Summary: John Logan can flirt with anyone for fun, but the second y/n ties his hockey jacket around her waist, it starts feeling dangerously less casual. Between stolen touches, teasing confessions, and a growing inability to keep their eyes—or hands—off each other, one night at Malone’s turns into the beginning of something neither of them is prepared for.
wc: 2870
Pairing: John Logan x Reader
A/N: I was going to split this into two parts but then changed my mind. Formatting is kind of everywhere. Not edited.
The bass at Malone’s was loud enough to vibrate through the floorboards.
Every surface in the place felt sticky, humid from too many students packed together under flashing lights, and the air smelled like cheap beer, perfume, sweat, and something aggressively fried from the kitchen. Which normally would have been my cue to leave after thirty minutes.
But Hannah and Allie had cornered me before I could escape.
So now I’m trapped in the middle of the dance floor while Allie screamed the lyrics to a JLo directly into my ear.
“If you elbow me one more time, I’m reporting you to the authorities,” I yelled over the music.
“You look too hot to complain!” she shouted back immediately.
“That’s because this dress is cutting off circulation to my legs!”
Hannah burst out laughing beside us, dark curls bouncing as she danced. “Worth it!”
Easy for her to say.
The black dress looked incredible in my bedroom mirror two hours ago. Sleek. Tiny. Dangerous in a fun way.
Now?
Now it had decided it couldn't stay down on my thighs and kept trying to ride up. Every thirty seconds I had to yank the hem back down while trying to preserve what little dignity I had left.
“I swear to God,” I muttered, tugging at the fabric again, “this dress is one wrong move away from becoming a crop top.”
Allie nearly choked laughing.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m fighting for my life.”
“You’re winning, though,” Hannah assured me. “Half the bar has been staring at you since we got here.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It should be.”
Unfortunately, Hannah wasn’t wrong. I could feel eyes following us every time we moved through the crowd. And one pair in particular was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Because leaning against the bar in a fitted grey Henley—with sleeves pushed up to his forearms like he personally wanted to ruin my mental stability—was John Logan.
He was currently talking to Garrett Graham. Laughing at something Dean said. Looking unfairly good doing literally nothing. I made the mistake of glancing over again. Big mistake. Huge.
Because Logan happened to look up at the exact same moment. Our eyes locked across the crowded bar. Then he smiled, not a polite smile, not a casual hey-I-know-you smile either. A slow, knowing smile like he’d caught me doing something I shouldn’t be. Heat immediately crawled up my neck.
“Oh my God,” Hannah said beside me. “You’re staring again.”
I immediately started moving again out of pure embarrassment, nearly sloshing my drink onto the stranger beside me.
“I hate both of you.”
“You wanna know the worst part?” Hannah asked.
“No.”
“He keeps looking over here too.”
I nearly choke on air. “Excuse me?”
But before Hannah could answer, the dress betrayed me again. Aggressively. I gasped, grabbing the hem before disaster struck. “That’s it. I’m taking this thing out back and setting it on fire.”
Allie doubled over laughing. “You brought extra clothes though, right?”
“Yes,” I said obviously. “Because unlike you two, I believe in preparation.”
Honestly, being roommates with Hannah and Allie meant always carrying backup options.
Backup makeup, shoes, advil, dignity.
“My bag’s at the table,” I said, pointing toward the back booth where Tucker and Dean sat.
Hannah nodded sympathetically. “Go change before you accidentally traumatize the hockey team.”
“Excellent idea.”
I shoved my way through the crowd, muttering apologies. Heat clung to my skin from dancing, and by the time I reached the booth, I was already annoyed enough to change into sweatpants and never speak again.
Tucker looked up first. “There she is,” he announced dramatically. “The only responsible person at this school.”
Dean snorted into his drink. “That’s a low bar.”
I laughed softly and bent down to grab my tote bag from beside the booth—Only for another hand to reach it first. Long fingers wrapped loosely around the strap. My stomach immediately did something humiliating. Slowly, I looked up.
Logan sat sprawled comfortably against the booth seat, one arm stretched along the back behind Dean. Up close he somehow looked even broader than he had across the room, shoulders straining the soft grey fabric of his Henley. His hair looked slightly damp at the ends and his eyes were absolutely full of amusement.
“You leaving already?” he asked. His voice was rough from the noise in the bar, low enough that I felt my heart skip.
“No,” I replied. “My dress is trying to humiliate me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I noticed.”
My entire body heated instantly. “You noticed?”
Dean made a choking sound into his beer while Tucker physically covered his face.
Logan looked completely unashamed. “It’s hard not to,” he said. “You’ve been fighting with that thing since you got here.”
I pointed accusingly at him. “You are a terrible person.”
“Nah.” He stood up from the booth in one smooth movement. “Just observant.”
Standing this close to him felt unfair. He was tall enough that I had to tilt my head slightly to keep eye contact. Then Logan glanced down toward my legs again. A slow grin spread across his face. “You know,” he drawled, already shrugging off his hockey jacket, “there’s a pretty obvious solution here.”
Before I could answer, he held the jacket out toward me. Navy blue with ‘Briar Hockey’ stitched across the chest. It was still warm from his body.
“You’re offering me your jacket?”
Logan lifted one shoulder casually. “Seems safer for the general public.”
Tucker laughed so hard he almost dropped a fry.
I should’ve said something smooth. Something flirtier than standing there staring at him like an idiot. But of course my brain had become occupied by the sight of Logan holding the jacket. Dear God. “You okay there, y/n?” he asked, clearly entertained now.
“Yes,” I lied immediately. “I am perfectly fine.”
His grin widened. “That’s good news for me.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been flirting with you for the last ten minutes.”
My heart nearly stopped.
Dean made a loud gagging noise. “Jesus Christ, Logan. Buy us dinner before you start confessing feelings.”
“Shut up,” Logan muttered automatically. But he never looked away from me once.
And suddenly the noise of Malone’s felt farther away somehow., like the entire bar had blurred around us. Then Logan stepped closer, close enough that my pulse jumped stupidly hard.
“C’mere,” he said softly.
My brain short-circuited again.
Before I could respond, he took the jacket gently from my hands and moved behind me.
Every nerve ending in my body immediately became aware of the fact that John Logan was standing directly behind me.
I could feel heat radiating off him.
Could smell his cologne more clearly now—clean and warm and dangerously comforting.
