lower, “This my shirt?”

You smiled without meaning to.

“No.”

“No?”

“I found it.”

“In my room.”

“Possession is complicated.”

His mouth pressed to your shoulder,“You look good in it.”

You opened one eye,“You can’t see me.”

“I know.”

“That’s not how looking works.”

His hand slid over your stomach, fingers spreading against you, pulling you back a little more firmly into his chest, “I remember.”

Your body warmed so quickly it was embarrassing,“Ridiculous.”

“Yeah.”

But his mouth had moved to your neck now, lips slow and warm, and ridicule became difficult to maintain under such conditions. His hand moved higher under the shirt, then lower again, teasing in no particular hurry. Morning Logan did not rush. Morning Logan seemed to have decided that time was something other people worried about.

You tilted your head without meaning to.

He noticed, “There?” he asked, mouth at the side of your throat.

You swallowed, “You know.”

“I want to hear you.”

You made a small, irritated sound and his hand stilled.

“Too early for that?”

“It is too early for you to be smug.”

“I’m not smug.”

“You’re horizontally smug.”

He laughed quietly against your skin, and the sound made your stomach tighten.

Then his hand slipped lower, suddenly you stopped caring about smugness.

Your breath caught, and Logan’s arm tightened around your waist, holding you steady as his fingers moved beneath the hem of his shirt. Slow and careful. 

The room grew smaller.

It was always like that with him when he touched you in the morning. There was no lipstick to hide behind. No dress. No heels. No red nails arranged carefully around a glass. No sharp little comments delivered from a position of social control. Just your bare legs tangled in his sheets, your hair loose against the pillow, his shirt riding up your thighs, his hand between your legs while he kissed your neck like he had all morning to learn you again.

“Logan,” you breathed.

“Yeah?”

You had no follow-up and he smiled into your skin like he knew that too.

His fingers circled slowly, and your hips moved back before you could stop them. He inhaled sharply.

That was when you felt him properly, hard against you, warm through the thin fabric of his boxers, pressing into the back of your thigh.

Your eyes opened.

He went still, “Sorry,” he said immediately.

You turned your head slightly, though you could not fully see him from this angle.

“Why?”

His mouth brushed your shoulder again.

“Didn’t mean to rush you.”

“You didn’t.”

A pause.

“I like it.”

His hand on your waist tightened, “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He kissed your neck again, this time with intention. His fingers moved again, and your thighs parted under the shirt, one knee sliding forward over the sheets. 

“You want me?” he asked.

Your breath left you in a soft laugh, “What a humiliating question.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you know.”

“I still want you to say it.”

You closed your eyes.

The curtains glowed faintly with morning. His hand moved steadily. His mouth was warm at your shoulder. Your body was already softening for him in a way that made denial feel stupid.

“Yes,” you breathed, “I want you.”

His breath changed.

“Good.”

The word settled low in your stomach.

You would have complained, but he chose that moment to push his fingers inside you, and your complaint dissolved into a gasp.

“There you go,” he murmured.

You reached back, hand finding his hair awkwardly, fingers sliding into it as he worked you open with a patience that made you want to crawl out of your skin. He knew you too well now. Not fully, and there were still discoveries. But it was enough to make you resent his competence when it was being used against you.

“Slow,” you said, though you were not sure whether you were telling him or yourself.

He kissed your shoulder.

“I’ve got you.”

When he finally rolled you onto your back, the shirt slid up your thighs, and Logan looked down at you like the sight had interrupted every remaining thought in his head.

You looked away immediately, “No.”

His hand paused at your hip, “No?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re making notes.”

His mouth curved.

“You’re wearing my shirt and nothing else.”

“That does not require documentation.”

“It might.”

“Logan.”

He leaned down and kissed you, smiling into it, one knee pressing between your thighs. You bit gently at his lower lip because he deserved it. He groaned because apparently punishment and reward had become indistinguishable to him.

The kiss deepened.

Morning softened, then heated.

His boxers went somewhere. You did not know where. The shirt stayed, though by the time he rolled a condom on and came back over you, it had been pushed up over your waist, bunched beneath your ribs, leaving you bare under him except for the fabric tangled around you like a weak argument.

He kissed you when he pushed in.

You needed that. The first stretch made your fingers dig into his shoulders, mouth opening against his.

He stopped immediately.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Colour?”

“Green.”

His forehead lowered to yours.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Just-morning.”

He huffed a soft laugh.

“Morning?”

“Everything feels more.”

His expression changed into something warmer, more focussed on your reactions.

“I’ll go slow.”

At first, he did, slow, deep strokes that made the room blur at the edges. His chest brushed yours, his mouth moved against your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips. Every sound you made seemed louder in the quiet morning, every shift of the mattress too obvious, too intimate. 

He kissed you again, and his hand slid beneath your knee, lifting your leg higher around his hip, and you stopped thinking about daylight entirely.

For a while.

Until he shifted.

Until one of his hands slid to your waist and the other braced beside your head, and his mouth paused near your ear.

“Cherry.”

You made a small sound of acknowledgement.

“Can we try something?”

Your eyes opened.

He lifted his head so you could see him properly.

“What?”

His thumb moved once over your waist.

“Turn over.”

Your stomach dipped.

You looked at him and he held your gaze.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“We can stay like this.”

“I know.”

“Colour?”

You swallowed, “Green.”

His eyes darkened.

“You sure?”

You nodded.

Then, because nerves made you sharp, “Logan, I’m asking you to fuck me, not invest in a pension.”

He blinked and then laughed, head dropping briefly to your shoulder, “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“You’re impossible.”

“You like me.”

“I really do.”

The softness of it made you quiet.

That was inconvenient.

He kissed you before you had to answer.

Then pulled out slowly, carefully, and helped you turn onto your stomach. The first thing you noticed was how exposed it felt. Which felt stupid because you had just been naked under him in the morning light. But for some reason, this felt different. You were on your knees now, forearms against the bed with his shirt falling beneath you, the hem still twisted around your waist. The second thing you noticed was that you couldn’t see his face- couldn’t read the little changes there, couldn’t watch his mouth part when you shifted against him. You couldn't see whether he looked wrecked, whether he looked too composed, whether he was looking at you the way you wanted him to.

You could only feel his hands.

One on your hip, the other smoothing up your back beneath the shirt. 

“Still green?” he asked.

His voice came from behind you, lower than before. Different. 

Your fingers curled in the sheets, “Yes.”

He kissed the back of your shoulder. Which helped as he guided himself back to you and pushed in slowly. 

Your breath caught immediately and he stopped, “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly, “No.”

“Cherry.”

“No, it’s good.” You closed your eyes. “Just different.”

His hand moved along your spine.

“Different good?”

You exhaled, embarrassed by the answer before you gave it.

“Yes.”

He stayed still for another second, letting you adjust. Then he moved.

The angle made your whole body go tight.

“Oh.”

The sound left you before you could make it pretty.

Logan’s hand tightened on your hip.

“Yeah?”

You pressed your face into your forearm.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Sound pleased.”

“I am pleased.”

“Quietly.”

His laugh was rough.

