[rinvvii]

°❀.ೃ࿔* rin. she/her. Fil. 17. multifandom

I like love and deep space, epic the musical, the pitt, anime, manga, crochet, and all kinds of films and television.

just writing for fun whenever motivation decides to show up. i mainly write x reader afab/fem!reader fics without using y/n. feel free to drop by my inbox to chat or share ideas. kindness and patience are appreciated <3 no smut here.

© 2026 rinvvii

.☘︎ ݁˖ RESIDENT EVIL

one shots

Too late to leave now — leon kennedy x reader 【3.19k】

Routine — leon kennedy x OCD! reader 【1.01k】

Eyes on target — leon kennedy x reader 【806】

.☘︎ ݁˖ OFF CAMPUS

one shots

Too pretty to keep secret (1) (2) — john logan x FIGURE SKATER! reader 【6.03k】

The boyfriend in row three — john logan x FIGURE SKATER! reader 【1.92k】

[rinvvii]

I was supposed to study for entrance exams in college, but right now, all I can think about is creating fanfiction about all the damned hot fictional men.

please help me gawd!!!

[rinvvii]

I always been thinking to write gojo satoru x HIGHER UP!reader likeeee yk yk what I mean ugh 😫😫😫

[rinvvii]

the boyfriend in row three; john logan

summary: you have a competition, and logan and the boys show up to support you in their own chaotic way. with logan quietly by your side before you skate and the others cheering way too loudly from the stands. You perform under pressure and don’t win first place but you leave the ice feeling like you didn’t lose anything that matters.

pairings: john logan x FIGURE SKATER! reader

RIN'S NOTE: this is requested by a lovely anon hehe, I hope you enjoyed it!

【 WC 1.92k 】

Logan didn’t understand figure skating. Not really. He understood hockey. 

Crowds. Pressure. Competition.

But figure skating? Figure skating felt terrifying.

Mostly because everybody looked so calm about things that absolutely should not have been physically possible.

“You’re telling me she jumps,” Tucker said slowly from across the cafeteria table, “and lands on a knife shoe.”

Across from him, Garrett snorted into his drink while Dean leaned back in his chair looking deeply invested in the conversation.

“I think it’s elegant,” Dean announced.

“You think everything’s elegant.”

“That’s because I have taste.”

Logan barely paid attention to the conversation happening around him. Instead, his focus stayed entirely on you sitting beside him while scrolling through your competition schedule with a tiny crease between your brows.

You’d been doing that all week.

Thinking too hard. Over-preparing.

Getting quieter the closer the competition got.

Logan noticed all of it.

“You’re stressing again,” he said softly.

Your head lifted immediately. “I’m not.”

“You reorganized your skating bag three times yesterday.”

“That means nothing.”

“It means you’re spiraling.”

Garrett pointed immediately. “See? He knows.”

You groaned quietly while Logan only looked smug for half a second before his expression softened again.

“Hey,” he murmured, nudging your knee gently beneath the table. “You’re gonna be fine.” You smiled faintly at him.

And Tucker looked between both of you suspiciously.

“…You guys are weirdly intense.”

Dean burst out laughing.

A few days before the competition, Hannah found you alone at the rink stretching after practice.

Music echoed quietly through the nearly empty arena while cold air curled against your skin.

“You’re still here?” Hannah asked softly.

You looked up from the floor. “Coach added extra run-throughs.”

She hummed knowingly before sitting beside you. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then Hannah glanced toward you carefully.

“You’re nervous.”

You exhaled through your nose quietly.

“A little.”

“Liar."

You laughed softly at that before dropping your head back against the wall behind you. “I don’t know,” you admitted eventually. “I think it feels worse this year.”

“Why?”

Your fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the sleeves of your hoodie.

“Because now people I care about are watching.”

Hannah’s expression softened immediately.

Oh.

She understood that feeling.

Performing in front of strangers was easy sometimes. But performing in front of people whose opinions mattered?

That was terrifying.

“You know the funny thing about performing?” she asked quietly.

You glanced toward her.

“The people who love you already want you to succeed before you even start.”

Your chest tightened slightly. Because she was right. And somehow that almost made it scarier. Hannah nudged your shoulder lightly afterward.

“Also, if Logan somehow makes you more nervous, I’ll kill him." You laughed again.

“Fair.”

Logan was absolutely making things worse. Not intentionally.

But every time you caught him looking at you lately, he had this expression on his face like the competition already mattered deeply to him too. Which was unfair.

Because now you wanted to do well for him too. A dangerous thought.

One evening after practice, you sat on one of the rink benches retightening your skates for the third time. Nervous habit.

“You’re doing it again.”

You looked up immediately. Logan walked toward you carrying two hot chocolates in his hands. You accepted yours gratefully. “I’m not nervous.”

“You tied your skates so tight yesterday your foot went numb.”

“…That happened once.”

“It shouldn’t happen at all.”

You rolled your eyes softly while Logan sat beside you.

For a few quiet seconds, the rink remained peaceful around you. Empty bleachers. Cold air. Soft scraping sounds from another skater practicing in the distance.

Then Logan glanced toward you carefully.

“You know you don’t have to be perfect, right?”

You stared down into your drink.

“Easy for you to say.”

“No,” Logan said quietly. “Easy for me to see.”

Your throat tightened a little at that. Because he sounded so sure. Like there wasn’t a version of this competition where he’d think less of you.

Then Logan reached over absentmindedly and zipped your jacket higher after noticing you shiver. Automatic.

Like taking care of you had become instinct now. “You know,” you murmured softly, “you’re surprisingly good at emotional support.” Logan looked thoughtful.

“I think hockey emotionally prepared me for this.”

“You punched somebody last week.”

“He deserved it.”

You laughed quietly. And Logan smiled immediately hearing it. God. He loved making you laugh. Unfortunately—

“Okay wait.”

Both of you looked up. Tucker stood near the rink entrance holding a notebook. A literal notebook. You blinked. “Why do you have that?”

“I’m studying.”

Dean appeared behind him immediately looking exhausted already. “He’s been asking questions for thirty minutes.”

Tucker ignored him and looked back toward you seriously. “What’s the difference between jumps?” You stared.

“Tucker—”

“No seriously. If I’m supporting you, I need context.”

Garrett walked in behind them carrying snacks.

“I told him not to research.”

“You can research figure skating?”

“I found charts.”

You covered your face laughing while Logan groaned beside you.

“This is all my fault somehow.”

“It really is,” Dean agreed.

Competition day arrived too quickly.

Logan had expected nerves. He had not expected genuine emotional distress.

“She’ll be fine,” Garrett said for the fifth time while the boys sat together in the arena stands. Logan nodded once.

Then immediately went back to staring at the ice anxiously. Dean looked at him.

“You look like you’re waiting outside a delivery room.”

“I’m supporting my girlfriend.”

“You look one inconvenience away from fighting a judge.”

“That depends on the scores.”

Garrett burst out laughing. The arena slowly filled around them while skaters warmed up beneath bright overhead lights.

And then, there you were.

Logan’s entire expression changed instantly. You moved carefully across the ice in your warmup jacket, adjusting your gloves before starting another practice run.

Beautiful.

Not in the dramatic movie kind of way. Just, familiar and comfortable. You looked toward the stands eventually.

And the second you spotted Logan sitting there, something in your expression relaxed. Like finding him there steadied you. Garrett noticed immediately.

“She was looking for you.”

Logan tried very hard not to smile too hard but failed completely.

By the time your event officially began, Logan’s heart was beating harder than it ever did before hockey games.

The arena dimmed slightly. The crowd quieted. And you stepped into position at center ice.

For one terrifying second, everything felt still. Then the music started. Logan forgot how breathing worked.

You moved across the ice effortlessly, every step smooth enough to make the routine look easy even though he knew how much work sat underneath every movement.

Beside him, Tucker leaned forward slowly.

“…How are people even built for this?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “Fear.”

Garrett shushed them both immediately.

Because you’d started your first jump. Logan physically leaned forward in his seat. You landed it perfectly. The crowd applauded loudly.

“Yes!” Logan shouted before he could stop himself. Several people turned toward him.

He didn’t care. Not when you looked that good out there. The second jump landed even cleaner.

Garrett clapped hard beside him while Dean whistled loudly.

Tucker nearly stood up too early before the spin finished.

“Oh my god,” he whispered aggressively. “She’s spinning so fast.”

Logan laughed breathlessly under his breath. Because somehow, watching you skate felt emotional.

Like he was watching the person he loved doing something that completely belonged to them. And for a few minutes, nothing else existed except you moving beneath the lights.

Then your final pose hit. The arena erupted. And Logan stood immediately with the others. “That is my girlfriend!”

Dean doubled over laughing beside him.

“You’re insane.”

Logan didn’t even deny it. Because maybe he was.

Stuffed animals and flowers scattered across the ice while you bowed politely despite breathing hard from exertion.

Your chest still rose unevenly when you finally skated off the rink. And for a second. You weren’t sure.

The routine had felt good. Mostly. But there were tiny mistakes too. Tiny moments only you probably noticed.

Enough to leave uncertainty curling uncomfortably in your stomach while scores flashed across the screen.

Not first.

Not even close enough to challenge for it.

A familiar disappointment settled quietly in your chest. Not devastating. Just heavy.

You worked hard for this. You wanted more. By the time you reached the hallway outside the rink, you’d mostly hidden the feeling away already. At least until—

“There she is.”

You looked up immediately. Logan stood waiting near the doors holding a bouquet behind his back. Your chest tightened instantly.

The boys crowded behind him looking ridiculously emotional.