Then his fingers brushed lightly against my hips as he wrapped the sleeves around my waist.
Not lingering.
Barely there.
Still enough to make my stomach flip violently.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured near my ear.
I swallowed hard. “It’s winter.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Oh.
Oh, that was flirting flirting.
His knuckles skimmed my waist one last time as he tied the sleeves securely in front.
“There,” Logan said quietly behind me. “Problem solved.”
I turned around slowly.
Big mistake.
Because now he was even closer.
Close enough that I could see the tiny scar near his eyebrow.
Close enough that I noticed his eyes weren’t just brown—they had these stupid gold flecks in them under the bar lights.
Close enough that my brain started making deeply unhelpful observations about how nice his mouth looked.
“You’re very smug for someone lending me a jacket,” I managed.
“Can you blame me?” His gaze dragged slowly over me, entirely unapologetic. “You look really good in my clothes, y/n.”
That should not have affected me that much.
And yet.
I crossed my arms mostly to give myself something to do. “Do you flirt with every girl like this?”
“Nah.”
His eyes held mine steadily.
“Only the ones who stare at me from the dance floor like they wanna climb me.”
My jaw dropped open.
Dean lost it completely beside us.
“Oh my God,” I laughed, horrified. “You saw that?”
I groaned and covered my face instantly while Tucker cackled loud enough to attract attention from nearby tables.
“This is my villain origin story.”
Logan laughed too then.
Not the cocky teasing laugh from before.
A real one.
Warm and low and ridiculously attractive.
Then his hand closed gently around my wrist.
The touch surprised me enough that I looked up immediately.
“Don’t hide now,” he murmured, tugging my hand away from my face.
The teasing edge in his voice softened just slightly.
And somehow that felt even more dangerous.
“I kinda like when you look at me.”
My stomach flipped so hard it was honestly concerning.
For one suspended second neither of us moved.
The lights flashed blue and gold across his face. Music pounded through the floor beneath our feet. Around us, Dean was still laughing at something Tucker said, people shouted over drinks, glasses clinked behind the bar—
But Logan’s attention stayed completely, entirely on me.
Like I was the only interesting thing in the room.
Then his gaze flicked briefly to the jacket tied around my waist before returning to my face.
“Plus,” he added casually, “now everybody knows you’re wearing my jacket.”
I blinked. “And why exactly does that matter?”
His grin turned lazy again.
“No reason.”
Liar.
And judging by the look in his eyes—
he knew I knew it too.
By the time I realized John Logan was still holding my wrist, it was already becoming a problem.
Not a real problem.
A dangerous problem.
Because his hand was warm, his thumb rested lazily against the inside of my wrist, and the look in his eyes was doing deeply irresponsible things to my nervous system.
Around us, Malone’s was still loud and chaotic—music blasting, people yelling over each other, glasses clinking behind the bar—but somehow the space directly around us felt weirdly smaller.
Focused.
Like the rest of the room had blurred at the edges.
Logan tilted his head slightly, watching me with obvious amusement. “You always get this quiet when a guy flirts with you?”
I narrowed my eyes immediately. “I’m not quiet.”
“You were staring at me like you forgot your own name two seconds ago.”
“That’s a medical condition.”
Dean nearly fell out of the booth laughing.
Tucker pointed a fry at me. “Honestly, y/n? Respect.”
“Thank you,” I said with dignity. “At least someone here supports women.”
Logan’s mouth twitched.
Still holding my wrist.
Still entirely too close.
“You okay there, hockey boy?” I asked sweetly. “You seem attached.”
His gaze dropped briefly to where our hands were touching before lifting back to my face.
“Nah,” he said easily. “Just making sure you don’t run away.”
My stomach flipped.
Which was ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
Because John Logan flirted with everyone. That was practically part of his personality. He was charming and hot and knew exactly how to look at someone like they were the center of the universe for five minutes at a time.
I knew that.
Unfortunately, knowing it did absolutely nothing for me when he smiled like that.
“You think I’d run away?” I asked.
“I think,” Logan said slowly, “you’ve been pretending not to notice me staring at you all night.”
Heat crawled up my neck instantly.
“Oh my God,” I muttered.
“That’s not a denial.”
“Please stop being observant. It’s ruining my life.”
He laughed softly, finally letting go of my wrist.
I immediately missed the warmth.
Which felt pathetic.
Before I could spiral about that too much, Logan leaned one hip against the edge of the booth beside me.
“So what’s in the emergency backup bag?” he asked.
“Gym shorts. Oversized T-shirt. Snacks.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Snacks?”
“I’m a woman in STEM. Survival is important.”
Dean pointed at me dramatically. “See? This is why she’s my favorite.”
“You told Hannah last week I looked like I’d poison someone for fun.”
“You do.”
“That’s just the eyeliner.”
Logan laughed again, shaking his head.
God, he laughed a lot around me.
That felt… nice.
Dangerously nice.
“What kind of snacks?” he asked.
I stared at him. “Are you flirting with me or trying to rob me?”
“Can’t it be both?”
I snorted despite myself and finally crouched to dig through my tote bag. “Goldfish crackers. Granola bars. Sour candy.”
“y/n,” Tucker said solemnly, “marry me.”
“No.”
“That’s fair.”
I pulled out the folded pair of black athletic shorts I planned on changing into and tossed the bag onto the booth seat.
Logan looked personally offended.
“You’re replacing the dress?”
“The dress betrayed me.”
“But the dress is winning.”
“That sounds fake.”
“No seriously.” His eyes dragged over me again, slower this time. “It’s a really good dress.”
My brain fully malfunctioned for half a second.
The confidence in his voice was what got me.
Not teasing now.
Not joking.
Just honest.
And somehow that was worse.
“You are aggressively good at this,” I informed him.
“At flirting?”
“At making people forget basic motor functions.”
A grin spread slowly across his face. “Yeah?”
“Unfortunately.”
Dean groaned loudly. “I can literally feel the sexual tension from here.”
“Then leave,” Logan said without looking away from me.
Tucker clutched his chest dramatically. “He’s in deep already.”
“I’m not in deep,” Logan shot back automatically.
I raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of wording.”
He looked at me for a second.
Then smirked.
“You catch everything, huh?”
“Occupational hazard.”
“What occupation?”
“Judging people.”