But he listened.

For a few strokes, there was only the quiet rhythm of it. His hips meeting yours slowly, the bed shifting beneath you, his breathing getting heavier behind you. One hand stayed on your hip, guiding. The other moved under the shirt, over your back, over your waist, like he was trying to keep contact with as much of you as possible.

It was good. It was very good in fact. 

It was also strange. Not in a bad way that made you want to change colours, but strange enough that you went quiet. Too quiet.

Logan noticed after maybe ten seconds and slowed,“Hey.”

You swallowed.

“What?”

His hand moved up your back again.

“You with me?”

“Yes.”

“You got quiet.”

“I’m allowed to be quiet.”

“You are.”

There was no argument in his voice. No push. Just his observation.

Then his body leaned over yours, chest pressing to your back, mouth near your shoulder, “I just like knowing where you are.”

Your breath caught for a reason that had nothing to do with the angle.

You turned your head slightly on your forearm, trying to see him- but you could not.

Logan seemed to understand at the same time you did.

“Oh,” he murmured.

Your face heated,“What?”

“You can’t see me.”

“I can see the pillow.”

“Not the same?”

“Not remotely.”

He laughed softly and kissed the back of your shoulder again.

Not teasing this time.

“You want to stop?”

“No.”

“You want to turn back over?”

You hesitated. Because no, you didn’t. The position was too much and not enough and exactly enough, all at once. You wanted to stay there. You wanted him behind you. You wanted the weight of his hands and the sound of his voice and the sharp, deep pleasure of the angle.

You also wanted to see him.

Logan’s hand slid to your jaw, gentle, turning your face just enough for him to kiss your cheek.

“Cherry.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

“Okay.”

“I just…” You exhaled, “I don’t like not knowing what your face is doing.”

He went still for half a second.

Then his forehead dropped between your shoulder blades.

The sound he made was not quite a laugh, and not exactly a groan. 

“You’re worried about my face?”

“Not worried.”

“No?”

“I like evidence.”

His hand tightened on your jaw.

Then, low, “Evidence.”

You immediately regretted the word.

“No.

His mouth brushed your shoulder.

“No evidence?”

“Do not start.”

“I’m not starting.”

“You absolutely are.”

He kissed the top of your spine, still half over you, still inside you, and the intimacy of that nearly took your knees out.

“Look at the dresser,” he said.

You blinked.

“What?”

“The mirror.”

Your head lifted.

The dresser mirror sat across from the bed, half cluttered by a water bottle, his watch, and an abandoned roll of tape someone had left in his room for reasons you did not understand. It caught the bed at an angle. Not perfectly. But enough.

Enough to see yourself on your knees in his shirt. Enough to see Logan behind you, bent over your back, hair messy, jaw tight, eyes dark and fixed on your reflection. Your whole body reacted.

Logan felt it and his gaze flicked to yours in the mirror.

“There she is,” he murmured.

Oh. That was worse. That was so much worse.

You looked away immediately.

His hand slid from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, guiding your face back up.

“No hiding.”

“You are behind me.”

“Still no hiding.”

“That is unreasonable.”

“Look.”

Your pulse jumped.

“Bossy.”

“Green?”

You swallowed.

“Green.”

“Then look.”

You did.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, and Logan moved again. Your mouth fell open.

His face changed behind you, composure cracking just enough for you to see it. His jaw flexed. His eyes went darker. One hand gripped your hip while the other stayed at your throat, holding you steady and visible.

That was what you had needed.

Not to be looked at like an object.

To be seen. To know he was with you. To know he was losing it too.

Logan’s voice dropped, “Good girl.”

Your body clenched around him.

His eyes shut for half a second, “Fuck.”

You would have smiled if you had not been too busy trying to remember how breathing worked.

He straightened behind you, just enough for you to see more of him in the mirror. His hands moved to your hips again, dragging you back onto him with careful pressure.

“Still good?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You like seeing?”

You made a sound that was not an answer.

He slowed, “Cherry.”

You glared at his reflection.

“I hate when you require verbal participation.”

His mouth curved, “I know.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

“Because you like it.”

You did not answer. Which was the answer he was looking for. 

He leaned over you again, mouth near your ear, eyes still on yours in the mirror, “You like seeing what you do to me.”

Your fingers twisted in the sheets and a flush washed over your body. 

“Logan.”

“You do.”

“Don’t make it sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know.”

His hips rolled into yours, and your answer broke apart, “I do know,” he murmured.

The next stroke made you drop your head. Immediately, his hand came to your jaw.

“Uh-uh.”

You groaned.

“Logan.”

“Look.”

You did, because apparently your body had decided obedience was the theme of the morning.

And there he was.

Behind you in the mirror.

Flushed and focused and so visibly affected by you that the exposure no longer felt one-sided. His hands on your hips. His body moving behind yours. His shirt bunched around your waist. Your own face wrecked in the reflection, mouth parted, eyes glossy, hair loose around your cheeks.

It should have embarrassed you more.

It did.

But the embarrassment fed the heat instead of stopping it.

“There you go,” he crooned, “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m trying not to be.”

“Try harder.”

His laugh broke into a groan when you pushed back against him, just a little, just enough to prove you could. His hands tightened.

“Oh, you’re gonna be like that?”

You glanced at him in the mirror, “Like what?”

His eyes darkened, “Careful.” He shifted the angle, one hand sliding around to your stomach, pulling you up slightly so your back arched against him.

The next thrust stole your breath. “Logan.”

“I know.”

His hand pressed gently over your stomach.

“Right there?”

You nodded, too fast.

He kissed your shoulder.

“Words.”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Your eyes fluttered as his mouth brushed your ear, “So good for me.”

You hated the sound you made.

Logan loved it.

You knew because his rhythm stuttered, his hand slid lower, fingers finding you beneath the shirt, and your arms almost gave out.

“Wait-”

He stopped instantly. Everything stopped, his thrusts paused suddenly, his breathing was still heavy behind you but his spine had straightened as his hand lifted away.

“What? Too much?”

You shook your head, breathless.

“No. Just-” You laughed once, broken and embarrassed,“I need a second.”

His hands went gentle at once.

“Okay.”

He stayed still inside you, chest against your back, mouth at your shoulder, breathing hard. The restraint in him made your head spin almost as much as the pleasure had.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Still green?”

“Yes.”

His hand moved slowly over your side.

“No rush.”

That was the thing that ruined you. As if he was perfectly content to stay there, holding you together, waiting for your body to catch up to what it wanted.

You turned your head enough to find his mouth.

He met you halfway, kissing you awkwardly over your shoulder. It was not elegant. The angle was terrible. Your neck protested. His nose bumped your cheek. Somehow, that made it better.

When you pulled away, you were smiling faintly.

“What?” he asked.

“This is logistically complicated.”

He huffed a laugh.

“Yeah?”

“Emotionally also.”

His expression softened in the mirror.

“Yeah?”

You looked at him, then nodded.

He kissed your shoulder again, “Good different?”

You closed your eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

His laugh warmed your skin.