Dean pointed dramatically at you. “Robbery. Actual robbery.”

Garrett nodded seriously. “Your score was insane.”

“I booed internally,” Tucker informed you.

That made you laugh softly for the first time since leaving the ice. Then Logan stepped closer quietly. And finally handed you the bouquet.

Your favorite flowers. Of course they were.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmured.

“I know.”

Your eyes lifted toward him. And Logan smiled softly. “You were incredible.”

Not: you should’ve won.

Not: the judges sucked.

Just: you were incredible.

Simple and honest. Your throat tightened embarrassingly fast. Because suddenly losing didn’t feel quite as sharp anymore.

Logan’s hand brushed gently against your waist afterward. “You okay?” You nodded once. Then sighed quietly. “A little disappointed.”

“That’s fair.”

You looked at him carefully. “You’re not gonna tell me I deserved first?”

Logan shook his head once.

“No.”

You blinked. Dean gasped dramatically behind him. Logan smiled faintly.

“I’m gonna tell you I loved watching you out there.”

Your entire chest ached. God. How was he real?

Then Tucker suddenly held out a small stuffed hockey bear toward you awkwardly.

“I caught this after Dean missed the throw.”

Dean looked offended. “I was emotional.”

You accepted the plushie immediately laughing. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Tucker said proudly. “I still don’t understand the scoring system, but I support you aggressively.”

Garrett patted your shoulder warmly afterward.

“Seriously, you did great.”

“And Logan almost fought somebody during the second score reveal,” Dean added.

“I did not.”

“You stood up.”

“It was supportive standing.”

You laughed again. And Logan visibly relaxed hearing the sound.

Later that night, all of you ended up squeezed together inside a crowded bar booth downtown. Warm lights. Loud music. Half-finished drinks scattered across the table.

The competition replayed itself through conversation for almost an hour.

Tucker still didn’t understand spins.

Dean claimed artistic bias affected judging.

Garrett argued passionately about performance quality despite understanding absolutely nothing about figure skating.

And beside you, Logan stayed mostly quiet. Just listening.

His arm rested comfortably along the back of your booth while your knee pressed lightly against his beneath the table comfortable, warm, and easy. At one point, Garrett looked toward you with a grin.

“You know Logan screamed during one of the jumps, right?”

Your head snapped toward him instantly.

“You screamed?”

Logan looked offended.

“It was supportive.”

“It was terrifying,” Dean corrected.

“You scared the woman beside us,” Garrett added.

“She was weak.”

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink. And Logan immediately looked at you with that soft expression again.

That one.

The terrifyingly in love one Dean kept complaining about. The competition hadn’t gone perfectly. You didn’t leave with first place or gold medals or the score you wanted.

But later, sitting tucked beside Logan while laughter and conversation filled the booth around you, his hand warm against your knee beneath the table, you realized none of that felt nearly as important anymore.

© 2026 rinvvii

[rinvvii]

helloo i love ur fic logan x figure skater reader

can i request a fic where logan and the boys watch and support reader on figure skating competition??

thank you so muchhh sorry for my english, not my first language 🙏🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Aww!! I am so grateful that you enjoy my fic 💕💕💕 I saw your mail a few days ago, and I just completed today writing the fic you requested! Hehe, I'll post it anytime and I hope you enjoy it reading it afterward! Love lots!

[pupisized]

[rinvvii]

While I was writing the part two of my John Logan fic, I always eat Cheetos using chopsticks so I can type, yolo.

cheetos giving me motivations

[rinvvii]

I love men when they know how to fix things

[rinvvii]

too pretty to keep secret; john logan

summary: Dating John Logan in secret would be easier if he knew how to act normal around you. Unfortunately, Logan is hopelessly in love, terrible at hiding it, and one affectionate comment away from exposing your entire relationship.

pairings: john logan x FIGURE SKATER! reader

RIN'S NOTE: I am so glad you guys enjoy the first part! I didn't expect it will liked by so many people, I appreciate it so much! Sorry that I take a long time to post the part 2, I kinda have to brainstormed a bit this one hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this! Love lots! <3

【WC 4.15k】

part one, part two

Nobody on campus knew you and Logan were together. Which meant your relationship existed almost entirely in small moments.

Like the coffee sitting inside your locker every Monday morning. Still warm.

You opened the locker one morning only to immediately smile at the familiar cup resting beside your books. A sticky note was wrapped around it messily.

Don’t say I never do anything for you.

— your favorite hockey player

You laughed quietly under your breath before quickly glancing around the hallway. Empty. Safe. Then you pulled your phone out immediately.

you’re literally the only hockey player i know

Your phone buzzed almost instantly.

exactly

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. Unfortunately, someone cleared their throat nearby. You nearly jumped.

Logan appeared around the corner at the exact same moment Dean walked down the hallway.

Both of you immediately straightened. Your smile disappeared so fast. Logan casually shoved both hands into his pockets like he hadn’t just been staring at his phone waiting for your response.

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly. Hmm. 

“Morning,” Dean said slowly.

“Morning,” you answered quickly.

Logan nodded once. “Hey.”

Dean looked between both of you. Then kept walking. The second he disappeared around the corner, you both looked at each other again before quietly laughing.

“Smooth,” you whispered.

“I panicked.”

“I could tell.”

“You looked guilty too.”

“I learned from you.”

Logan grinned. God, you are so pretty. 

Keeping the relationship hidden quickly turned into a game. A dangerous one sometimes.

Because Logan looked at you too softly without realizing it. And you smiled at him too automatically. Like during lectures.

You sat two rows ahead of him while pretending to pay attention to the professor, phone hidden beneath the desk.

Then your screen lit up. Logan. 

this professor hates me personally

You bit back a smile.

you slept through class yesterday

irrelevant

look at me

You shouldn’t have. You knew you shouldn’t have. Still, your eyes drifted back toward him anyway. And there he was already staring at you with a lazy grin.

Warm brown eyes. Messy hair. Completely distracted.

Your stomach flipped instantly. Then Garrett leaned toward Logan to say something, forcing Logan to look away quickly before either of you got caught.

Unfortunately, Dean was sitting nearby. And Dean noticed everything.

Especially the way Logan smiled at his phone before looking at you.

Especially the way you immediately ducked your head afterward to hide your own smile.

Dean leaned back slightly in his chair as he tried to stop from grinning. Looks like his friend is been trying to hide something from them. 

The rink became your favorite place to exist together. Mostly because it felt private even when it wasn’t. You were sitting on the bench one evening after practice, frustrated while aggressively messing with your skate laces.

“These things hate me.”

Logan looked up from his phone immediately. “What happened now?”

“They feel uneven.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“Because they still are.”

Logan sighed dramatically before standing and walking over toward you.

“Give me that.”

Before you could protest, he crouched down in front of you automatically, hands moving toward your skates like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Which honestly? It kind of was.

You watched quietly while he retied the laces carefully. Focused. Gentle.

His large hands worked surprisingly delicately against the white laces while the rink lights reflected softly against the ice behind him. You couldn't help look and admire at his handsome face. 

“You know,” you mumbled, “normal boyfriends buy flowers.” Logan glanced up immediately.

“I bought you mozzarella sticks yesterday.”

“That’s not romantic.”

“Baby,” he said seriously, “that’s devotion.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. And Logan immediately smiled hearing it.

Then suddenly—

“Oh my god.”

Both your heads snapped upward instantly. Tucker stood near the rink entrance staring directly at both of you. Your soul almost left your body. Logan stood so fast he nearly tripped over the bench.

“She had a skate issue,” he said immediately.

Tucker blinked.

“…Okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yep.”

Silence. Then Tucker frowned slightly.

“Why are you both acting weird?”

“We’re not,” you and Logan answered at the exact same time.

Tucker stared another second. Then shrugged.

“Alright.”

The second he walked away, you collapsed forward laughing into your hands. Logan groaned loudly beside you.

“We’re terrible at this.”

“You almost fell over.”

“I panicked.”

“You looked guilty.”

“Because Tucker scares me.”

You laughed harder while Logan watched you with that familiar soft look in his eyes. For a while, things stayed like that. Warm and easy. 

Until the night he forgot to pick you up from the rink.

The first sign that something was wrong was that John Logan stopped texting back.

Which, honestly, shouldn’t have been alarming. People got busy. Hockey practice ran late. Classes existed.

Still, you found yourself checking your phone again while sitting on the edge of the skating rink bench, your skates half unlaced and your bag resting beside you. The rink had already started emptying out around you, the usual post-practice noise fading into silence one person at a time.

10:14 PM.

You stared at the screen.

No new messages.

Usually, Logan waited for you after practice. Not openly, of course.

Your relationship still lived in stolen moments and hidden routines. He’d sit somewhere near the back row of the rink bleachers pretending to scroll through his phone while secretly watching your entire practice with that soft, hopeless expression he only ever wore around you.

Then afterward, he’d walk you halfway back to your dorm. Not too close. Not too obvious.

But close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every now and then. Tonight, though, there was nothing.

No Logan. No dumb texts. No terrible dad jokes waiting for you afterward.

The disappointment settled in your chest slowly, heavier than you wanted it to be.

“Need me to lock up?” one of the rink staff asked kindly.

You blinked, forcing yourself back to reality.

“Oh. No, sorry.”

You quickly finished unlacing your skates, trying not to feel ridiculous about the whole thing. It wasn’t even a big deal.

Still, by the time you stepped outside into the cold night air, your chest ached in that quiet way disappointment always did.

And somewhere across campus, John Logan was realizing he had absolutely screwed up.

“Dude.”

Logan barely looked up from his locker.

“What?”