“Damn,” he said. “And here I thought it was pharmacy.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
And Logan’s expression shifted immediately when he heard it.
Softer somehow.
Like he liked making me laugh.
That realization hit me right in the chest.
“You know what’s weird?” he asked suddenly.
“What?”
“You’re way less scary than Hannah made you sound.”
I gasped dramatically. “Excuse me. I worked very hard on my terrifying reputation.”
“She told Garrett you once made Dean reconsider his entire personality.”
“I did.”
Dean pointed at me. “She looked me dead in the eyes and asked if I had hobbies besides being loud.”
Logan barked out a laugh.
“To be fair,” I said, “you didn’t have an answer.”
“That’s not the point.”
The music switched songs, bass vibrating through the floor harder now as more people crowded onto the dance floor.
Across the room, Hannah spotted me and wiggled her eyebrows obnoxiously.
I immediately flipped her off.
She looked delighted.
Logan followed my gaze toward the dance floor. “You gonna keep dancing?”
“Eventually.”
“You were having fun before your dress declared war.”
“I was having fun until somebody noticed.”
“y/n,” he said, looking genuinely amused, “you were staring at me like you were conducting scientific research.”
“In my defense, your arms are upsetting.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Tucker made a strangled noise.
Dean physically bent over laughing.
And Logan—
Logan looked so pleased with himself it was unbearable.
“My arms?” he repeated carefully.
I immediately realized my mistake.
“Oh my God.”
“y/n likes my arms,” he announced to the table.
“I actually need everyone here to die.”
He laughed outright now, head tipping back slightly, and the sight hit me with embarrassing force.
Because Logan was pretty.
Like offensively pretty.
Especially when he laughed.
“You know,” he said casually, flexing one arm against the table edge just enough to be annoying, “most people compliment my face first.”
“You don’t need compliments about your face. You already know about your face.”
“That’s true.”
“Horrific answer.”
He grinned.
Then leaned closer suddenly, voice dropping lower.
“But for the record,” he murmured, “I noticed your legs first too.”
My entire train of thought derailed.
Completely.
Gone.
Dean slapped the table hard enough to rattle the drinks. “Jesus Christ, just kiss already.”
“Dean,” I said weakly, still staring at Logan, “I’m trying to have a nervous breakdown in peace.”
Logan’s eyes flicked down briefly to my mouth.
Just for a second.
Still enough to make my pulse jump.
Then he looked back up slowly.
“Would it help,” he asked softly, “if I told you I’ve been trying not to kiss you since you walked in?”
I forgot how breathing worked.
Actually forgot.
Logan noticed immediately too, because his grin turned lazy and unbearably smug.
“There she goes again,” he murmured.
“Shut up.”
“You get all wide-eyed every time I flirt with you.”
“Maybe because you flirt like you’re trying to cause structural damage.”
That earned me another low laugh.
And before I could recover from that either, Logan reached out and adjusted the collar of his hockey jacket where it sat tied around my waist.
His fingers brushed bare skin just above my thigh.
Pairing : Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!reader Warning : jealousy , possesive Dean, popular hockey boy x shy girl, accidental confession Word Count : 1,6k Summary : When Dean gets unexpectedly jealous at a Briar party and pulls you onto his lap in front of everyone, the line between friendship and something more suddenly disappears.
You hated Briar parties. Too loud. Too crowded. Too many drunk athletes screaming over terrible music.
Honestly, you would’ve stayed home if Dean hadn’t practically dragged you there himself.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he complained dramatically while walking backwards in front of you. “You can’t spend your entire Friday night hiding in your dorm.”
“Yes I can.”
Dean grinned immediately.
“Not anymore.”
Your stomach flipped stupidly. That happened a lot around Dean Di Laurentis. Which was unfortunate because Dean flirted with literally everyone.
Waitresses.
Classmates.
Random girls at parties.
Meanwhile you could barely survive eye contact with him.
“Relax,” he teased softly once you reached the crowded house. “I’ll protect you from the evil social interaction.”
You rolled your eyes, but still followed closely behind him inside. Dean noticed. He always noticed. That was the problem. People thought Dean was shallow because he joked constantly and flirted with everyone around him. But you knew better.
You noticed the little things:
how he always walked on the outside of sidewalks,
how he remembered your coffee order,
how he touched your lower back in crowded rooms without thinking,
how his eyes automatically searched for you first whenever he entered somewhere.
It was confusing.
Especially because Dean acted like you belonged to him half the time. Even though you definitely weren’t dating. Probably. Maybe. Honestly, you didn’t know anymore.
“Stay here,” Dean said while handing you a drink. “I’m grabbing Logan before he destroys someone at beer pong.”
You laughed quietly.
“Okay.”
“Don’t let anyone kidnap you while I’m gone.”
Heat rushed to your face immediately. Dean winked before disappearing into the crowd. You hated how easily he affected you. A few minutes later, you were standing awkwardly near the kitchen trying not to look completely uncomfortable. Bad idea. Because apparently standing alone at a party attracted attention.
“You look terrified.”
You looked up nervously to find a football player smiling down at you. Cute. Very tall.Definitely drunk.
“Oh,” you laughed weakly. “I’m okay.”
“You sure?” He leaned casually against the counter beside you. “You’ve been hiding over here all night.”
You smiled politely, unsure what to say. Social interaction was already hard enough. Flirting was worse.
“I’m Mason, by the way.”
You told him your name softly. Then immediately regretted it because his smile widened.
“Well,” Mason said, “you’re definitely the prettiest girl here.”
Your face burned.
“Oh, thank you.”
“You here with someone?”
Before you could answer, Mason’s hand landed lightly on your waist.
And suddenly,
“She’s sitting with me.”
The voice cut through the noise instantly. Your breath caught. Dean stood a few feet away staring directly at the football player.
And for once? Dean Di Laurentis wasn’t smiling. Your heartbeat immediately sped up.
Mason lifted his hands awkwardly. “Dude, I was just talking to her.”
“Cool.” Dean walked forward slowly. “Now you’re done.”
The tension shifted instantly.
You stared at Dean in complete shock while Mason looked between both of you confused.
“Wait,” Mason frowned slightly. “Are you guys together?”
Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist without hesitation.
“She’s with me.”
The words hit your chest so hard it almost hurt. Mason looked uncomfortable immediately.
“My bad.”