Then, carefully, his hand returned between your thighs. He moved slowly at first, building you back up with maddening patience, fingers circling in time with the deep drag of him inside you. The mirror kept catching pieces of everything. His face. Your hands in the sheets. The flex of his arms. Your own expression every time he found the right angle.

You could not hide from it.

After a while, you stopped trying.

“That’s it,” Logan said, voice rough, “Look at you.”

Your breath broke, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Say things.”

“You like when I say things.”

“I like when you are quiet.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” you admitted, because there was no point lying to someone currently making you shake, “I don’t.”

His eyes met yours in the mirror, “There she is.”

Your body tightened.

Logan felt it immediately, “Close?”

You nodded. 

He kept you there. One hand between your thighs, the other at your hip, his mouth at your shoulder, his gaze holding yours in the mirror as the pleasure built fast and bright and inescapable.

You tried to drop your head when it hit.

His hand caught your jaw gently.

“Look at me.”

You did.

And came with your eyes on his reflection, Logan’s name breaking out of you as your body clenched around him. He held you through it, hips stilling, fingers working you softly until you were trembling and breathless beneath him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, “I’ve got you.”

Your arms gave out properly then.

He caught you before you collapsed fully, easing you down onto the mattress, turning you gently onto your side without pulling away too quickly. His body curved behind yours, one arm around your waist, mouth against the back of your neck.

For a few seconds, all you could do was breathe.

Logan’s breath was ragged too.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Words, Cherry.”

“Yes.”

“Too much?”

“No.”

“Good different?”

You shut your eyes, “Very.”

His forehead rested against the back of your shoulder and you could feel his smile.

“Don’t be pleased.”

“I’m a little pleased.”

“You would be.”

He kissed your shoulder, “I liked that.”

Your face warmed.

“I noticed.”

“Yeah?”

“You were not subtle.”

His hand moved over your stomach beneath the shirt.

“Neither were you.”

You opened one eye.

“I was extremely subtle.”

“Baby.”

“What?”

“You came looking at me in the mirror.”

Your whole body went hot.

“That was an accident.”

“Was it?”

“An emotional accident.”

He laughed softly.

You turned your face into the pillow.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No discussing.”

“Okay.”

“Immediately.”

“Okay.”

A pause.

Then, because he was himself, “Just one thing.”

You groaned into the pillow.

“Logan.”

His mouth brushed the back of your neck.

“You were so pretty, “His arm tightened around your waist, “Not teasing,” he said quietly.

You swallowed.

The morning light had gone warmer now, spilling across the sheets, catching the bare line of his arm over your body, the wrinkled fabric of his shirt still on you, the reflection of both of you faint and softened in the dresser mirror.

“Thank you,” you said, very softly.

His hand flattened over your stomach.

“You’re welcome.”

You lay like that for a while, half tangled, half dressed, both still trying to become normal again.

Eventually, because you could not allow sincerity to remain unattended for too long, you said, “That was logistically intense.”

His laugh hit your shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“And suspicious.”

“Suspicious?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I feel like you learned something.”

“I did.”

You turned your head slightly to find him smiling against your skin.

You narrowed your eyes, “What?”

“You like seeing my face.”

“That is not new information.”

“You really like seeing my face.”

“That phrasing is vulgar.”

“You asked for evidence.”

“Don’t.”

He laughed harder when you elbowed him lightly, “Sorry.”

“You are not sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re going to become insufferable.”

“Probably.”

You sighed.

He kissed behind your ear.

“But not right now.”

You softened despite yourself.

“No?”

“No.” Another kiss, lower this time. “Right now, I’m going to clean you up, get you water, and maybe steal my shirt back eventually.”

You looked down at the shirt. Then pulled it closer around yourself.

“No.”

“No?”

“This is mine now.”

“It says Briar Hockey.”

“It says mine.”

He laughed.

“Fine.”

You smiled into the pillow.

Behind you, Logan’s hand moved slowly over your waist.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝

[puckingcuckbunny]

🜼 — 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬 #𝟏

thank you @knightlittle for the dividers

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 𝟑,𝟒 𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐲 — 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 !

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 🜼

The first time Logan called you a good girl, he did not mean to. Which was a problem in itself, if he had meant to, perhaps you could have prepared.

If there had been warning, if he had looked at you with that slow, dangerous little smile and said it deliberately, you might have had enough time to collect yourself. To decide what face to make. To arrange your dignity into something presentable before it abandoned you entirely.

It was still early enough that certain things between you and Logan felt like discoveries rather than habits. Not awkward anymore, luckily you were past the worst of that. Past the first trembling moments of figuring out where to put your hands, when to ask, how to say something without feeling like every word had been dragged from somewhere too exposed.

But it was new enough that he still watched you closely.

You were in his room at the hockey house, Logan had been sitting against the headboard and you had started by kissing him there, then somehow ended up between his legs on the mattress with your knees pressed into the sheets and your hair falling over one shoulder. His door was locked. The house was noisy enough downstairs that privacy felt possible, but not silent enough to be too intense. Somewhere beneath you, Dean was shouting about someone stealing his cereal, which meant the world was still irritatingly alive outside the room.

Inside, it was warm. Logan was warmer.

He had one hand in your hair, not gripping. Just resting there, fingers curved gently against the back of your head. His other hand was fisted loosely in the sheets beside his thigh, like he was trying very hard to keep it there.

You learnt quickly that you liked that. You liked seeing his restraint, even though you were not entirely sure what to do with it yet. You had done this before.

Not often enough to be casual. Not rarely enough to be nervous in the same way. There was a strange little space between those things, where you wanted badly to be good at it but did not want to look like you were trying too hard. Which was stupid, because trying was the point.. Trying was academically and socially defensible.

Unfortunately, none of that made you feel less exposed with your mouth on him and Logan breathing your name like a warning.

“Slow,” he murmured.

You paused just enough to look up.

His head was tipped back against the wall, eyes dark and fixed on you. His sweatshirt was shoved up his stomach, jeans open, hair a mess from your hands. He looked less composed than usual, which helped. A lot.

“Too much?” you asked.

His mouth parted.

“No,” his laugh came out rough, “God, no. Just—slow down a little.”

You blinked.

“I thought you liked—”

“I do.”

“That was not a complete sentence.”

He looked at you then, properly, and even in the heat of it his mouth twitched.

“You want notes?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows lifted and you immediately regretted sounding so eager.

“Not like an evaluation,” you clarified.

“Cherry.”

“What?”

“You are between my legs asking for constructive feedback.”

Your face warmed, “Well, now you’re making it sound clinical.”

“It sounded clinical when you said notes.”

“I like being thorough.”

“I’m aware.”

You narrowed your eyes. He smiled, but the smile did not last long because your hand moved again and his breath caught hard enough to interrupt whatever smug thing he had been about to say.

There. You liked that too, that you could cut him off without using words.

You tried again, slower this time, paying attention to the way his stomach tightened and his fingers pressed into your hair before he remembered himself and loosened them. His breathing shifted. You watched his face, greedy for signs, for proof, for anything that told you you were doing it right.

Logan noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You don’t have to think so hard,” he said, voice low.