Garrett frowned from across the locker room. “You’ve checked your phone like twelve times in thirty seconds.”

“Have not.”

“You literally just did it again.”

Logan sighed dramatically and unlocked his phone anyway. Then froze.

Three missed calls. Seven texts. All from you.

baby

I have practice today, u can come by to watch

Practice finish.

I keep failing at my jump :((

John?

U busy? I'll wait.

Nvm, I am already at my dorm.

His stomach dropped so fast it physically hurt.

“Oh, I’m dead.”

Garrett blinked. “…What?”

Logan stood so abruptly his locker slammed shut behind him.

“I forgot something.”

Correction. Someone.

The realization hit him all at once, followed immediately by guilt so sharp it made him wince. He knew you waited for him.

Shit.

You probably stayed at the rink thinking he was on his way while he’d been stuck laughing with the guys after practice like an idiot.

“Oh my god,” Logan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Oh my god.”

Garrett stared at him like he’d finally lost it.

“You good?”

“No.”

Logan was already typing frantically.

I AM SO SORRY.

Then.

I got stuck after practice.

Then

Please don’t hate me.

He stared at the screen. Delivered. No response. Logan groaned loudly and leaned his forehead against the locker.

“Yeah,” Garrett said slowly, “you definitely look like a man in crisis.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Clearly.”

The worst part was that he knew exactly why you’d be upset. You never asked for much from him.

You didn’t ask him to post about you online or parade your relationship around campus. You didn’t complain about keeping things private even when Logan knew he made secrecy difficult just by existing.

You only asked him to show up. And tonight? He hadn’t.

The next morning, you were polite. Which somehow felt worse than anger. Because anger meant emotion. Anger meant yelling, irritation, frustration.

Politeness felt distant. Logan hated distance. Especially from you.

“Morning,” he said carefully when you walked into class. You glanced at him briefly. “Morning.”

That was it.

No smile. No teasing. No hidden text message appearing on his phone two seconds later.

Logan felt physically ill.

You sat down two rows ahead of him, pulling your notebook out quietly. Usually by now, Logan would already be texting you something stupid.

thinking about becoming a figure skater.

Or:

do you think hockey skates can make me elegant.

Instead, he spent the entire lecture staring miserably at the back of your head while internally suffering.

Dean noticed almost immediately as he slightly smirk. Tucker, meanwhile, leaned over slightly from the other side of the row.

“Do you think Logan failed the assignment?” he whispered. Dean stared at him like literally stared at him.

“No, dumbass. He’s in love.”

Tucker blinked.

“…With hockey?”

Mostly because Logan normally walked into class like he owned the building. Today, he looked like somebody had kicked his dog.

Interesting.

Dean leaned back slightly in his chair. “Why do you look pathetic today?”

Logan glared at him. “Mind your business.”

“Oh, definitely girl problems.”

“No.”

“You look emotionally devastated.”

“Thank you.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted slightly. That sounded suspiciously sincere. Ten minutes later, Logan’s phone buzzed. His head snapped downward so fast Dean nearly laughed. Except the message wasn’t from you. Is from Garret. 

u alive?

Logan stared at the text with visible betrayal. Meanwhile, two rows ahead, you were trying very hard not to notice the way Logan kept looking at you.

It wasn’t working. You could feel it.

Every glance lingered a little too long, heavy with apology. And annoyingly enough, you were already starting to soften. You love him too much.  

Because Logan looked genuinely miserable.

But you were stress and exhausted that day, not only from training but also from the bloody college, especially to some professors who are usually not present at class and then have a test afterwards, fantastic, truly. It drains you so much, and he makes you wait until almost midnight. 

Still, you stayed quiet. Let him suffer a little. When class finally ended, students immediately began standing and packing their things.

You gathered your notebook slowly, determined not to cave too quickly.

Then, while walking past Logan’s desk, his fingertips brushed lightly against yours.

It barely lasted a second. Tiny. Automatic. But the apology inside it felt immediate.

Sorry. Please don’t still be upset. 

Your fingers reacted instinctively before your brain caught up. And from two seats away, Dean watched the entire thing happen.

Oh.

OH.

From Dean's eyes, that confirmed everything. Dean slowly turned toward Logan with the smuggest look imaginable. Logan immediately noticed.

“…What?”

Dean smiled innocently. “Nothing.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Dean.”

“Relax.”

The smirk stayed firmly in place.

“Interesting hand communication, though.”

Logan went still for half a second before looking away too quickly. Which confirmed everything. Dean almost laughed out loud.

Over the next few days, Logan tried everything. Unfortunately for him, Tucker witnessed most of it. 

Specifically when Logan shoved snacks into your locker one afternoon while thinking nobody was watching.

Tucker stared.

“…Why are you feeding her?”

Logan nearly slammed the locker shut on his own hand.

“What?”

“Like a stray cat.”

Garrett choked on his drink nearby. Logan looked deeply offended. “She’s not a stray cat.” Tucker frowned thoughtfully. 

“Okay, but you gave her like three snacks this week.”

Coffee mysteriously appearing outside your classroom. Your favorite snacks left inside your locker. A tiny sticky note tucked into your skate bag:

Please stop being mad at me. I’m emotionally fragile.

You stared at the note for a full ten seconds before smiling despite yourself. Then immediately stopped.

No. Stay strong. Stay mad. 

Still, the note stayed folded carefully inside your jacket pocket for the rest of the day.

And Logan noticed you hadn’t thrown it away. Which honestly gave him more hope than it probably should have.

By Friday, Garrett was beginning to lose his mind. Mostly because Logan spent the entire week looking emotionally devastated.

Tucker, however, had reached a completely different conclusion.

“Are you dying?” he asked Logan seriously during practice. Logan stared at him tiredly.

“Emotionally.”

Tucker nodded like that made complete sense.

“Damn.” 

And somehow, he still didn’t figure it out. He just pat Logan's shoulder trying to comfort him as Tucker leave giving Logan a space. 

Because Logan was acting weird. Not normal Logan weird. Specific weird. The kind of weird that only happened when feelings were involved.

Garrett fully realized it during hockey practice. Specifically when you walked into the rink. You weren’t even there for Logan. You were talking to another skater near the entrance while adjusting your gloves.

Then some random guy started flirting with you. Garrett noticed two things immediately.

One: you looked politely uncomfortable.

Two: Logan looked one inconvenience away from committing homicide.

“Jesus,” Garrett muttered.

Logan’s jaw tightened. “What?”

“You like her.”

Logan nearly snapped his hockey stick in half.

“No.”

Garrett stared at him.

“Dude.”

“She’s just talking to somebody.”

“You’ve been glaring at him for thirty seconds.”

“I’m not glaring.”

“You look furious.”

Logan finally looked away. Garrett blinked. Then slowly grinned.

“Logan.”

“No.”

“Just tell her you love her.”

Logan froze. Garrett kept talking casually, completely unaware he’d already won.

“Seriously. You’ve been acting insane for like a week.*

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Logan rubbed a tired hand down his face.

“We’re already together.”

Silence. Garrett paused.

“…Oh.”

Logan blinked. Then realization hit. Slowly. Terribly.

“…Did you just—”

“Lie?” Garrett grinned. “Yeah. And you fell for it.”

Logan looked genuinely betrayed.

“You’re horrible.”

“You’re secretly dating the figure skater?”

“We’re private.”

“That’s definitely not the important part right now.”

Garrett laughed loudly before his expression softened slightly.

“So what happened?”

Logan sighed. Then, surprisingly, answered honestly.

“I forgot to pick her up after practice.”

Garrett winced immediately. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“And she’s still mad?”

“She says she isn’t.”

Garrett snorted. “That means she definitely is.”

Logan dropped his head back with a groan.

“I know.”

Garrett bumped his shoulder lightly.

“Then stop doing apology drive-bys and actually talk to her.”

Logan glanced toward you across the rink. You were laughing softly at something another skater said, cheeks pink from the cold.

His chest tightened instantly. God. He missed you.

Even when you were standing right there.

“Party at my place tonight!”

Dean’s announcement about the party barely registered to you at first. The hallway around him exploded immediately with excitement, people talking over each other while hockey players shouted across the corridor about alcohol and rides and who was bringing speakers this time.

You stayed leaned against your locker, half listening while fixing the strap of your skate bag over your shoulder.

Parties weren’t really your thing. Especially not hockey parties but you go to the parties sometimes, is just depends on the mood.

Across the hallway, Logan was talking to Garrett, but every few seconds his eyes flickered back toward you automatically. Like instinct. Like breathing.

Dean noticed that too. Of course he did.

Which was probably why he suddenly appeared beside you out of nowhere.

“You should come tonight, pretty.”

You looked up in mild surprise. “Uh… I don’t think parties are really my scene.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully beside you, hands shoved into his pockets. “That’s tragic.”

“Why?”

“Well,” he said casually, “my man over there has been staring at you like a Victorian husband watching his wife board a warship.”

Your eyes widened immediately. Dean grinned. Across the hallway, Logan looked over just in time to see Dean leaning close to you. Dean winked at you and go back where he came from. His expression turned suspicious instantly.

“What was that?” Logan called.

Dean didn’t even look guilty.

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

“That’s worse.”

"..."

"..."

"Do you know?"

"What do I know?"

You tried not to laugh while Logan kept glaring at Dean from across the hallway like he was two seconds away from physically removing him from the conversation.

And honestly? It was kind of adorable.

You stood in front of your mirror for nearly ten minutes debating whether showing up was worth the emotional damage.

Because if you went, you’d see Logan.