Dean didn’t answer.
He just guided you away from the kitchen with his hand still firmly against your waist.
Your entire body felt warm where he touched you.
“What was that?” you whispered once you reached the living room.
Dean looked down at you innocently.
“What was what?”
“You basically threatened him.”
Dean scoffed.
“He was flirting with you.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t like it.”
The answer came too fast. Too honestly. Your heart nearly stopped. Dean seemed to realize what he’d admitted because his expression shifted slightly. But instead of taking it back… His hand tightened against your waist.
“You’re sitting with me,” he decided suddenly.
Before you could process the sentence, Dean dropped onto the couch and pulled you directly into his lap. Your entire brain short-circuited.
“Dean!”
He looked completely relaxed despite the fact that your heart was trying to kill you.
“What?”
“I can’t sit on your lap!”
“Too late.”
Around you, several hockey players immediately started staring. Logan nearly spit out his drink. Garrett looked deeply unimpressed.
And Allie whispered:
“Oh my God finally.”
Your face burned hotter. Dean only looked smug. One of his hands rested casually against your thigh while the other held his drink. Completely comfortable. Like this was normal. Meanwhile you could barely breathe.
“Dean,” you hissed quietly. “Everyone’s looking.”
“Let them.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“How are you acting normal right now?”
He leaned closer slightly.
“I’m always normal.”
“You’re literally holding me hostage.”
Dean grinned lazily.
“Sweetheart, if I was holding you hostage, you’d know.”
Your brain stopped functioning. Absolutely stopped. And the worst part? You didn’t even want to move. Because sitting in Dean’s lap felt stupidly safe. Warm. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles against your leg while he talked to Garrett about hockey, completely unaware he was actively ruining your life.
Or maybe he was aware. That was somehow worse.
“You’re quiet,” Dean murmured eventually, looking down at you.
“I wonder why.”
He laughed softly.
Cute.
Dean Di Laurentis was annoyingly cute.
Which felt deeply unfair considering he looked like that and had the personality of a menace.
“You okay?” he asked more gently.
The softness in his voice caught you off guard. You nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
Dean studied your face for a second too long. Then his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your thigh. Your pulse jumped instantly. And suddenly something shifted. The teasing atmosphere faded slightly.
Now it was just:
Dean looking at you,
your body pressed against his,
and way too much tension between both of you.
“You know,” Dean said quietly, “I really hated watching him flirt with you.”
Your breath caught.
“Dean…”
“I’m serious.”
His expression softened completely now. No jokes. No flirting. Just honesty. And somehow that terrified you more.
“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Dean admitted softly. “Or touched you.”
Your heart pounded painfully.
“Why?”
The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Dean stared at you silently for a second.
Then laughed quietly to himself.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You seriously don’t know?”
Your stomach twisted.
“Know what?”
Dean looked almost frustrated now.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “I’ve been obsessed with you for months.”
Silence. Complete silence. The party noise faded into background static. You stared at him, convinced you misheard.
“What?”
Dean’s hand moved carefully to your waist again.
“You think I drag you to parties because I enjoy watching you avoid eye contact with everyone?”
Heat rushed violently to your face.
“You flirt with everybody,” you whispered.
Dean immediately shook his head.
“Not like this.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Then what is this?”
Dean smiled softly.
“This,” he murmured while pulling you slightly closer, “is me losing my mind over one shy girl.”
Your heart completely melted. And suddenly everything made sense. The constant attention. The touching. The jealousy. The way Dean always looked at you like you were something precious.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Dean laughed quietly.
“Yeah. Oh.”
You stared at him nervously.
“So…” Your voice came out tiny. “You like me?”
Dean looked genuinely offended.
“Baby, I’m one bad day away from writing poetry about you.”
A startled laugh escaped you instantly. Dean smiled immediately like hearing you laugh was his favorite thing in the world. God. You were so done for.
“You know what the worst part is?” you admitted quietly.
“What?”
“I think I liked when you got jealous.”
Dean froze for half a second. Then a dangerously smug grin appeared on his face.
“Oh, you’re into possessive behavior?” he teased.
Your eyes widened immediately.
“No!”
Dean laughed loudly while your face burned alive.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“You’re horrible.”
“And yet,” he murmured while leaning closer, “you’re still sitting in my lap.”
Your breath caught instantly. Because he was right. You hadn’t moved once. Not even a little. Dean’s eyes flickered briefly toward your lips. Then back up again.
“You wanna know something?” he asked softly.
“What?”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the second week I knew you.”
Your heartbeat became unbearable.
“Dean…”
“Tell me to stop.”
But the problem was… You really, really didn’t want him to stop. So instead, you whispered:
“Maybe I don’t want you to.”
Dean stared at you for half a second before kissing you immediately.
Warm. Confident. Perfect.
One hand settled against your waist while the other tilted your chin upward carefully, like he wanted to make absolutely sure you felt everything behind the kiss. And honestly? You thought Dean flirting was dangerous. Kissing him was worse. When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. Dean rested his forehead lightly against yours.
“Well,” he murmured lazily, “that’s gonna make parties way more interesting.”
You laughed softly despite yourself. Across the room, Garrett looked exhausted already. Logan looked deeply entertained. And Dean? Dean looked ridiculously pleased with himself.
“Still hate parties?” he whispered.
You glanced at him before smiling shyly.
“Maybe not this one.”
Dean grinned immediately before kissing your forehead. Then, because he was incapable of behaving normally for even five seconds, he looked around the room proudly and announced:
“Everybody relax. She likes me back.”
You immediately hid your face in his shoulder while the hockey team erupted into chaos.
A/N : Here's my third fanfiction on Dean Di Laurentis!!! Hope u like it ! Don't forget to LIKE,SHARE, COMMENT & SUBSCRIBE !! Next one gonna be GARRET GRAHAM !
Summary: At a chaotic Briar hockey house party thrown by Dean Di Laurentis, the night spirals into nonstop chaos involving drinking games, bad decisions, and too many opinions from Garrett, Allie, and Hannah. Amid the noise and disaster, Logan stays quietly protective of Y/N, and the two end up closer than ever despite the madness around them.
wc: 1310
Pairing: John Logan x Reader
A/N: Not edited, any mistakes lmk
The Briar hockey house was loud enough to qualify as a safety hazard.