You pulled back just enough to answer, one hand still wrapped around him.

“I am not thinking hard.”

“You’re concentrating.”

“I’m learning.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

His eyes darkened at that.

Something about the word changed him. Not much. Just enough for the hand in your hair to flex, thumb brushing near your temple.

“Okay,” he stroked your hair, “Then slower.”

You obeyed.

His jaw tightened as he sighed, “Use your hand too. Like— yeah. There.”

Your pulse jumped.

There.

Such a stupidly satisfying word.

You adjusted, following the rhythm he guided you into, letting him show you without pushing you, his hand careful in your hair and his voice rougher each time he gave you another tiny instruction. It should have made you embarrassed. It did. But there was something else underneath it, something warmer and more dangerous than embarrassment.

You liked being guided by him.

You liked that he could tell you what to do without making you feel small.

You liked the way his voice went uneven when you listened.

“Just like that,” he moaned softly.

Your eyes flicked up.

His head had fallen back again, throat exposed, lips parted. He looked wrecked enough that your pride bloomed in your chest, hot and pleased. You kept going, slower, better, more certain now.

Logan’s hand tightened in the sheets,“That’s it,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Good girl.”

Everything stopped.

Not outside.

Outside, Dean was still yelling about cereal justice. Someone laughed in the hallway. Music thudded faintly through the floor.

But in your body, everything stopped.

And Logan felt it.

His eyes opened, head lifting from the wall and gaze dropping to you with sharp, immediate attention. The hand in your hair stilled completely.

You were still between his legs, still touching him, still too close to pretend you had simply remembered an appointment.

His expression slowly shifted,“Oh?”

You pulled back, face already hot.

“No.”

His mouth curved.

“No?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Make that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you learn something.”

Logan breathed out a laugh, but it came out too rough to be casual,“Baby.”

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said enough with your eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows?”

“Yes.”

“They’re involved now?”

“They’re very communicative.”

His smile widened, and the heat in your face became unbearable because he was still looking at you like that. Like he had found a drawer you had not known was unlocked. He lifted his hand from your hair and touched your jaw instead, gentle enough that you could have moved away without effort.

“You like that?”

“No.”

His thumb brushed once along your cheek,“No?”

You stared at him.

He waited.

That was the thing about Logan. He did not always fill silence when he knew it would do the work for him. He just waited, face warm and amused and careful, hand steady at your jaw.

“Maybe.”

His eyes darkened, “Colour?”

The question landed softly, grounding everything at once. 

“Green,” you said too quickly.

His smile changed, “Yeah?” His thumb moved under your chin, tilting your face up a fraction. “My good girl’s green?”

Your entire body reacted.

Logan noticed that too.

His breath shifted, and for one second he looked like he had forgotten what game he was playing.

Then he laughed, quiet and ruined, “Oh, Cherry.”

“You cannot say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased with myself.”

“That is not attractive.”

“It’s a little attractive.”

“It is not.”

“You’re still holding me.”

You looked down.

You were, hand still on him- not moving the entire time you had made the discovery. In fact, your grip had tightened

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” he replied, voice rougher now. “I know.”

You should have stopped. You considered stopping.

Not because you wanted to, but because it would have restored some kind of balance. You could have sat back, crossed your arms, accused him of misconduct in the field of vocabulary, and turned the whole thing into a joke before it became something he could use.

Instead, you looked at him; properly- studying his face, the flush on his cheekbones and the little stunned glint in his eye,like your reaction had done something to him too. Like he had said the words without thinking, watched you respond, and realised in real time that he had found a way to make you softer than either of you had been expecting.

That made you want to hear it again. Badly.

Which was inconvenient for your propriety, and humiliating for your ego- but unconventionally motivating for the rest of you.

You leaned back down.

Logan’s hand twitched, “Cherry.”

You ignored the warning in his voice, you knew exactly what you were doing now.

Mostly.

You took him into your mouth again. Slower at first, because he had said slower and you were suddenly, catastrophically invested in doing this correctly. His hand returned to your hair, fingers threading through carefully, then tightening when you used your hand the way he had shown you.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

That was very nice.

You did it again. His hips shifted, barely. He caught himself immediately, hand flattening against the mattress.

You looked up. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on you, and all the smugness had taken a significant hit. You hollowed your cheeks a little, using what you had learned, what he had told you, what his body was telling you now.

His head hit the wall, “Baby.”

You hummed in response, his whole body jerked in response.

“Jesus.”

You pulled back just enough to breathe, hand still moving, “Notes?”

He laughed, but there was no humour left in it. Only disbelief.

“You want notes right now?”

“Yes.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then back to your eyes.

“Slow again.”

You listened. His breathing turned ragged.

“Hand— yeah. Just like that.”

Warmth spread through your chest. In anticipation. You were waiting for the two words to reward your actions, and you hated it.

Logan’s  mouth parted, then curved with sudden understanding.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

His voice dropped, “You’re trying to get me to say it again.”

Your face burned.

“No.”

“No?”

You did not answer.

He shifted his hand in your hair, not pushing, not forcing, just holding enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Look at me.”

You did. It was a mistake for your resolve, everything was a mistake. 

His eyes were dark and bright at once, amusement tangled with want, want tangled with something softer because he understood exactly how new this was. Exactly how much you hated that he understood.

“If you want it,” he said, low, “you can have it.”

Your throat moved.

“But you’re gonna have to stop pretending you don’t.”

That was unfair.

You stared at him for one stubborn second. Then lowered your mouth again.

This time, you did not rush.

You did exactly what he had told you. Slower. Hand moving with your mouth. Eyes up. Breathing carefully. Not trying to impress him with force, not trying to hide behind performance. 

His grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he breathed.

You held his gaze.

His jaw flexed.

Then, rougher, “Good girl.”

There it was.

The words went through you like heat.

It was embarrassing how immediately they worked. Your focus sharpened. Your body seemed to understand them before your mind did, every nerve lighting up with pleased, greedy purpose. It was not even that you became softer, exactly.

You became determined. Dangerously determined.

Logan realised a second too late.

Because you went for it- properly. 

You didn’t rush and your moves hadn’t become clumsy, but you were suddenly much more committed to proving the praise deserved repeating. Your free hand slid to his thigh, fingers pressing into denim. Your mouth moved with more confidence now, following every broken sound he made, every shift in his breathing, every tightening of his hand in your hair.

His smugness vanished completely.

“Oh, fuck.”

You would have smiled if your mouth had been free.

It was not. So you did the next best thing.

You kept going.

Logan’s hand slammed against the mattress, fingers twisting in the sheet,“Cherry.”

It came out beautifully wrecked.

You looked up, and the sight of him nearly undid you. His head tipped back, throat working, chest rising hard, hair messy from your earlier hands, green sweatshirt shoved up over his stomach. He looked like someone had given you secret instructions and you had followed them too well.

That was, technically, what had happened.

“Baby,” he said, voice strained, “slow down.”

You immediately did.

His eyes opened. Logan’s expression softened for half a second before the heat swallowed it.

“Good,” he murmured, and then, because apparently he had no survival instinct left, “good girl.”