And lately, being around Logan felt dangerous. Not in a bad way. Just, difficult. Because every time he looked at you with those soft guilty eyes, your irritation weakened a little more.

Which was unfair, honestly.

Still, somehow, a few hours later, you found yourself standing inside Dean’s party while music shook through the walls. The party was already in full chaos. People packed every room shoulder to shoulder, laughing loudly over the music while hockey players moved through the crowd like they owned the entire building.

The air smelled faintly like alcohol, cheap cologne, and pizza. You stayed near the kitchen at first, mostly because it was easier to breathe there. 

And because Logan was across the room.

You noticed him instantly. As usual.

He stood near the living room wall talking to Garrett, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans while absentmindedly nodding along to whatever Garrett was saying.

But every few seconds, his attention drifted back toward you automatically.

Like instinct.

And every single time your eyes met, something in his expression softened. Your stomach flipped annoyingly.

You looked away first. Which only made Garrett notice. Then Dean noticed Garrett noticing.

Tucker remained completely oblivious.

Actually, Tucker watched Logan staring at you from across the room for a full minute before leaning toward Garrett.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “Logan’s being weirdly protective tonight.”

Garrett slowly turned toward him.

“Buddy.”

“What?”

Dean physically looked away to hide his laughter. Tucker, meanwhile, remained painfully oblivious.

"What is it?"

At some point, a guy wandered over and started talking to you while you poured yourself another drink. He seemed nice enough. Cute, probably.

But you were only half paying attention because Logan’s stare kept brushing against you from across the room.

The guy leaned casually against the counter.

“So you skate competitively?”

“A little.”

“A little?” he laughed. “You’re being humble.” You smiled politely. Then his attention dropped briefly toward your outfit before returning to your face.

Definitely flirting which makes your eye twitch in irritation at how the guy look at you. And apparently, Logan noticed too.

Because the second the guy leaned slightly closer, Logan moved. You felt him before you properly saw him.

Warm hand against your wrist.

“There you are.”

Your head turned immediately.

Logan stood beside you now, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours lightly. Then, without even asking, he handed you a fresh drink.

Your usual order. Exactly the way you liked it.

The realization hit your chest softly.You hadn’t even asked. Logan simply knew.

The guy beside you glanced awkwardly between both of you before immediately deciding he wanted absolutely no part in whatever was happening.

“Uh… I’m gonna go find my friends.”

“Probably smart,” Dean muttered while passing by. You almost laughed. Once the guy disappeared into the crowd, you looked down at the drink in your hand.

“…You already got this for me?”

Logan looked confused by the question.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t ask.”

His brows furrowed slightly like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“You always want this at parties.”

The words came naturally. Easy. Automatic. Like memorizing your habits had become second nature to him. And somehow, that hurt your heart a little.

Because even after the argument, Logan still noticed everything about you. Then he caught the look on your face.

“…What?”

You shook your head softly, hiding your smile behind the cup.

“Nothing.” Logan narrowed his eyes suspiciously but gently guided you away from the kitchen anyway. Away from the crowd. Away from the noise.

The hallway was quieter. Not silent, exactly.

You could still hear the bass vibrating faintly through the walls, muffled laughter echoing from downstairs, the occasional shout from the living room.

But it felt private enough. For the first time all week, it was just the two of you. Logan leaned back lightly against the wall, watching you carefully.

“…You know that was obvious, right?” you asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You literally rescued me.”

“He was annoying me.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you slightly grin.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

Logan looked personally offended.

“I’m not jealous.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m experiencing mild emotional distress.”

The laugh escaped you before you could stop it. And immediately, Logan’s entire expression softened.

He missed that sound. Missed you.

Even when you’d been right in front of him all week. His gaze lingered on your face for another second before turning quieter.More careful.

“I’m sorry.” The teasing disappeared completely. “For forgetting you.”

Your smile faded slightly. The memory of sitting alone at the rink returned immediately. Cold benches. Empty parking lot. Checking your phone over and over.

“I know,” you said softly. Logan swallowed.

“No, seriously. I felt horrible.”

“You should’ve.”

“I know.”

There was no defensiveness in his voice. No excuses. Just guilt. Logan stepped a little closer.

“I kept thinking about you waiting there alone."

Your chest tightened slightly.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You looked down at your drink for a second before sighing quietly. “I think what annoyed me most is that I knew you didn’t do it on purpose.”

Logan blinked.

“What?”

“You’re just…” You huffed softly. “An idiot sometimes.” Logan let out a startled laugh. 

“That’s fair.”

“You make me worry and then show up looking sad enough to qualify for a medical diagnosis.”

“I was suffering.”

“You were dramatic.”

“Only because the love of my life ignored my texts.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Logan froze. Then immediately pointed at you.

“You heard nothing.” A smile finally broke fully across your face. “Oh my god.”

“I’m taking it back.”

“You literally called me—”

“I said nothing.”

You laughed again, softer this time. And Logan looked visibly relieved hearing it. Like your laughter physically reset something inside him.

“I hate when you’re upset with me,” he admitted quietly.

The honesty in his voice melted the last bit of tension sitting stubbornly in your chest.

“You looked miserable all week,” you admitted.

“That’s because I was miserable all week.”

“Drama queen.”

“Only for you.”

Your eyes met again. And suddenly the distance between you didn’t feel sharp anymore. Just warm. Familiar. Safe.

Logan’s hand brushed yours carefully. Tentative. Like he still wasn’t sure if he was forgiven yet. This time, you let your fingers curl around his. The relief on his face was immediate.

Cute.

“Okay,” Logan murmured softly. “I think we’re healing.” You laughed quietly.

“Maybe.”

Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Dean appeared.

Silently. Like a demon.

His eyes immediately dropped toward your joined hands. Then he grinned. Pure evil. Before either of you could react, Dean shoved lightly against your shoulder.

“Oops! My bad!”

You stumbled forward with a startled sound straight into Logan. And instinctively, your lips pressed against his. Everything froze.

Logan went completely still. Your brain short-circuited instantly. Dean looked thrilled.

“Nice one!” Garrett yelled somewhere nearby.

Tucker blinked.

“…Huh? Wait what? What is going on”

You pulled back slightly. Logan stared at you like his soul had physically left his body.

“…You just kissed me publicly,” he said weakly. You almost laughed.

Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned up again and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

Deliberate this time. Confirmation. The room erupted immediately.

“Finally!” Garret shouted. Dean looked unbearably smug. Tucker pointed aggressively.

“You guys were datin!?” Tucker looked genuinely distressed. “Since when?!”

“Nine months,” Garrett answered immediately. Tucker whipped around.

“Nine months?!”

“Yes,” Dean said. “We all knew.”

“You all knew?!”

Garrett pointed at Logan.

“He literally stared at her like she personally invented happiness.”

Tucker looked horrified.

“I thought he just supported women.”

“Apparently,” Dean replied. Meanwhile Logan still looked stunned. But slowly, a grin spread across his face. Warm. Disbelieving. Completely in love. Then he looked down at you softly.

“So…”

You smiled. 

“So?”

“This means I can hold your hand in public now, right?”

"Huh?" Tucker still on the background looking shocked as he watch both of you from afar.

You laughed. And Logan immediately took that as a yes. He grab your drink before he pull you by your waist with his free hand as he lean in to kiss on your lips.

Of course, you kissed back.

For the first time all night, Logan kissed you without worrying who was watching as he smile through your lips and honestly, Tucker’s crisis in the background only made it better.

“You lie to me for nine months!” Tucker yelled.

“Technically,” Dean said calmly, “nobody asked you.”

“I asked questions!"

Garrett looked genuinely offended. “Not good ones.”

Tucker pointed aggressively at Logan. “You carried her skate guards!”

“That was your evidence?” Logan asked.

“I thought you were being supportive!”

“He looked at her like she hung the moon,” Garrett said.

Tucker gasped dramatically. "Oh my god that's why he was miserable!"

Dean snorted. “Congratulations. You’ve reached consciousness.”

“I hate all of you.”

“We know,” Dean replied warmly.

“Wait.”

Everyone turned. Jules stood near the kitchen holding a drink, looking completely unbothered.

“I already knew.”

Logan blinked. “What?”

You immediately covered your face with your hands. Oh no.

Jules shrugged casually. “There was a condom wrapper left in our couch last month.”

Silence. Garrett choked. Dean folded in half laughing instantly. Tucker looked like his soul physically exited his body.

Logan went completely rigid. “There was a what!?”

“Relax,” Jules said. “At least you’re safe.”

“Jules!”

"First of all how did you even know that was mine?! It could possibly have been dean!"

"Facts" Dean said as he shrugged

"You don't wanna know."

“Honestly,” she continued thoughtfully, “the real crime was thinking you two were subtle.”

Dean wiped tears from his eyes. “Thank you!"

Tucker still looked devastated.

“…I can’t believe the condom solved the mystery before I did.”

© 2026 rinvvii

[rinvvii]

guess who just finished part 2 😚😚😚

[rinvvii]

PANTALONE INTRODUCTION HELLO?!!

he is one of a hell banker 😌😌😌

[rinvvii]

too pretty to keep secret; john logan

summary: Dating John Logan in secret would be easier if he knew how to act normal around you. Unfortunately, Logan is hopelessly in love, terrible at hiding it, and one affectionate comment away from exposing your entire relationship.

pairings: john logan x FIGURE SKATER!reader

RIN'S NOTE: i watch the show for dean and garret. but the one who caught my heart? John the freaking logan, he is such a yearner!! Ugh.

【WC 2k】

part one, part two

The first rule of dating John Logan was simple.

Never let him hold your hand in public. Not because he wouldn’t.