Somewhere between the basement speakers shaking the walls and Dean Di Laurentis yelling, “THIS IS A SOCIAL EXPERIMENT,” the entire building had officially stopped being a residence and become a liability.
Y/N had been here for exactly forty-seven minutes and already regretted three life choices.
One: agreeing to come.
Two: trusting Logan when he said it would be “chill.”
Three: wearing white sneakers.
Logan appeared behind her like a well-dressed disaster, pressing a drink into her hand.
“It’s not that bad,” he said.
Y/N glanced around.
Dean was on top of the kitchen island, attempting to DJ while Garrett tried to physically remove him.
Allie was laughing so hard she was crying into Hannah’s shoulder.
Someone had brought a fog machine.
There was no fire alarm yet, which felt optimistic.
“It’s very bad,” Y/N corrected.
Logan took a sip of his drink. “Fair.”
A loud crash echoed from the hallway.
“THAT WAS A DOOR,” Garrett shouted.
Dean shouted back, “IT’S A PORTAL NOW.”
Y/N turned slowly toward Logan. “Why are you friends with him.”
“He was assigned to me freshman year,” Logan said calmly. “I never recovered.”
Five minutes later, the kitchen had become its own ecosystem.
Dean was now making shots for strangers like he was running a very questionable nightclub.
“Winner gets bragging rights,” he announced.
“And a concussion,” Garrett muttered.
Allie climbed onto a counter. “I’ll take one.”
Hannah immediately grabbed her arm. “Absolutely not.”
Y/N leaned against Logan’s shoulder. “Is it always like this?”
“Yes,” Logan said.
“Why do people keep coming back?”
“Stockholm syndrome.”
Dean pointed at Logan. “Your girlfriend looks bored. Fix it.”
Y/N raised a brow. “I’m not bored.”
Logan looked down at her. “Are you bored?”
“No.”
Dean squinted. “That’s worse. That’s concern.”
Garrett sighed. “We should’ve gone to engineering school.”
At some point, someone turned the hallway into an obstacle course.
No one knew who started it.
No one took responsibility.
That meant Dean.
“Fastest run wins,” he declared.
“I am not racing you,” Logan said immediately.
“You’re scared.”
“I’m logical.”
Y/N crossed her arms. “I think Logan wins.”
Dean gasped. “Betrayal.”
Garrett pointed at Logan. “She’s right, though.”
Allie nodded. “Logan runs like he has something to prove.”
Hannah added, “He does. It’s called pride.”
Logan sighed. “I hate all of you.”
“Love you too,” Y/N said sweetly.
Dean clapped. “Alright, Romeo, you’re running first.”
Logan hesitated.
Then looked at Y/N.
“You’re timing me?”
She smiled. “Obviously.”
That was enough.
He ran.
And of course, he won.
Dean fell halfway down the stairs trying to “improve aerodynamics.”
Garrett refused to help him up.
Y/N escaped upstairs for five minutes of peace.
It lasted exactly thirty seconds.
Allie burst in. “Okay, I need your opinion—do I text the guy or let him suffer?”
Hannah followed. “Don’t text him. Let him suffer.”
Allie: “That’s toxic.”
Hannah: “It’s strategic.”
Y/N sat on the edge of the bed. “What did he do?”
Allie: “He said I ‘seemed chill.’”
Hannah: “Dump him.”
Allie: “We’re not even dating.”
Hannah: “Pre-dump him.”
Y/N laughed into her hands.
Then Logan appeared in the doorway.
He paused.
Took in the scene.
“You escaped,” he said.
Y/N nodded. “Briefly.”
He crossed the room, pulling her between his knees where she sat.
Immediately calmer.
Like he’d anchored himself to her without thinking.
Dean’s voice echoed faintly from downstairs: “IF ANYONE BREAKS MY BLENDER I’M STARTING A WAR.”
Logan didn’t even blink. “He already broke it.”
Y/N looked up at him. “Are you okay?”
“Define okay.”
She smiled softly. “That’s a no.”
Logan shrugged. “I’m here with you. That helps.”
Hannah made a noise like she was witnessing something emotionally intimate and unacceptable.
Allie whispered, “I hate how soft they are.”
The music downstairs got louder.
Which was impressive, considering it had already been loud enough to shake teeth.
When they came back down, the situation had evolved.
Dean was now hosting “truth or dare,” except it was 80% dares and 20% chaos crimes.
Garrett had his arms crossed like a disappointed parent.
Someone had dared Dean to balance on a couch armrest.
He was succeeding.
“Ask me anything,” Dean said dramatically.
A random guy yelled, “What’s your biggest fear?”
Dean didn’t hesitate. “Emotional vulnerability.”
Y/N called out, “That’s not a fear, that’s your personality flaw.”
The room erupted.
Dean pointed at her. “That’s slander.”
Logan leaned down slightly. “She’s right.”
Dean looked betrayed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Logan: “I’m in love. I can’t be objective.”
The entire room went quiet for half a second.
Then—
Dean: “Ew.”
Garrett: “Get a room.”
Allie: “That was actually kind of sweet.”
Hannah: “I’m going to cry again.”
Y/N just elbowed Logan lightly. “You’re dramatic.”
Logan: “You like it.”
She did not answer.
Which was answer enough.
It started with spilled alcohol.
It always started with spilled alcohol.
Some guy bumped into Y/N. Drink went everywhere.
Logan tensed instantly.
Not visibly.
But Y/N felt it.
That shift.
The protective edge sharpening under his calm exterior.
“I’m fine,” she said immediately.
“I know,” Logan replied.
But he didn’t move away.
The guy muttered an apology and walked off.
Dean appeared behind them like a menace. “If anyone disrespects her again, I’m starting violence.”
Garrett grabbed his shirt. “No violence.”
Dean: “Controlled violence.”
Garrett: “No.”
Logan didn’t take his eyes off Y/N.
“You okay?” he asked again, quieter this time.
“I’m okay.”
He nodded once.
Then, like it physically pained him, relaxed.
Allie leaned toward Hannah. “He’s worse than Dean when it comes to her.”
Hannah: “He just hides it better.”
By two in the morning, the party had degraded into something softer.
Less chaotic.
More tired chaos.
People sat on counters and floors instead of dancing.
Dean was eating cereal again.
Garrett was asleep sitting up on a chair.
Allie and Hannah were arguing in whispers about whether pineapple belongs on pizza.