Your eyes fluttered.

His breath caught, “You really like that.”

You pulled back, mouth warm, face hotter.

“I am providing positive reinforcement.”

For one second, he stared at you and then he laughed, a rough, helpless sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised you.

“Positive reinforcement?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to call it that?”

“It’s accurate.”

“You’re the one being reinforced.”

You frowned, “That is not how I’m choosing to frame this.”

He sat up a little, hand still in your hair, eyes so dark you lost your next thought.

“No?”

“No.”

His thumb brushed your cheek.

“You sure?”

You swallowed.

Then, quieter, “Maybe it works both ways.”

That did something to him.

You saw it happen.

His amusement faded into something more intent, more affected. His hand slid from your hair to your jaw, thumb resting lightly near the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah?” he said.

You nodded once.

He looked at you for a long second and then kissed you.

It should have been too strange, considering where your mouth had been, but Logan did not seem to care. The kiss was deep and warm and messy enough to make your knees shift against the bedspread. His hand held your face like he was trying not to grip too hard, like he was reminding himself that this was still new, that you were still learning, that the softness he had found was not something to grab at carelessly.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“Still green?”

Your chest warmed, “Yes.”

“Good.”

You closed your eyes.

He laughed softly, “Not even the whole phrase.”

“Shut up.”

“You reacted to good.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I am leaving.”

“You’re kneeling.”

“I am spiritually leaving.”

He kissed the side of your mouth,“Stay.”

You did.

Obviously.

You stayed because he asked softly, because his hand was warm at your face, because you liked how he sounded when you got it right. Because he had said good girl and the world had not ended, even though your dignity had suffered a temporary structural collapse.

You went back down again.

This time, Logan was less composed from the start. He still guided you, but his voice had rough edges now, the instructions broken up by breath and curses and your name. He told you when to slow down, when to use your hand, when to look at him, and every time you listened, he praised you for it.

Not every time with the words.

Sometimes it was good. Sometimes there. Sometimes just a low, wrecked yeah that made your thighs press together where you knelt. But when he did say it, when good girl slipped into the room again, you felt it everywhere.

And Logan knew and he was absolutely going to become unbearable about it. Later.

For now, he was too close to be smug.

His hand tightened gently in your hair, “Cherry.”

You looked up. He was breathing hard, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like he was holding himself back with his teeth.

“I’m close.”

Your stomach flipped, “Do you want me to stop?”

His laugh sounded almost pained, “No.”

“Tell me,” you pleaded.

The words came out before you could make them prettier.

His expression changed.

His hand softened in your hair.

“Keep going,” he said, voice low, “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

Your heart stuttered.

He came with your name in his mouth and one hand careful in your hair, his whole body tensing under you before he went loose against the headboard. You stayed close until he gently tugged you up, pulling you into his lap with the kind of urgency that was more emotional than physical.

He kissed you first.

Then your cheek.

Then your forehead.

Then, absurdly, the tip of your nose.

You blinked at him.

“What was that?”

“Gratitude.”

“You kissed my nose out of gratitude?”

“Yeah.”

“That is not standard protocol.”

“I’m improvising.”

“You should workshop it.”

His laugh was quiet against your skin.

You sat in his lap, slightly dazed and trying to recover your dignity while he looked at you like recovering your dignity was not a thing he had any interest in helping you do.

After a minute, his thumb brushed your lower lip.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Too much?”

You shook your head.

“No.” Then, because honesty had already ruined enough of your evening, you added, “I liked it.”

His eyes softened.

“What part?”

You gave him a look.

“Do not fish.”

“I’m not.”

“You are absolutely fishing.”

“I’m asking.”

“You know.”

His mouth curved.

“Do I?”

You looked away.

“Logan.”

“Cherry.”

“You cannot call me that casually.”

His eyebrows lifted,“Cherry?”

You glared.

He grinned,“Oh.” His hand slid to your waist, “That.”

“Yes. That.”

“Good girl?”

Your whole body betrayed you. Immediately.

He saw and the grin faded into something slower,“There it is.”

“You are evil.”

“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Just informed.”

“I hate informed men.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

“You want me to forget?”

You turned back to him.

He was teasing, but the question under it was real. Warm. Careful. Offering you the out before you had to ask for one.

Your expression softened despite yourself, “No.”

His hand moved gently over your back.

“No?”

“No.” You swallowed. “Just don’t be smug.”

“That might be hard.”

“Try.”

“For you?”

You nodded once.

His mouth brushed yours, “Okay.”

You did not believe him. Which was wise, because ten seconds later, when he handed you the water bottle from his nightstand and you took it automatically, he murmured, “Attagirl,” under his breath.

You stopped.

Slowly turned your head.

He was looking away.

Badly.

“Logan.”

“Hm?”

“I heard that.”

“Heard what?”

“You’re testing adjacent vocabulary.”

“I’m hydrating you.”

“You are conducting research.”

“Positive reinforcement,” he said solemnly.

You stared at him.

Then hit him in the chest with a pillow.

He laughed properly then, catching it before you could swing again, pulling you down with him until you were both lying half-sideways on the bed, your hair in his face, his sweatshirt still shoved up, the room warm and messy and ridiculous around you.

Downstairs, Dean yelled, “FOR THE LAST TIME, WHO TOOK MY CEREAL?”

You and Logan both went still.

Then Logan looked at you.

You looked back.

He whispered, “Wasn’t me.”

You whispered, “I think Allie took it for our dorm .”

He laughed again, quieter this time, and pulled you closer.

You tucked your face into his neck, still embarrassed, still warm, still buzzing faintly with the knowledge that something new had been found and carefully kept.

Logan’s hand moved slowly over your back.

A little while later, when you thought he might have fallen asleep, his voice came softly near your ear.

“You really were good, you know.”

Your heart squeezed and you lifted your head

He was watching you with tired, warm eyes.

“You can just say thank you,” you said.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A pause.

Then, because you were you, “I still think your terminology caused unnecessary complications.”

His mouth curved.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Noted.”

“You’re going to do it again.”

“Probably.”

“At least be academically responsible.”

“What does that mean?”

“Controlled conditions. Clear variables. No surprise terminology.”

He brushed hair from your face, smiling like he could not help it.

“And if I say it accidentally?”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to document the effects.”

Very slowly, his expression changed, “Positive reinforcement?”

You sighed into his chest.

“I have created a monster.”

Logan kissed the top of your head, “Good girl.”

You groaned.