God, if it were up to Logan, he’d probably walk around campus announcing it with a megaphone.

The problem was that John Logan was impossible to miss. Hockey star. Campus heartthrob. Professional flirt. Owner of an unfortunately charming smile that seemed capable of making half the female population lose their minds.

And you?

You preferred quiet.

You liked empty skating rinks before sunrise, oversized sweaters, and slipping through campus unnoticed. Attention made your skin crawl in ways you could never properly explain, and being publicly attached to someone like Logan sounded less like romance and more like a nightmare.

So your relationship stayed private.

Mostly.

Which was harder than it sounded when your boyfriend was John Logan.

Because John Logan loved loudly. Even when he tried not to.

“Logan.”

“No.”

You sighed, adjusting the strap of your skate bag over your shoulder while Logan leaned casually against your dorm room doorway.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Yes, I do.” Logan grinned lazily. “You’re about to tell me not to kiss you goodbye in the hallway.”

“…Because the hockey team is literally downstairs.”

“Counterargument.”

He stepped forward suddenly, large hands sliding around your waist before you could escape. You immediately hissed, “John.”

His grin widened.

“You only use my first name when you’re stressed. It’s adorable.”

“Some of us value survival.”

“Some of us,” he murmured dramatically, “are being denied affection.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped you. Logan looked unbearably pleased about it.

God. That was another problem.

He looked at you like every smile was something he personally accomplished.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“And yet,” Logan said thoughtfully, leaning closer, “you’re still dating me. Curious.”

Before you could respond, voices echoed faintly from downstairs. Hockey players. Your eyes widened immediately.

“Logan.”

“I hear them.”

“Then MOVE.”

He laughed under his breath but finally stepped back, hands lingering at your waist for one last second before letting go.

And even then, he still looked offended.

“This relationship is so hard for me,” he informed you solemnly.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re withholding public boyfriend privileges.”

“That is not a real thing.”

“It should be.”

A knock suddenly sounded somewhere downstairs. Then Garrett’s voice. “Logan! Are you alive or did you finally die flirting?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop your laugh.Logan looked deeply betrayed. “You know,” he said quietly, “the lack of support in this relationship is devastating.”

“Go downstairs.”

“You wound me.”

“Logan.”

“Okay, okay.”

But before leaving, he leaned in quickly and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. Gentle. Automatic. Like he couldn’t leave without doing it.

Your chest tightened immediately. And Logan completely unfairly noticed. That smug grin appeared again.

“There she is,” he murmured. You narrowed your eyes.

“Go away.”

“See you tonight, sweetheart.”

He lean again to kiss your lips this time.

Then he disappeared downstairs like nothing happened. Meanwhile you stood frozen in your dorm doorway trying not to smile like an idiot. Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

Logan was trying very hard to respect your boundaries. Really. He deserved credit for that.

Because keeping your relationship private might’ve been physically painful for him. Not because he was embarrassed.

The opposite, actually.

He liked you so much it was becoming a legitimate issue. And Logan had never exactly been subtle about his feelings. Unfortunately for him, subtlety was now required.

Which meant he had to settle for smaller things.

Watching your skating practices from the highest row in the rink where fewer people noticed him. Sneaking you coffee before your early morning sessions. Texting you terrible pickup lines during class. Current favorite:

Are you made of ice? Because you make me fall constantly.

You had responded with:

I’m blocking your number.

Which, to Logan, translated directly into marriage.

“Dude.” Logan blinked, dragged abruptly back to reality. Garrett was staring at him from across the cafeteria table.

“…What?” Logan asked.

“You’re smiling at your phone like a divorced dad learning Facebook.”

Dean snorted into his drink. Logan immediately locked his phone. “Mind your business.” Garrett narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“No, seriously. What’s going on with you lately?”

“Nothing.”

“You disappeared for three hours last night.”

“I have hobbies.”

“Tinder doesn’t count as a hobby.”

Logan looked offended.

“For your information, I’m deeply emotionally unavailable now.”

Dean blinked once.

“…That sounded weirdly sincere.”

Shit.

Logan grabbed his drink quickly. Too quickly. Because Garrett suddenly sat up straighter.

“Oh my god.”

Logan froze internally.

“You’re dating someone.”

Dean nearly choked laughing. “No way.” Logan scoffed immediately.

“You guys are insane.”

“Logan,” Garrett said slowly, “you’ve checked your phone fourteen times in two minutes.”

“That’s called having friends.”

“You hate people.”

“Valid point.”

Garrett leaned forward dramatically.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody.”

“AHA.”

Logan groaned.

“You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

“Because you’re acting suspicious!” Garrett accused. “You keep disappearing at night, smiling at your phone, and wearing actual cologne to class.” Dean pointed at him immediately.

“The cologne thing is huge.” Logan rubbed a tired hand down his face.

The worst part? He wanted to tell them.

He wanted to talk about you constantly. Wanted to mention how pretty you looked after skating practice when your cheeks turned pink from the cold. Wanted to brag about how talented you were. Wanted to tell people about the way you laughed when you got sleepy.

But he also knew how anxious public attention made you.

So instead, he shrugged lazily.

“You guys are dramatic.”

Garrett stared at him.

“…You’re in love.”

Logan nearly spit out his drink.

“WHAT?”

Dean started wheezing.

“Oh my god, he totally is.”

“I hate both of you.”

“Who is she?” Garrett demanded.

Logan stood abruptly.

“Enjoy your lunch.”

“LOGAN.”

Too late. He was already leaving.

Mostly because if he stayed another minute, he might accidentally start talking about you.

And once Logan started talking about you, he genuinely wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.

The ice rink was nearly empty by the time your evening practice ended. Only a few overhead lights remained on, casting soft reflections across the ice. You glided toward the rink barrier slowly, exhausted but satisfied after landing your final combination successfully.

Then you spotted him immediately. Of course.

John Logan sat sprawled dramatically across the bleachers wearing a backward baseball cap and Bruins hoodie, one arm stretched behind his head while the other held a cup carrier from the campus café.

The second he noticed you looking, his entire face lit up. Like you were the best thing he’d seen all day.

Your heart did that stupid little thing again. “You’re late,” you called lightly while stepping off the ice. Logan gasped. “I bring beverages and this is the thanks I get?”

“You’re ten minutes late.”

“I was fighting for my life in line.”

“You literally play hockey.”

“Exactly. I’m fragile.”

You laughed softly while walking toward him. Logan’s expression changed instantly at the sound. Softer. Warmer.

God.

Sometimes the way he looked at you felt unfair. You dropped your skate guards onto the bench beside him.

“Did you watch the whole practice?”

“Obviously.”

“You had practice too.”

“I escaped early.”

“John.”

“What?” he defended immediately. “My girlfriend was doing cool spinny things.”

“That is not figure skating terminology.”

“It should be.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. Logan handed you one of the drinks. “Hot chocolate,” he announced proudly. Your expression softened immediately.

“You remembered.”

“Sweetheart, I remember everything about you.”

And just like that, your brain stopped functioning. The worst part was that he said things like that casually. Like he had no idea the effect they had on you. Meanwhile Logan was busy watching your expression change with obvious satisfaction. Cute. Ridiculously cute.

He loved making you flustered. Probably too much.

You sat beside him carefully, shoulders brushing. Logan relaxed instantly at the contact. Small things affected him embarrassingly fast when it came to you. He took a sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“You looked incredible out there tonight.”

You stared down at your cup. “I messed up the landing during the second pass.”

“You landed it the next time.”

“Still.”

Logan frowned slightly. He hated when you did that. Minimized yourself. Because from where he sat every single practice, you looked unreal. Beautiful. Focused.

Completely in your element. Sometimes watching you skate actually stole the words out of his mouth.

Which was saying something, considering he normally never shut up. “You know,” Logan said slowly, “normal people would just accept compliments.”

“I do accept compliments.”

“No, you politely fight them.”

“That’s not true.”

“Last week I called you gorgeous and you said, ‘probably the lighting.’”

You looked embarrassed immediately. Logan grinned.

“There it is.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet deeply lovable.”

“That remains unconfirmed.”

Logan placed a dramatic hand against his chest. “You say the cruelest things to me.”

Another laugh. God. I love it so much.

He’d do literally anything to keep hearing that sound. The rink settled into comfortable silence afterward. Your head rested lightly against Logan’s shoulder while he absentmindedly played with your fingers.

No audience. No hiding. Just the two of you.

This was his favorite version of your relationship. The quiet parts. The moments nobody else saw.

“You know,” Logan murmured eventually, “I still think it’s insane nobody knows about us.” You tensed slightly beside him. Immediately, Logan regretted bringing it up.

“Hey.” His voice softened.

“You know I don’t care, right?”

You looked down at your hands.

“I know.”

“No, seriously.” Logan turned toward you more fully now.

“I’d date you in secret forever if that’s what makes you comfortable.”

Your chest tightened painfully. Because he meant it. There wasn’t even hesitation in his voice.

“You don’t ever get tired of hiding?” you asked quietly. Logan blinked.

“Hiding you?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Baby, I’m barely succeeding.”

You laughed softly.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Logan’s thumb brushed gently across your knuckles.

“Yeah, I wanna tell people sometimes,” he admitted. “Mostly because I think you’re amazing and I have absolutely zero self-control around you.”

“That’s the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Thank you.”

“But…”

His expression softened again. “If being private makes you feel safe, then that matters more.”

You stared at him quietly. And Logan, poor guy, immediately started overthinking.

Too much?

Too cheesy?

Then suddenly you leaned forward and kissed him. Soft. Quick. But enough to completely derail his brain. Logan blinked after you pulled away.