(It does. They disagreed.)
Y/N was curled against Logan on the kitchen floor.
Summary: Dean Di Laurentis is loud, arrogant, and has a smirk with dimples that makes you want to throw something at his face. You called him a playboy to his face. Now he won't leave you alone. You tell yourself he's just annoying you for fun and you want nothing to do with him. Until one day, you realize you're looking for him in every crowd. And that's when you know you're in trouble.
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader
Tags/warnings: Introvert girl. Enemies to lovers. Slow burn. Hurt/comfort. Denial. Jealousy. Hockey romance. Fluff. Mutual pining. Mild language. Suggestive theme. No explicit content. Using the word (Name).
Word count: 3.7k
Author's note: I already fixed jules' pronouns in the part 1, sorry for the error and thanks for understanding. Enjoy part 2! 💗
"I'm heading out to Malone's. Are you sure you're okay by yourself?" Jules stood at your bedroom doorway, looking over at you as you lay buried under a blanket that covered you from head to toe.
"Yeah... I'm fine. Just exhausted. Have fun. Tell Logan I said hi."
The moment you heard the door click shut, your eyes snapped open. You rolled onto your back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
Arguing with Dean had completely drained your energy. You honestly wondered what went on inside his head—why did he have to be so incredibly frustrating? To make matters worse, why did he have to be part of an event that Logan was running? Now you were completely torn about whether you should go or stay put.
Logan had personally invited you, and you weren't the type of person to easily brush off someone's kindness.
But you absolutely dreaded the idea of seeing Dean's irritating face.
"Arghhh!!!"
After screaming into your pillow, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position.
Why were you letting him get to you like this? Dean was nobody. Why should he be the reason you missed out? You were going because Logan and Jules invited you. Plus, you knew Allie and Hannah. If things got awkward and you wanted to avoid Dean, you could always just ask for permission to hide out in the kitchen at Malone's.
A wide smile spread across your face at the thought.
"Okay. Let's do this."
You hopped out of bed, grabbed a casual yet comfortable outfit with jacket, and threw on a light layer of makeup just enough to mask the exhaustion on your face.
The walk from the dorms into the crisp night air actually helped clear your head. However, the moment you rounded the corner leading to Malone's, that peace immediately evaporated. The heavy, thumping bass from the Justin Kohl band echoed all the way to where you stood.
Malone's was absolutely packed tonight. A massive line of students snaked out the front door, and by the time you finally managed to squeeze your way inside, a wave of warmth mixed with the smell of burgers and beer washed over you. The place was incredibly crowded and deafeningly loud, a stark contrast to how quiet it had been this afternoon.
Pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, you scanned the room, scanning the sea of people to locate Jules or Logan. But amidst the crowd of people dancing and singing along to the music, your gaze locked onto a single figure sitting completely alone at the far end of the busy bar counter.
Dean Di Laurentis was tracing the rim of his glass with a lazy finger, barely offering a nod whenever someone he knew called out to him.
Catching sight of such a rare view made you freeze in your tracks. The expression on Dean's face looked... different. There was none of the usual playful spark or arrogant confidence radiating from him. Instead, a faint trace of regret lingered in his eyes, causing an unexpected wave of sympathy to bloom in your chest. You couldn't help but wonder— was he actually reflecting on what you had said to him this afternoon? Your feet practically moved on their own, tempting you to walk over just to break the ice and ease the tension between you two. But that thought was obliterated in a fraction of a second.
A blonde girl appeared out of nowhere and climbed straight onto Dean's lap. Without missing a beat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into an intimate, deep kiss. Instead of pulling away, Dean leaned right into it. His hands slid down to her waist, looking completely invested in their heated make-out session in the corner of the bar.
You froze, feeling a harsh slap of reality that left your face burning with embarrassment. A mixture of foolishness and irritation instantly flooded your mind. How could you have actually felt bad for Briar U's absolute number one playboy, even for a split second? The guy clearly didn't have a heart, and that regretful look from this afternoon was nothing but a total act.
You let out a cynical scoff, spinning on your heel to cut off your view of the disgusting display. Perfect, you thought bitterly. Now you didn't have a single reason to feel guilty about him anymore.
"Hey, (Name), you actually came?" The familiar voice made you turn around. You immediately buried your irritation and forced a smile for Logan.
"Yeah, I decided to swing by for a bit. The event looks amazing btw."
Logan beamed, his hands occupied with a donation box for the fundraiser. "Thanks. Do you want to request a song? If you do, you can just scan the QR code right here." Logan pointed to the QR code pasted on the box.
You chuckled. "Hmm... I don't know. I can't really think of anything right now."
"No pressure at all. Have you eaten yet? Or do you want something to drink? I can order it for you," he offered kindly.
You shook your head. "No, I'm good, thanks. You're busy enough as it is, so don't worry about me. By the way, do you need any help? I can pitch in while I'm here."
"Just enjoying the music and dropping a tip in here is more than enough help."
You smiled, pulling out some cash and sliding it into the slot of Logan's donation box.
"Thanks, (Name). The hockey team won't forget this."
You laughed. "That's a bit dramatic. But I'm happy to help."
"Logan, need a little help over here!" The sudden shout made both you and Logan look over toward the crowd.
"Go ahead, duty calls," you insisted before Logan could even look apologetic.
"Eum, okay. I'll be right back. Just... have fun!"
You let out a soft laugh as you watched Logan walk away. Your eyes drifted back across the room, stopping—completely against your better judgment—at the far end of the bar where Dean had been just moments ago. The high barstool was now empty. Dean and the blonde girl were gone.
You had a pretty strong hunch that they had slipped away somewhere quieter to continue their heated make-out session. You could only let out a cynical smirk. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to erase the guy from your mind, refusing to let him keep spinning through your head. You were here for Logan and Jules, not to obsess over the life of a playboy athlete.
Dean let his head drop back against the booth seat, closing his eyes as he released a heavy, exhausted sigh. Across from him, Beau Maxwell was casually packing up a few leftover supplies from last night’s hockey charity event. Beau had been called in to help Dean out, but it seemed like Beau was the only one actually doing any real work. Dean had been caught spacing out and staying unusually quiet multiple times.
"You know, Dean, you’ve been looking completely drained since last night," Beau said quietly, breaking the silence between them. "Which is funny, because from what I saw, it looked like you were having a pretty great time with that girl."