He laughed so hard the bed shook.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @harls-sturn, @https-dandelion, @watergirl85, @brianna28483, @irishone11, @anyasthoughts, @kmc1989, @norrisidous, @glorveina, @zophiathefirst, @outpostsworld, @yomamaslays4lyfe, @babblegumgirl101, @itmekelpy, @strengthandstay, @run-for-the-hills, @eviemae5864, @tabisswag, @reveries01, @gojodaddy1029 @lukeyoumeanit, @ashloveshockey, @fandom-princess-forevermore @thewrxith05 @jemimah-b99, @themarvelousbee, @roisebear, @bootyliciousbutterfly, @clarittys, @mossmydarling, @gobiiiyob, @cutiekirby, @choppedpartymuffinwinner, @beathreat @manixie, @melaninbradshaw, @sunmooner, @lilylilyyyyyy, @wintermoonly, @emilyswortwellen, @legendarychrattgirl, @linnygirl09, @saturnssrings, @solstice-333, @loonylosworld, @alwaysforgr63, @getawaycarficrecs, @mattssweetheart, @wiishies, @emsluvv, @its-phi, @p0w3rp01nt, @m00nlightdaze, @violetisheresworld, @ronjantz, @princessglittersparklecupcake, @lllucere, @hadesnumber1daughter, @beelivable, @glitterbutt, @unknownsangel2, @hteusefam, @runicgriffintundra, @parker-barnes-af, @hxneydewsblog, @andisalias, @lucyysthings, @mariamadison6-blog, @yehsahihai, @ilovesharry, @cherryrulestheworld, @offcampusimaginesyass, @luvelyss16, @chrissbows, @lazystarlightsecret, @thegirlunivers-blog, @44-ilton, @unknownsangel2, @runicgriffintundra, @stilinskisensation, @lucyysthings, @violetisheresworld, @leysol, @ridinnjeanssdichhhh, @virgoalert123,@carolinexkpop, @annxblack, @latenighttalkinqwp, @laushine, @rocklandhoax, @mattmurdockswifeyy, @decaffeinatedpuppygiver, @otterly-fey, @undercoverbatwoman, @qualityvoidsweets, @megumitoenail, @0fics, @littl3d3v, @daughterfrcmhell, @sincere1ysam, @singlepringle4you.

[readerhead]

this has done some irreparable damage to my praise kink

[puckingcuckbunny]

I AM PROUD OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS

[readerhead]

and i am proud of your actions, keep them going PLEASE 😭

[puckingcuckbunny]

🜼 — 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬 #𝟏

thank you @knightlittle for the dividers

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 𝟑,𝟒 𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐲 — 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 !

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 🜼

The first time Logan called you a good girl, he did not mean to. Which was a problem in itself, if he had meant to, perhaps you could have prepared.

If there had been warning, if he had looked at you with that slow, dangerous little smile and said it deliberately, you might have had enough time to collect yourself. To decide what face to make. To arrange your dignity into something presentable before it abandoned you entirely.

It was still early enough that certain things between you and Logan felt like discoveries rather than habits. Not awkward anymore, luckily you were past the worst of that. Past the first trembling moments of figuring out where to put your hands, when to ask, how to say something without feeling like every word had been dragged from somewhere too exposed.

But it was new enough that he still watched you closely.

You were in his room at the hockey house, Logan had been sitting against the headboard and you had started by kissing him there, then somehow ended up between his legs on the mattress with your knees pressed into the sheets and your hair falling over one shoulder. His door was locked. The house was noisy enough downstairs that privacy felt possible, but not silent enough to be too intense. Somewhere beneath you, Dean was shouting about someone stealing his cereal, which meant the world was still irritatingly alive outside the room.

Inside, it was warm. Logan was warmer.

He had one hand in your hair, not gripping. Just resting there, fingers curved gently against the back of your head. His other hand was fisted loosely in the sheets beside his thigh, like he was trying very hard to keep it there.

You learnt quickly that you liked that. You liked seeing his restraint, even though you were not entirely sure what to do with it yet. You had done this before.

Not often enough to be casual. Not rarely enough to be nervous in the same way. There was a strange little space between those things, where you wanted badly to be good at it but did not want to look like you were trying too hard. Which was stupid, because trying was the point.. Trying was academically and socially defensible.

Unfortunately, none of that made you feel less exposed with your mouth on him and Logan breathing your name like a warning.

“Slow,” he murmured.

You paused just enough to look up.

His head was tipped back against the wall, eyes dark and fixed on you. His sweatshirt was shoved up his stomach, jeans open, hair a mess from your hands. He looked less composed than usual, which helped. A lot.

“Too much?” you asked.

His mouth parted.

“No,” his laugh came out rough, “God, no. Just—slow down a little.”

You blinked.

“I thought you liked—”

“I do.”

“That was not a complete sentence.”

He looked at you then, properly, and even in the heat of it his mouth twitched.

“You want notes?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows lifted and you immediately regretted sounding so eager.

“Not like an evaluation,” you clarified.

“Cherry.”

“What?”

“You are between my legs asking for constructive feedback.”

Your face warmed, “Well, now you’re making it sound clinical.”

“It sounded clinical when you said notes.”

“I like being thorough.”

“I’m aware.”

You narrowed your eyes. He smiled, but the smile did not last long because your hand moved again and his breath caught hard enough to interrupt whatever smug thing he had been about to say.

There. You liked that too, that you could cut him off without using words.

You tried again, slower this time, paying attention to the way his stomach tightened and his fingers pressed into your hair before he remembered himself and loosened them. His breathing shifted. You watched his face, greedy for signs, for proof, for anything that told you you were doing it right.

Logan noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You don’t have to think so hard,” he said, voice low.

You pulled back just enough to answer, one hand still wrapped around him.

“I am not thinking hard.”

“You’re concentrating.”

“I’m learning.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

His eyes darkened at that.

Something about the word changed him. Not much. Just enough for the hand in your hair to flex, thumb brushing near your temple.

“Okay,” he stroked your hair, “Then slower.”

You obeyed.

His jaw tightened as he sighed, “Use your hand too. Like— yeah. There.”

Your pulse jumped.

There.

Such a stupidly satisfying word.

You adjusted, following the rhythm he guided you into, letting him show you without pushing you, his hand careful in your hair and his voice rougher each time he gave you another tiny instruction. It should have made you embarrassed. It did. But there was something else underneath it, something warmer and more dangerous than embarrassment.

You liked being guided by him.

You liked that he could tell you what to do without making you feel small.

You liked the way his voice went uneven when you listened.

“Just like that,” he moaned softly.

Your eyes flicked up.

His head had fallen back again, throat exposed, lips parted. He looked wrecked enough that your pride bloomed in your chest, hot and pleased. You kept going, slower, better, more certain now.

Logan’s hand tightened in the sheets,“That’s it,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Good girl.”

Everything stopped.

Not outside.

Outside, Dean was still yelling about cereal justice. Someone laughed in the hallway. Music thudded faintly through the floor.

But in your body, everything stopped.

And Logan felt it.

His eyes opened, head lifting from the wall and gaze dropping to you with sharp, immediate attention. The hand in your hair stilled completely.

You were still between his legs, still touching him, still too close to pretend you had simply remembered an appointment.

His expression slowly shifted,“Oh?”

You pulled back, face already hot.

“No.”

His mouth curved.

“No?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Make that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you learn something.”

Logan breathed out a laugh, but it came out too rough to be casual,“Baby.”

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said enough with your eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows?”

“Yes.”

“They’re involved now?”

“They’re very communicative.”

His smile widened, and the heat in your face became unbearable because he was still looking at you like that. Like he had found a drawer you had not known was unlocked. He lifted his hand from your hair and touched your jaw instead, gentle enough that you could have moved away without effort.