“…Whoa.”

You laughed immediately. “What?”

“I just had a religious experience.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious.” He pointed at you accusingly. “You can’t just do that without warning.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And deeply in love with you.”

The words slipped out naturally. Effortlessly. Like breathing. And Logan froze the second he realized what he said.

Oh. Shit.

Your eyes widened slightly. The rink suddenly felt very quiet. Logan opened his mouth immediately.

“I mean—not that I—well, obviously I do, but I wasn’t trying to—”

You started laughing. Actually laughing. Logan looked deeply offended.

“I’m emotionally vulnerable right now.”

“You’re rambling.”

“You make me nervous.”

That only made you laugh harder. Hopelessly in love. That’s what this was doing to him.

And honestly?

Logan didn’t mind one bit. Eventually your laughter softened into something gentler.

You reached over and fixed the brim of his backwards cap carefully.

Cute. Everything you did was cute. It was becoming a serious condition.

“You know,” you said quietly, “I think being private is easier because this feels… ours.”

Logan’s expression softened instantly. The teasing disappeared. Just sincerity left.

“Yeah?” You nodded.

“No pressure. No people watching. Just you and me.” Something warm settled heavily in Logan’s chest.

God. He loved you. Hopelessly. Ridiculously. Completely.

And maybe someday the rest of the world would know. But for now?

This was enough. The empty rink. Your hand in his. Your head against his shoulder.

And the way you smiled at him like he was already home.

© 2026 rinvvii

[rinvvii]

eyes on target; leon kennedy

summary: Leon watches over you from a rooftop sniper post during an undercover mission trying very hard to stay professional while tracking your every move through the scope. Unfortunately for him, you know exactly when he’s staring.

pairings: leon Kennedy x reader

RIN'S NOTE: please he is so hot, gawd

【WC 806】

Leon had done surveillance work hundreds of times before Different cities. ‎Different targets. Different rooftops. Same routine.

‎

‎Find the vantage point.

‎Control your breathing.

‎Keep your finger steady.

‎Do not get distracted.

‎

‎Simple. Usually.

‎Tonight was proving difficult.

‎Leon adjusted the sniper scope again with slow precision, ignoring the ache in his shoulder while neon lights flickered across the skyline below.

‎The club was crowded. Loud. Impossible to control.

‎Which meant he hated it already. And then there was you.

‎“Target’s moving toward the east lounge,” you murmured through the comms smoothly.

‎Leon tracked your movement automatically through the scope. ‎Black dress. Confident posture. A smile convincing enough to fool anybody in that room.

‎The agency had called it blending in.

‎Leon personally thought it was psychological warfare.

Against him specifically.

‎A man near the bar looked you up and down openly. ‎Leon’s expression flattened immediately. Interesting. Maybe prison overcrowding wasn’t actually a problem after all.

‎“You still with me, Kennedy?” you asked lightly. ‎Leon blinked once, realizing he’d gone quiet too long.

‎“Unfortunately.”

‎A soft laugh crackled through the earpiece. And there it was again. ‎That warm twist in his chest he really needed to stop having during operations.

‎Professionalism, Kennedy. ‎Remember professionalism?

‎You leaned casually against the bar while speaking to the target, crossing one leg over the other slowly. Leon immediately looked away from the scope.

‎Then right back. Goddammit.

‎“You know,” you said through the comms, voice suspiciously amused, “most snipers try to be subtle.”

‎“I am subtle.”

‎“You nearly sighed loud enough to trigger my earpiece.”

‎Leon leaned back slightly against the rooftop ledge, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

‎

‎“This is why I preferred zombies,” he muttered.

‎“What?”

‎‎“They didn’t flirt with me from active crime scenes.”

‎

‎You laughed again. Actually laughed.

‎Leon stared through the scope quietly afterward. Because that sound always got him. ‎Too genuine. ‎Too easy.

‎Below, your target leaned closer to you, saying something Leon couldn’t hear over the comms. He watched your expression shift instantly into that charming undercover smile again. Convincing. ‎Elegant. ‎Beautiful.

‎Leon’s grip tightened against the rifle before he could stop himself. Not because he doubted your abilities. Never that. You were one of the best agents he’d worked with.

‎

‎That was part of the problem. ‎

You were fearless in ways that made his blood pressure unstable. ‎“You’re staring again,” you said softly through the comms.

‎Leon froze for half a second. ‎Through the scope, he caught the tiny smile threatening at the corner of your mouth.

‎

‎“You can’t prove that.”

‎“I know you adjusted the scope three times after that guy touched my hand."

‎Leon narrowed his eyes slightly.

‎“…Occupational hazard.”

‎“Mmhm.”

‎

‎You lifted your drink slowly, gaze drifting toward the mirrored wall behind the bar.

‎Even from this distance, Leon knew exactly what you were doing. Looking for him. Or maybe just making sure he was still there.

‎Something about that realization settled heavily in his chest. Years of missions had taught Leon one important thing.

‎Distance didn’t stop attachment. ‎It just made it quieter. And somehow worse.

‎“You nervous?” you teased gently.

‎Leon scoffed under his breath.

‎“Please. I’m extremely calm.”

‎Right as he said it, someone brushed too close beside you. His finger immediately shifted near the trigger. You went silent for one beat. Then....

‎“Oh my god,” you whispered through the comms. “You’re jealous.”

‎“I’m armed. Don’t start with me.”

‎Your laugh nearly ruined him.

‎Leon shook his head once, exhaling through his nose while watching you continue the mission below.

‎The worst part?

‎You knew exactly what you were doing to him. ‎The subtle glances. The teasing.

‎The way your voice softened whenever you caught him watching too long.

‎And somehow, even knowing that—

‎Leon still couldn’t look away.

‎The target finally stood from the table, motioning for you to follow him deeper into the club. ‎Immediately, Leon straightened slightly.

‎Focus sharpened instantly. Professional again.

‎“Careful,” he said quietly into the comms.

‎You paused near the hallway entrance, just enough to glance toward one of the security mirrors. Toward him.

‎“The mission?” you asked softly.

‎Leon watched you through the scope for one long second.

‎Black dress. Knowing smile.

‎Eyes searching for him even through glass and distance.

‎His voice lowered.

‎“…No.”

© 2026 rinvvii

[rinvvii]

does anyone watch rivals? I wanna write Basil baddingham a fic rn. Him in season 2 did something to me, he is so underated!!

[rinvvii]

my holy trinity *twirling my hair*

[rinvvii]

routine; leon kennedy

summary: Working alongside Leon S. Kennedy means being seen more than you’d like. He notices your routines, your repeated checks, the quiet anxiety you try to hide—and instead of rushing you, he stays. Patiently. Carefully. Every single time.

pairings: leon kennedy x OCD! reader

【WC 1.01k】

Leon Kennedy had spent most of his life learning how to notice things other people missed. It kept people alive.

A twitch before someone pulled a trigger.

A footprint in the wrong direction.

The slight delay in someone’s answer when they lied.

Patterns mattered.

That was probably why he noticed yours so quickly. Not because they were obvious.

Because they weren’t.

You hid them well enough that most people in the agency never paid attention. To them, you were just reliable. Quiet. Maybe a little too meticulous during operations, but in this line of work, nobody complained about thoroughness.

Leon knew better.

He noticed the way you checked your sidearm multiple times before every mission.

Not randomly. In sequence.

Magazine.

Safety.

Slide.

Holster.

Then again.

And sometimes again after that.

He noticed how your fingers hovered over locked doors after everyone else already moved on. How your shoulders stiffened whenever briefings changed unexpectedly. How interruptions seemed to throw your concentration off completely, even if you recovered fast enough that nobody else caught it.

And the thing was—

You looked frustrated every time it happened.

Like your own brain annoyed you.

That part bothered Leon more than he expected.

The first time he almost said something was during a late-night operation briefing.

The conference room smelled like stale coffee and printer ink while agents shuffled through mission reports half-asleep. Someone near the back kept clicking their pen repeatedly like they were trying to drive everybody insane.

Leon leaned against the wall near the projector screen, arms crossed loosely over his chest while listening to the mission outline.

Or pretending to.

His attention kept drifting back to you instead.

You sat near the middle of the table, focused on organizing your papers into neat stacks while the others talked over each other.

Tap.

Straighten.

Adjust.

Tap again.

Your pen lined up perfectly with the edge of your notebook.

Then an agent beside you accidentally bumped the table. The pen shifted slightly out of place. Leon saw the exact moment it happened.

The pause.

The subtle tension in your jaw.

The way your eyes flicked back toward it immediately.

Nobody else noticed.

You quietly moved it back into alignment before continuing to take notes like nothing happened.

Leon looked away before he got caught staring.

“Any questions?” the team leader asked from the front.

Silence.

Then you spoke carefully.

“…How many entry points are confirmed again?”

A few people sighed quietly.

Someone muttered, “It’s literally on the slide.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed immediately.

Because he heard it.

And apparently so did you. Your posture tightened almost invisibly.

The team leader repeated the information quickly anyway before moving on, but Leon saw the way you stopped writing for a moment afterward.

That annoyed him more than it should have.

By the end of the briefing, most agents filtered out of the room quickly, already talking about transportation and equipment prep.

You stayed behind. Of course you did.

Leon pretended to check his phone while watching you reorganize your notes for the second time.

Then a third.

Your brows pinched faintly together. Leon finally sighed.

“Y’know,” he said casually, pushing himself off the wall, “if those papers attack you, I’m legally required to intervene.”

You looked up abruptly.

For half a second, genuine surprise crossed your face before it softened into reluctant amusement.