Hearing that made Dean rub his face in sheer frustration. "Don't remind me, Beau," he muttered.
Beau raised an eyebrow, his curiosity instantly piqued.
"You know... I think I'm having a crisis." Dean sat up straight, fixing Beau with a dead-serious look. "Can you keep a secret on your life?"
Beau glanced to his left and right, then leaned across the table toward Dean. "Okay, where’s the body?"
Dean swatted his best friend's arm. "I'm serious."
Beau let out a soft chuckle. "Okay, okay."
Dean took a massive breath before finally deciding to lay it all out for Beau. "I think there's something seriously wrong with me."
"What'd you mean?"
"Last night... I told that girl to leave," Dean confessed under his breath, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
Beau froze for a fraction of a second before bursting into a hearty laugh. "You? Dean? The ladies' man? Rejecting a girl and telling her to leave? Stop messing around. The word 'no' literally doesn't exist in your vocabulary with women."
"That's exactly the problem, Beau! That's why I'm telling you I'm having a crisis!" Dean cut in, his voice dripping with frustration while keeping it low enough so they wouldn't be overheard. "We went to the back room. She was ready to go, but, God, I suddenly just lost all interest. It felt like my brain completely short-circuited."
Beau studied Dean’s expression, realizing his best friend looked genuinely stressed out. His playful smirk gradually faded, replaced by a sharp, analytical gaze. "Did you lose interest because of the girl, or because your mind was somewhere else entirely?"
Dean slumped back against the seat. "You remember that weird stranger who made me trip at our birthday party?"
Beau tried to recall the memory. "The girl who completely ripped into you afterward, right? The one who called you an arrogant jerk? The story you told me," he asked to confirm.
Dean gave a miserable sigh but offered a small nod. "Yeah. That weird girl."
"What about her?"
"She's in my History class. And she absolutely hates me. Especially after I messed with her during our group project meeting—which I didn't even know was a group project meeting, by the way."
"Wait, what?" Beau was trying to piece together the messy details.
Dean let out a long, heavy breath. "We got paired up in the same group. When I asked for her number to discuss the project, she gave me her email address. I figured she was just playing hard to get and flirting with me. Because, come on, you know who I am, right?"
Beau gave him an amused look. He tilted his head slightly, but said nothing, letting Dean continue.
"So I intentionally didn't email her. But it's been days, the deadline is practically right around the corner, and she hasn't reached out or looked for me at all. Then yesterday afternoon, right before the fundraiser, I ran into her at Malone's with some guy. They looked like they were having a great tim—"
Beau arched an eyebrow as Dean’s voice cut off abruptly.
Dean cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. "I thought they were on a study date, so I walked over to them. Turns out she was actually with our other group partner. There are three of us in the group, by the way. Which I just found out. So I joined them, but I don't know, man... this girl acted like I was nothing but an annoying distraction. I was just planning to crack a few jokes and break the ice. But she got furious and just stormed out."
Silence fell over the booth for a few seconds. Beau set down the leftover decorations he was holding and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at Dean as if his best friend had just turned into a total stranger.
A slow smirk spread across Beau’s face, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement. "Wow... So she's the girl who managed to completely break the brain of Dean Di Laurentis?"
Dean snapped his posture straight, his face tightening as his sky-high ego was suddenly put on the defensive. "Don't be ridiculous, Beau. No one is breaking my brain."
"Oh, really? Then why is the ultimate Ladies' Man, who usually doesn't give a fuck about any girl, suddenly giving me a massive play-by-play venting session over one person?" Beau teased.
"No. I'm Dean. I always get exactly what I want. Good grades, popularity, girls—"
"And yet, here we are. A total stranger is completely immune to your charm." Beau grinned, thoroughly entertained.
"I don't care if my charm works on her or not, okay?" Dean shot back defensively. "I just don't like being accused of being a slacker who ruins a group's hard work. She literally looked at me like I was a piece of trash ruining her view."
Dean let out a sharp breath, his fingers tightening around his lukewarm coffee cup. "And last night, when that blonde girl was kissing me... I think I caught her glancing my way. Or maybe I imagined it. But the look she gave me... it was pure, unadulterated disgust before she walked away."
Beau didn't answer right away. His teasing smile faded entirely, replaced by a warm, sympathetic look. He reached over and clapped Dean on the shoulder a few times.
"Dean, you're not having a crisis because your ego is bruised. You're having a crisis because you actually care about what this girl thinks of you," Beau paused, letting the words sink in. "And you're panicking because you've already made a terrible impression."
Dean looked completely resistant to the idea. "She is not my type, Beau. She's way too serious, uptight, and boring," he snapped irritably. "I just want to clear my name."
Beau let out a soft chuckle. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, bro."
He glanced down at his watch. "Doesn't your History class start in like thirty minutes? If you really want to 'clear your name,' isn't this the perfect opportunity? You can go beg her for forgiveness." Beau smiled, raising both his eyebrows playfully.
- - - -
Dean walked down the hallway of the academic building toward his History lecture. Reaching the classroom, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes immediately scanning the room. The moment his gaze locked onto you, his feet froze.
You were already seated in the middle row. But you weren't alone. The guy, Leon, was sitting right next to you. The two of you were laughing together at something on his iPad screen. Your smile was completely bright and free, the kind of sweet smile you had never once shown Dean. For some reason, watching that happen sent an uncomfortable twist straight through his chest.
Dean swallowed hard, trying to dismiss the unfamiliar discomfort blooming in his lungs. He squared his shoulders and walked toward your desk, making his stride look as casual as possible—desperately trying to summon his usual cool confidence.
"Hey," Dean greeted, stopping right by your and Leon’s desk. "Looks like you guys are pretty busy making history over here."
Leon looked up, his expression instantly turning stiff and awkward at the sight of the campus hockey star standing over them. "Oh, hey, Dean."
As for you, you didn't even look up from Leon’s iPad screen. The bright smile that had been plastered on your lips just a minute ago vanished completely. You treated the tall guy standing there like he was invisible. Then, taking your bag from where it rested by your feet, you placed it firmly on the empty seat next to you.
"Professor Miller will be here any minute. You should probably find an open seat," you said coldly, without offering Dean so much as a glance.