“You like that?”

“No.”

His thumb brushed once along your cheek,“No?”

You stared at him.

He waited.

That was the thing about Logan. He did not always fill silence when he knew it would do the work for him. He just waited, face warm and amused and careful, hand steady at your jaw.

“Maybe.”

His eyes darkened, “Colour?”

The question landed softly, grounding everything at once. 

“Green,” you said too quickly.

His smile changed, “Yeah?” His thumb moved under your chin, tilting your face up a fraction. “My good girl’s green?”

Your entire body reacted.

Logan noticed that too.

His breath shifted, and for one second he looked like he had forgotten what game he was playing.

Then he laughed, quiet and ruined, “Oh, Cherry.”

“You cannot say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased with myself.”

“That is not attractive.”

“It’s a little attractive.”

“It is not.”

“You’re still holding me.”

You looked down.

You were, hand still on him- not moving the entire time you had made the discovery. In fact, your grip had tightened

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” he replied, voice rougher now. “I know.”

You should have stopped. You considered stopping.

Not because you wanted to, but because it would have restored some kind of balance. You could have sat back, crossed your arms, accused him of misconduct in the field of vocabulary, and turned the whole thing into a joke before it became something he could use.

Instead, you looked at him; properly- studying his face, the flush on his cheekbones and the little stunned glint in his eye,like your reaction had done something to him too. Like he had said the words without thinking, watched you respond, and realised in real time that he had found a way to make you softer than either of you had been expecting.

That made you want to hear it again. Badly.

Which was inconvenient for your propriety, and humiliating for your ego- but unconventionally motivating for the rest of you.

You leaned back down.

Logan’s hand twitched, “Cherry.”

You ignored the warning in his voice, you knew exactly what you were doing now.

Mostly.

You took him into your mouth again. Slower at first, because he had said slower and you were suddenly, catastrophically invested in doing this correctly. His hand returned to your hair, fingers threading through carefully, then tightening when you used your hand the way he had shown you.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

That was very nice.

You did it again. His hips shifted, barely. He caught himself immediately, hand flattening against the mattress.

You looked up. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on you, and all the smugness had taken a significant hit. You hollowed your cheeks a little, using what you had learned, what he had told you, what his body was telling you now.

His head hit the wall, “Baby.”

You hummed in response, his whole body jerked in response.

“Jesus.”

You pulled back just enough to breathe, hand still moving, “Notes?”

He laughed, but there was no humour left in it. Only disbelief.

“You want notes right now?”

“Yes.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then back to your eyes.

“Slow again.”

You listened. His breathing turned ragged.

“Hand— yeah. Just like that.”

Warmth spread through your chest. In anticipation. You were waiting for the two words to reward your actions, and you hated it.

Logan’s  mouth parted, then curved with sudden understanding.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

His voice dropped, “You’re trying to get me to say it again.”

Your face burned.

“No.”

“No?”

You did not answer.

He shifted his hand in your hair, not pushing, not forcing, just holding enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Look at me.”

You did. It was a mistake for your resolve, everything was a mistake. 

His eyes were dark and bright at once, amusement tangled with want, want tangled with something softer because he understood exactly how new this was. Exactly how much you hated that he understood.

“If you want it,” he said, low, “you can have it.”

Your throat moved.

“But you’re gonna have to stop pretending you don’t.”

That was unfair.

You stared at him for one stubborn second. Then lowered your mouth again.

This time, you did not rush.

You did exactly what he had told you. Slower. Hand moving with your mouth. Eyes up. Breathing carefully. Not trying to impress him with force, not trying to hide behind performance. 

His grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he breathed.

You held his gaze.

His jaw flexed.

Then, rougher, “Good girl.”

There it was.

The words went through you like heat.

It was embarrassing how immediately they worked. Your focus sharpened. Your body seemed to understand them before your mind did, every nerve lighting up with pleased, greedy purpose. It was not even that you became softer, exactly.

You became determined. Dangerously determined.

Logan realised a second too late.

Because you went for it- properly. 

You didn’t rush and your moves hadn’t become clumsy, but you were suddenly much more committed to proving the praise deserved repeating. Your free hand slid to his thigh, fingers pressing into denim. Your mouth moved with more confidence now, following every broken sound he made, every shift in his breathing, every tightening of his hand in your hair.

His smugness vanished completely.

“Oh, fuck.”

You would have smiled if your mouth had been free.

It was not. So you did the next best thing.

You kept going.

Logan’s hand slammed against the mattress, fingers twisting in the sheet,“Cherry.”

It came out beautifully wrecked.

You looked up, and the sight of him nearly undid you. His head tipped back, throat working, chest rising hard, hair messy from your earlier hands, green sweatshirt shoved up over his stomach. He looked like someone had given you secret instructions and you had followed them too well.

That was, technically, what had happened.

“Baby,” he said, voice strained, “slow down.”

You immediately did.

His eyes opened. Logan’s expression softened for half a second before the heat swallowed it.

“Good,” he murmured, and then, because apparently he had no survival instinct left, “good girl.”

Your eyes fluttered.

His breath caught, “You really like that.”

You pulled back, mouth warm, face hotter.

“I am providing positive reinforcement.”

For one second, he stared at you and then he laughed, a rough, helpless sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised you.

“Positive reinforcement?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to call it that?”

“It’s accurate.”

“You’re the one being reinforced.”

You frowned, “That is not how I’m choosing to frame this.”

He sat up a little, hand still in your hair, eyes so dark you lost your next thought.

“No?”

“No.”

His thumb brushed your cheek.

“You sure?”

You swallowed.

Then, quieter, “Maybe it works both ways.”

That did something to him.

You saw it happen.

His amusement faded into something more intent, more affected. His hand slid from your hair to your jaw, thumb resting lightly near the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah?” he said.

You nodded once.

He looked at you for a long second and then kissed you.

It should have been too strange, considering where your mouth had been, but Logan did not seem to care. The kiss was deep and warm and messy enough to make your knees shift against the bedspread. His hand held your face like he was trying not to grip too hard, like he was reminding himself that this was still new, that you were still learning, that the softness he had found was not something to grab at carelessly.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“Still green?”

Your chest warmed, “Yes.”

“Good.”

You closed your eyes.

He laughed softly, “Not even the whole phrase.”

“Shut up.”

“You reacted to good.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I am leaving.”

“You’re kneeling.”

“I am spiritually leaving.”

He kissed the side of your mouth,“Stay.”

You did.

Obviously.

You stayed because he asked softly, because his hand was warm at your face, because you liked how he sounded when you got it right. Because he had said good girl and the world had not ended, even though your dignity had suffered a temporary structural collapse.

You went back down again.

This time, Logan was less composed from the start. He still guided you, but his voice had rough edges now, the instructions broken up by breath and curses and your name. He told you when to slow down, when to use your hand, when to look at him, and every time you listened, he praised you for it.

Not every time with the words.

Sometimes it was good. Sometimes there. Sometimes just a low, wrecked yeah that made your thighs press together where you knelt. But when he did say it, when good girl slipped into the room again, you felt it everywhere.