“…Was that supposed to be funny?”

“No,” Leon deadpanned. “I’m devastatingly serious.”

A quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.

There it was again.

That tiny change in your expression that made you look lighter somehow.

Leon hated how much he liked being the reason for it.

You gathered the papers into your folder carefully. “You stay after every briefing just to bother people?”

“Only the ones I like.”

The words slipped out naturally. Too naturally. Leon realized it exactly one second too late. Your eyes widened slightly.

So did his internally. Smooth, Kennedy.

Years of government training and that’s what comes out of your mouth?

He cleared his throat immediately.

“I mean—”

“You’re trying to fix your sentence,” you said quietly.

Leon pointed at you once. “See? Sharp instincts. That’s why they keep you around.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s what my therapist says.”

“You have a therapist?”

“No,” he admitted. “But it sounded responsible.”

Another laugh. Warmer this time.

Leon smiled faintly before he could stop himself.

Then he noticed your hands again.

You were checking the zipper on your bag repeatedly while talking to him.

One.

Two.

Three.

Your expression changed subtly after the third check, like your brain finally eased enough to let you breathe.

And suddenly something clicked into place for him.

Not nervousness.

Not superstition.

Something deeper than that.

Leon’s humor faded slightly—not out of judgment, but understanding.

He’d seen anxiety before.

Compulsions too.

Enough to recognize the look in your eyes whenever you got stuck in your own head.

The important part was this.

You were trying.

Constantly.

Even when nobody noticed.

Especially then.

Leon leaned one shoulder against the table beside you.

“You know,” he said casually, “for the record, I don’t mind waiting.” You blinked at him.

“What?”

He shrugged lightly.

“For checks. Re-checks. Whatever.*

Your expression shifted instantly.

Guarded now.

“You noticed.”

It wasn’t really a question.

Leon kept his tone easy on purpose.

“Kinda hard not to when you inspect equipment like it personally offended you.”

A horrified sound escaped you. “Oh my god.”

“What? I respect dedication.”

“You weren’t supposed to notice.”

That hurt more than it should have.

Because the embarrassment in your voice sounded practiced.

Expected.

Leon’s gaze softened slightly.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I noticed because I pay attention. Not because there’s something wrong with you.”

Silence settled briefly between you.

You looked down at your bag instead of at him.

“…Most people get annoyed.”

Leon snorted softly.

“Most people also think pineapple on pizza is acceptable, so their judgment means nothing to me.”

That startled another laugh out of you.

Mission accomplished.

Leon looked at you for a second longer than necessary afterward.

And maybe that should’ve concerned him more than it did.

© 2026 rinvvii

[rinvvii]

too late to leave now; leon kennedy

summary: A storm strands you and Leon Kennedy in a broken-down cabin after a mission goes wrong. Years of tension, unspoken feelings, and arguments about "resigning for your safety" finally crack under pressure. He keeps trying to push you away. You keep refusing to leave. And somewhere between rain, anger, and exhaustion. Leon finally stops pretending he doesn't care.

pairings: leon kennedy x reader

RIN'S NOTE: I don’t really know where this fic is going it’s basically just me running on empty brain cells and a strong love for men being emotionally down bad. Hope you’re into that too.

【WC 3.19k】

Rain hammered against the trees hard enough to blur the entire forest into shifting shadows.

‎Your lungs burned as you ran.

‎Branches clawed at your sleeves, mud slipping beneath your boots while distant screeches echoed somewhere behind you. Too close. Way too close.

‎Ahead of you, Leon shoved through the treeline first, flashlight cutting through the storm.

‎“Cabin,” he called over the rain. “Move.”

‎You stumbled on the incline, your boot catching on a root hidden beneath the mud.

‎A curse left your mouth as your balance gave out. ‎Before you could hit the ground completely, a hand caught your arm hard.

‎Leon. As always.

‎His grip tightened instantly. ‎“You trying to die out here?” he snapped breathlessly.

‎

‎“You say that like it was on purpose.”

‎“With you? Fifty-fifty.”

‎Even in the middle of a nightmare, he still had jokes.

‎Typical.

‎Thunder cracked overhead as Leon pulled you upright again, keeping a hand at your back while the two of you pushed toward the cabin through the storm.

‎By the time the door slammed shut behind you, both of you were drenched.

‎Rainwater dripped from Leon’s jacket onto the wooden floorboards.

‎The cabin was barely standing—dusty furniture, old shelves, a couch that looked one bad day away from collapsing—but it had walls, and right now, that was enough.

‎Leon checked the windows first. Always the windows. ‎You leaned against the wall, catching your breath while peeling your soaked gloves off. ‎Then you noticed it.

‎Leon kept looking over at you. ‎Quick glances at first.

‎Your hands.

‎Your face.

‎The scrape near your temple.

‎Like he was checking to make sure you were still there.

‎“You gonna keep staring at me,” you muttered, “or are you planning to help me start a fire?”

‎Leon paused near the window. ‎For half a second, his eyes lingered again. ‎Warm brown softened by exhaustion.

‎Then, finally. 

‎“Was thinking about it,” he said. “But watching you struggle builds character.” ‎You let out a laugh despite yourself.

‎And for the first time that night, Leon smiled too. ‎Small. ‎Tired. ‎Real.

‎Outside, something screamed in the distance. Neither of you mentioned how close it sounded.

‎Leon dropped his bag beside the couch with a heavy thud before crouching near the cold fireplace.

‎“Alright,” he muttered, pulling a lighter from his pocket. “Good news? We’re alive."

‎You peeled off your soaked jacket with a grimace. “And the bad news?”

‎“The couch looks possessed.”

‎A quiet snort escaped you.

‎Leon glanced up at the sound immediately.

‎There it was again—that look.

‎Subtle enough that someone else might’ve missed it, but not you.

‎His eyes lingered for a second too long before he looked back down at the fireplace, jaw tightening faintly like he’d caught himself doing it.

‎The lighter flicked once. ‎Twice. ‎On the third try, the fire finally caught.

‎Warm orange light filled the cabin slowly, softening the harsh shadows across Leon’s face.

‎God.

‎He looked exhausted, yet still so handsome

‎Wet hair falling over his forehead, sleeves pushed up, dirt and rain still clinging to his skin. There was a fresh cut near his lip you didn’t remember seeing earlier.

‎“You’re bleeding,” you said quietly.

‎Leon touched the corner of his mouth.

‎“Huh.” He looked at the blood on his thumb. “Guess the other guy looked worse.”

‎“That was terrible.”

‎“Thank you.”

‎You rolled your eyes, moving closer to the fire for warmth. Your clothes clung uncomfortably to your skin, freezing from the rain. ‎Leon noticed immediately.

‎Without a word, he shrugged off his leather jacket and held it out toward you. ‎You blinked.

“Leon—"

‎“Take it.”

‎“You’ll freeze.”

‎“I’m used to it.”

‎Something about the way he said it made your chest ache. ‎Like being cold was normal to him now. ‎Like exhaustion was something he carried so often he stopped noticing it.

‎You took the jacket carefully. ‎It was still warm from his body. ‎Leon watched you pull it on, quiet for a moment. ‎Then...

‎“Looks better on you anyway.”

‎You looked up.

‎He was already staring.

‎Not teasing this time.

‎Just… looking.

‎The fire crackled softly between you. And suddenly the cabin felt smaller than before.

‎You swallowed. “You know, for someone who acts emotionally unavailable, you’re weirdly nice to me.”

‎Leon leaned back against the wall near the fireplace, one knee pulled up slightly.

‎“Don’t spread that around,” he said. “I’ve got a reputation.”

‎“You? Mysterious and brooding?”

‎“Exactly."

‎“You made a couch possession joke ten minutes ago.”

‎“That’s called range.”

‎You laughed again, quieter this time. ‎Leon’s expression softened at the sound.

‎Not a full smile. ‎Just enough to make something warm twist painfully in your chest.

‎Outside, rain hammered against the roof.

‎Inside, Leon kept looking at you like he was trying very hard not to.

Leon had seen people freeze under pressure before. Seen panic. Shock. ‎Fear.

‎But watching you laugh in the middle of all this?

‎That did something dangerous to him.

‎The firelight flickered across your face while you sat wrapped in his jacket, sleeves covering your hands. Your hair was still damp from the rain, cheeks flushed faintly from the cold, and somehow you still found the energy to tease him like the world outside wasn’t filled with infected nightmares trying to tear both of you apart.

‎It should’ve annoyed him. ‎Instead, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

‎Which was becoming a problem.

‎Leon rested his head back lightly against the wall, forcing his attention toward the windows again.

‎Focus. He thought

‎Check exits.

‎Count ammo.

‎Stay alert.

‎Simple.

‎But every few seconds his eyes drifted back anyway.

‎To you adjusting the oversized sleeves of his jacket. ‎To the tiny crease between your brows while staring into the fire. ‎To the scrape near your temple that still made his stomach twist unpleasantly every time he noticed it.

‎You almost died tonight.

‎The thought hit him again, sharp and ugly.

‎One wrong second in the forest—

‎one slip in the mud—

‎and he would’ve lost you. ‎Leon exhaled slowly through his nose. ‎Don’t do this.

‎Not again.

‎He already knew how this story went. Caring too much got people killed. It always did. And after years of blood, funerals, and watching good people disappear, Leon had gotten good at keeping things at a distance.

‎At least, he used to be.

‎Then you looked over at him suddenly. ‎Caught him staring again.

‎“…You know,” you murmured, “most people blink every now and then.”

‎Damn.

‎Leon looked away first, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

‎“Just making sure you’re still alive.”

‎You smiled softly at that. ‎Soft enough that something in his chest pulled tight. ‎So instead of saying what he was actually thinking, Leon did what he always did best.

‎Deflect.

‎“Well,” he said, glancing toward the storm outside, “if anything breaks through that window, I’m throwing the possessed couch at it first.” ‎A laugh escaped you immediately.

‎There it was again. ‎That sound.

And Leon hated how badly he wanted to keep hearing it.

The storm had only gotten worse. Rain slammed against the cabin roof in violent waves while thunder rattled the walls hard enough to make the old windows tremble. The fire between you and Leon had burned lower now, leaving the room dim and heavy with orange shadows.

Too quiet.

Leon sat at the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees while he cleaned his pistol with practiced movements. You watched him from across the room.

“Do you ever stop working?” you asked quietly.

“Do you?”

The answer came too fast. Sharp. You frowned faintly.

Leon noticed immediately, but instead of apologizing, he kept his eyes on the gun in his hands.

Typical.

Something frustrated twisted in your chest.

“You’ve been acting weird since we got here.” Leon gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Maybe getting chased through a forest by infected psychopaths put me in a mood.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Silence. The kind that pressed against your ribs. Leon finally set the pistol down harder than necessary.

“You almost died tonight.”

“There it is.”

His jaw tightened. “And you slipped.”

“And you caught me.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

The fire cracked loudly between you. Leon dragged a tired hand down his face before standing abruptly, pacing toward the window. Rainwater streaked down the glass, blurring the darkness outside.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then quietly “You should’ve resigned.”

Your breath caught. Not because you hadn’t heard him before.

But because after all these years, it still hurt every time he said it.

You stared at his back. “Leon—”

“I mean it.”

He still wouldn’t look at you.

“You’re good at this job,” he continued, voice low and rough, “too good. But this life—” he gestured vaguely toward the storm outside “—it doesn’t end well for people like us.”

A bitter laugh escaped you.

“People like us?”

“Don’t.”

“No, tell me.” You stood now too, anger rising hotter than the fire ever could. “What exactly are people like us, Leon?”

Finally, he turned. God. 

That look in his eyes nearly ruined you.

Exhausted. Afraid. Furious.

Not at you. At himself.

“At some point,” he said quietly, “you’re supposed to want more than this.”

The words hit harder than shouting ever could.

“You think I don’t?”

“I think you deserve a life that isn’t…” He swallowed hard. “This.”

His eyes dragged across your face slowly. Lingering. Like they always did.

Like he couldn’t help it even now.

“You could still leave,” he murmured. “You could have a family someday. Something normal.” Something inside you snapped.

“And what?” you shot back. “You think I can just walk away?”

“Yes.”

“No, you want me to.”

Silence.

Leon looked away first.

That was answer enough. Your chest ached.

Years. Years of almost-confessions. Lingering touches. Late-night calls. The way he looked at you like you mattered too much.

And still—

still—

he kept trying to push you away.

“You know what’s funny?” Your voice shook despite your effort to steady it. “You keep telling me to leave like you haven’t spent years making sure I stayed alive.”

Leon’s expression faltered.

“You don’t get to care about me this much and then act like I’m better off without you.”

The room went still. Rain hammered the roof overhead. Leon stared at you like the words physically hurt.

“You think I don’t know that?” he asked quietly.

Oh.

That almost broke you.

He laughed then, tired and bitter, shaking his head. “God.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “This is exactly why I didn’t want this to happen.”

Your throat tightened. “Didn’t want what?”

His eyes lifted to yours again. Honest this time. Completely defenseless.

“You.”

The cabin felt smaller with every breath.

Rain hammered the roof like something was trying to get in, but neither of you moved toward the windows anymore. Not after that last word. You.

It hung there between you and Leon like a live wire.

His expression had changed—subtle at first, then sharper. The exhaustion was still there, but now it was buried under something heavier. Something controlled. Something dangerous.

Not rage in the loud sense. Worse.

The kind Leon only had when he stopped pretending he didn’t care. You took a step forward before you could stop yourself.

“I know,” you said quietly and certain.

Leon’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“…Know what?”

You let out a shaky breath, and this time the anger came with it. Years of it. Years of swallowing words. Years of standing just close enough to him to feel everything but never close enough to say it.

“I know what you’re doing,” you said. “You’ve been doing it for years.”

His jaw tightened.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

You laughed once, sharp and humorless.

“You think I don’t understand what this is? You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

Leon straightened slowly. That alone changed the air.

Less casual now. Less tired. More… him.

“You should stop talking,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t a threat. Not exactly.

But your body reacted anyway. You didn’t stop.

“I know you told me to resign because you think I’d be safer,” you continued, voice rising now. “I know you say it like you don’t care, like it’s just logic, like it’s just some mission briefing—”

“Enough.”

The word cut through the room. Low. Controlled.

But it hit harder than shouting. You froze for half a second. Then something in you snapped.

“No,” you said, stepping closer again. “No, Leon. I’m done letting you decide what I feel.”

His eyes locked onto yours immediately. And this time— No deflection. No sarcasm.

Just intent.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said.

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

His voice dropped lower.

“You think it’s just this—” he gestured between you, sharp and restrained “—this tension, this idea you’ve built in your head because we survived a few nights together?”

Your chest burned.

“You think I imagined it?”

Leon took one step forward. Then another. Slow. Controlled.

Until there wasn’t much space left between you and him at all. When he spoke again, it was quieter.

More dangerous.

“You want honesty?” he said. “Fine.”

Your breath caught. His gaze didn’t move.

“I don’t sleep after missions,” he admitted. “Not really. And when I do, it’s worse because you’re there anyway.”

Your anger faltered for half a second.

He saw it. He always saw it.

And it made something in his expression tighten. “I told you to resign,” he continued, voice rougher now, “because every time I think about you staying in this field, I see how this ends.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s not your decision.” His eyes darkened.

“No,” he agreed.

A beat.

Then—

“But I keep making it anyway.”

The room went still again. Rain. Fire. Breath.

That was it. Then you stepped forward again.

Anger breaking into something sharper.

“You don’t get to say all of that and still push me away,” you said, voice shaking now. “You don’t get to act like I’m just some mistake you’re trying to prevent.”

Leon didn’t move back. Didn’t blink.

Just stared at you like he was holding himself together by force alone.

“That’s not what you are,” he said quietly.

“Then what am I?”

Something in Leon cracked just slightly.

“You’re the reason I keep failing at it,” he said.

Your breath stopped completely. Leon looked away first as his jaw clenched.

Leon didn’t move back. Neither did you.

The space between you felt unreal now—thin, fragile, like one breath too deep could shatter whatever control he had left.

His eyes stayed locked on yours.

No jokes now.

No deflection.

No distance.

Just him. And everything he’d been trying not to say for years.

“I told you to resign,” Leon said quietly, voice rough around the edges, “because I couldn’t stand the idea of you not coming back one day.”

Your breath caught. He didn’t stop.

“That’s it,” he added, almost bitterly. “That’s the reason.”

The honesty hit harder than any confession you could’ve imagined. Your anger faltered completely.

“…Leon,” you whispered.

His jaw tightened like he regretted saying it already…but he didn’t take it back.

He couldn’t.

“You keep thinking I’m trying to control your life,” he continued, voice lower now, strained. “I’m trying to survive mine.”

A pause.

His gaze flickered—just once—to your lips again.

This time, he didn’t hide it fast enough.

You saw.

And something in your chest broke open.

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you said softly.

“I know.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The fire crackled behind you both, the only sound in the room besides rain and breathing that had gotten too uneven to ignore.

Leon exhaled slowly.

“I’ve been doing this a long time,” he said quietly. “And every time I get close to something good, it gets taken away.”

His eyes softened just slightly.

“That’s what I’m trying to stop.”

Your voice came out smaller than you expected. “You think I’m going to disappear.”

Leon didn’t answer right away. Then, barely above a whisper

“I think I already lost too many people to pretend I won’t lose you too.”

The kind that didn’t feel empty anymore.It felt full. Heavy. Honest.

You stepped closer first this time. Slow. Careful. Leon didn’t stop you. But his breath changed when you did.

“You’re wrong,” you said quietly.

His eyes flickered.

“I’m still here.”

A beat. Then another.

Leon’s hand twitched at his side—like he was fighting instinct.

“You shouldn’t be,” he said, but it came out weaker now. You shook your head.

“Yeah?” you whispered. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to let me stay.”

That did it.

Something in him finally cracked fully—not loudly, not violently—but completely.

His hand came up, slow and hesitant, like he was giving himself one last chance to stop.

But he didn’t. Fingers brushed your cheek first. Warm despite everything. Careful like you might disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough. Your breath stopped.

Leon’s eyes dropped to your face again—slower this time, no restraint left to hide behind.

“…I hate this,” he murmured.

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

He gave a quiet, tired exhale that almost sounded like a laugh.

“How much I want you to stay,” he admitted.

That was it. No more distance. No more arguments.

Just truth, finally out in the open where it had always been sitting between you both.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you reached up and gently grabbed the front of his soaked shirt. Pulled him just slightly closer.

A question. Not a demand.

Leon’s eyes closed for half a second. Like he’d been holding his breath for years. Then he leaned in.

And pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.It lingered there…warm, steady, careful. Like he was trying to memorize the feeling before it could be taken away.

When he pulled back just slightly, his hand still stayed at your cheek. His forehead rested briefly against yours.

A quiet exhale between you. No jokes now.

Just him, finally letting himself stay close. Outside, the storm kept raging.

But inside the cabin, Leon didn’t let go.

© 2026 rinvvii