And Logan knew and he was absolutely going to become unbearable about it. Later.

For now, he was too close to be smug.

His hand tightened gently in your hair, “Cherry.”

You looked up. He was breathing hard, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like he was holding himself back with his teeth.

“I’m close.”

Your stomach flipped, “Do you want me to stop?”

His laugh sounded almost pained, “No.”

“Tell me,” you pleaded.

The words came out before you could make them prettier.

His expression changed.

His hand softened in your hair.

“Keep going,” he said, voice low, “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

Your heart stuttered.

He came with your name in his mouth and one hand careful in your hair, his whole body tensing under you before he went loose against the headboard. You stayed close until he gently tugged you up, pulling you into his lap with the kind of urgency that was more emotional than physical.

He kissed you first.

Then your cheek.

Then your forehead.

Then, absurdly, the tip of your nose.

You blinked at him.

“What was that?”

“Gratitude.”

“You kissed my nose out of gratitude?”

“Yeah.”

“That is not standard protocol.”

“I’m improvising.”

“You should workshop it.”

His laugh was quiet against your skin.

You sat in his lap, slightly dazed and trying to recover your dignity while he looked at you like recovering your dignity was not a thing he had any interest in helping you do.

After a minute, his thumb brushed your lower lip.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Too much?”

You shook your head.

“No.” Then, because honesty had already ruined enough of your evening, you added, “I liked it.”

His eyes softened.

“What part?”

You gave him a look.

“Do not fish.”

“I’m not.”

“You are absolutely fishing.”

“I’m asking.”

“You know.”

His mouth curved.

“Do I?”

You looked away.

“Logan.”

“Cherry.”

“You cannot call me that casually.”

His eyebrows lifted,“Cherry?”

You glared.

He grinned,“Oh.” His hand slid to your waist, “That.”

“Yes. That.”

“Good girl?”

Your whole body betrayed you. Immediately.

He saw and the grin faded into something slower,“There it is.”

“You are evil.”

“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Just informed.”

“I hate informed men.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

“You want me to forget?”

You turned back to him.

He was teasing, but the question under it was real. Warm. Careful. Offering you the out before you had to ask for one.

Your expression softened despite yourself, “No.”

His hand moved gently over your back.

“No?”

“No.” You swallowed. “Just don’t be smug.”

“That might be hard.”

“Try.”

“For you?”

You nodded once.

His mouth brushed yours, “Okay.”

You did not believe him. Which was wise, because ten seconds later, when he handed you the water bottle from his nightstand and you took it automatically, he murmured, “Attagirl,” under his breath.

You stopped.

Slowly turned your head.

He was looking away.

Badly.

“Logan.”

“Hm?”

“I heard that.”

“Heard what?”

“You’re testing adjacent vocabulary.”

“I’m hydrating you.”

“You are conducting research.”

“Positive reinforcement,” he said solemnly.

You stared at him.

Then hit him in the chest with a pillow.

He laughed properly then, catching it before you could swing again, pulling you down with him until you were both lying half-sideways on the bed, your hair in his face, his sweatshirt still shoved up, the room warm and messy and ridiculous around you.

Downstairs, Dean yelled, “FOR THE LAST TIME, WHO TOOK MY CEREAL?”

You and Logan both went still.

Then Logan looked at you.

You looked back.

He whispered, “Wasn’t me.”

You whispered, “I think Allie took it for our dorm .”

He laughed again, quieter this time, and pulled you closer.

You tucked your face into his neck, still embarrassed, still warm, still buzzing faintly with the knowledge that something new had been found and carefully kept.

Logan’s hand moved slowly over your back.

A little while later, when you thought he might have fallen asleep, his voice came softly near your ear.

“You really were good, you know.”

Your heart squeezed and you lifted your head

He was watching you with tired, warm eyes.

“You can just say thank you,” you said.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A pause.

Then, because you were you, “I still think your terminology caused unnecessary complications.”

His mouth curved.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Noted.”

“You’re going to do it again.”

“Probably.”

“At least be academically responsible.”

“What does that mean?”

“Controlled conditions. Clear variables. No surprise terminology.”

He brushed hair from your face, smiling like he could not help it.

“And if I say it accidentally?”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to document the effects.”

Very slowly, his expression changed, “Positive reinforcement?”

You sighed into his chest.

“I have created a monster.”

Logan kissed the top of your head, “Good girl.”

You groaned.

He laughed so hard the bed shook.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @harls-sturn, @https-dandelion, @watergirl85, @brianna28483, @irishone11, @anyasthoughts, @kmc1989, @norrisidous, @glorveina, @zophiathefirst, @outpostsworld, @yomamaslays4lyfe, @babblegumgirl101, @itmekelpy, @strengthandstay, @run-for-the-hills, @eviemae5864, @tabisswag, @reveries01, @gojodaddy1029 @lukeyoumeanit, @ashloveshockey, @fandom-princess-forevermore @thewrxith05 @jemimah-b99, @themarvelousbee, @roisebear, @bootyliciousbutterfly, @clarittys, @mossmydarling, @gobiiiyob, @cutiekirby, @choppedpartymuffinwinner, @beathreat @manixie, @melaninbradshaw, @sunmooner, @lilylilyyyyyy, @wintermoonly, @emilyswortwellen, @legendarychrattgirl, @linnygirl09, @saturnssrings, @solstice-333, @loonylosworld, @alwaysforgr63, @getawaycarficrecs, @mattssweetheart, @wiishies, @emsluvv, @its-phi, @p0w3rp01nt, @m00nlightdaze, @violetisheresworld, @ronjantz, @princessglittersparklecupcake, @lllucere, @hadesnumber1daughter, @beelivable, @glitterbutt, @unknownsangel2, @hteusefam, @runicgriffintundra, @parker-barnes-af, @hxneydewsblog, @andisalias, @lucyysthings, @mariamadison6-blog, @yehsahihai, @ilovesharry, @cherryrulestheworld, @offcampusimaginesyass, @luvelyss16, @chrissbows, @lazystarlightsecret, @thegirlunivers-blog, @44-ilton, @unknownsangel2, @runicgriffintundra, @stilinskisensation, @lucyysthings, @violetisheresworld, @leysol, @ridinnjeanssdichhhh, @virgoalert123,@carolinexkpop, @annxblack, @latenighttalkinqwp, @laushine, @rocklandhoax, @mattmurdockswifeyy, @decaffeinatedpuppygiver, @otterly-fey, @undercoverbatwoman, @qualityvoidsweets, @megumitoenail, @0fics, @littl3d3v, @daughterfrcmhell, @sincere1ysam, @singlepringle4you.

[readerhead]

this has done some irreparable damage to my praise kink

[readerhead]

nah like. i’ve been saying reneé’s my fave singer for the past yr and i didnt even know about the whole lore between her and antonio until off campus came out 😭🫩 and then proceeds to fall for john logan like what is my life

i heard about the in the kitchen lore but i forgot who was the guy and i even fell first for dean, but life has mysterious ways i guess

[readerhead]

irony is listening to reneé rapp while reading john logan fics