Dean froze in his tracks. The blatant rejection in your body language dealt a direct blow to his sky-high ego. The guy who was usually worshiped and chased by every girl on campus now had to swallow a bitter pill, completely written off as background noise.
With the seat next to you blocked by your bag, Dean had no choice but to take a seat in the row directly behind you.
And from the moment the professor started lecturing, Dean spent the entire class watching Leon occasionally lean closer to whisper things to you, and watching you respond with friendly nods and small smiles.
Dean tried—he really tried to focus on the professor’s slides, but his eyes kept tracking back to you. It was driving him absolutely insane. Without even realizing it, his fists had been clenched tight under his desk the entire period.
"Leon, go ahead to the library first. I’m going to hand our draft to Professor Miller before I leave," you said as the professor dismissed the class and began packing up his stuff.
"Sure, (Name). See you at the library in a bit," Leon replied, sliding out of his seat and heading out.
Watching you walk down to the professor's desk alone, Dean immediately got up and followed. The exact second you turned around after submitting the project, Dean’s tall, athletic frame was blocking your path.
You stopped dead in your tracks, looking up to lock eyes with him coldly. "Move, Dean. I need to get through."
Dean didn't budge. He deliberately used his broad build to cut off your escape route between the rows of desks. Instead of apologizing like Beau had suggested, Dean did the exact opposite.
"What is your problem, exactly?" Dean snapped.
Your brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?" you asked, genuinely baffled.
"You've been acting like I've committed some unforgivable sin from day one, and I don't even know what I did to make you hate me so much. Yet, you're all sweet and gentle with that guy. Are you trying to seduce him or something?" Dean accused. The words flew out of his mouth before his brain could even filter them.
You stared at him in utter disbelief. "What?" you let out a sharp, cynical laugh. "I should be asking what your problem is. Why do you even care how I act?"
"Of course I care! We're.. in the same group!" Dean took a sharp step forward, cutting down the distance between you. His voice sounded deeply frustrated, but hints of his usual arrogance still bled through. "You ignore me when I say hi, you play hard to get, and now you're treating me like I'm a ghost. Meanwhile, you're being incredibly nice to—Leo or whatever his name is. What, you think he's better than me?"
Hearing such a ridiculous accusation completely snapped the last thread of your patience. You took the bag slung over your shoulder and slammed it down hard onto the nearest desk.
"You are completely out of your mind, aren't you?" you said, your voice dropping low but shaking with suppressed fury. "Do you honestly think the entire world revolves around you, Di Laurentis?"
You took a step closer, holding his gaze fiercely. "I ignore you because you are the most selfish, arrogant, self-centered narcissist I have ever met in my life. Yesterday afternoon, you showed up just to ruin our mood, talk down to us, act all smug and irritating. It was completely disgusting. Just because some girls fall easily into your arms doesn't mean every girl finds your behavior acceptable. Maybe your little comments to me are just a joke to you, but I have feelings, and your 'joke' accusations actually hurt."
You took a sharp breath, watching the defensive spark in Dean's eyes visibly falter. A bitter, cynical smile touched your lips as the image from last night flashed vividly through your mind.
"And last night," you paused, letting the weight of the words hang heavily in the quiet air. "When I was stupid enough to think you actually looked remorseful at Malone's, you were too busy making out with some girl in the corner of the bar to care about anything else. So don't pretend you suddenly care about this project or how I behave. You're just throwing a tantrum because your narcissistic ego can't handle the fact that there is one girl on this campus who doesn't worship the ground you walk on!"
Your sharp words hit Dean like a physical blow. The overconfidence and reckless accusations he had weaponized just seconds ago shattered instantly. A crushing wave of genuine guilt flooded his chest, melting away the hockey star's pride.
"You... saw me last night?" Dean’s voice dropped drastically, losing all of its aggressive edge. He swallowed hard, a sudden wave of panic surfacing in his eyes. "I—(Name), I swear to God, last night wasn't what it looked like. She kissed me first, but I stopped it, and nothing happened after that. I couldn't stop thinking about how badly I messed up with you."
You let out a harsh scoff, completely buying none of it. "I don't care who you make out with or who you sleep with. It's none of my business. Now get out of my way, Dean."
You snatched your bag and stepped forward, preparing to push past him. But before you could take a single step away, a warm, solid grip suddenly locked around your wrist.
Dean held you back.
His touch wasn't rough at all, but it was firm enough to keep you from pulling away.
"Dean, let go!" you hissed, snapping your eyes up to his face.
Instead of releasing you, Dean used the moment to close the remaining distance between you. In the empty, quiet classroom, his masculine cologne suddenly crowded your senses, making you involuntarily catch your breath.
"I'm not letting you go until you listen to me," Dean said, his voice dropping into a lower, raspy, completely pleading tone.
His green eyes locked directly onto yours. His thumb slowly shifted, tracing a gentle, soothing stroke right over your pulse point, sending your heart racing completely against your will.
"I'm sorry," Dean whispered sincerely, bowing his head slightly so his eyes were level with yours. "I was an absolute prick for acting like a jerk and letting my ego get the best of me. But last night... that girl kissed me first and I—well, yeah, I was caught off guard at first, but the guilt of how I treated you rushed right back, and that’s what made me stop."
The soft, electric touch against your skin and the overwhelming proximity left your face burning intensely hot. Panic surged through you as you realized the walls you built up were dangerously close to crumbling under his gaze.
With a sudden, sharp jerk, you ripped your wrist out of his hand. "Don't you dare to touch me again!"
You instantly averted your eyes, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you bolted out of the classroom at lightning speed.
Dean didn't chase after you. He simply turned around, watching your retreating figure disappear past the doorway. But a slow, knowing smile gradually curled the corners of his lips. The lingering warmth of your hand still buzzed against his palm.
Dean wasn't blind. He had caught your exact expression right before you turned away and ran. The way you held your breath, the panicked dart of your eyes, and the beautiful flush of pink that colored your cheeks.
Your calm facade had shattered—not because of anger, but because he had successfully made you nervous.
And in that exact moment, Dean knew he still had a shot.
Summary: Dean Di Laurentis is loud, arrogant, and has a smirk with dimple that makes you want to throw something at his face. You called him a playboy to his face. Now he won't leave you alone. You tell yourself he's just annoying you for fun and you have nothing to do with him. Until one day, you realize you're looking for him in every crowd. And that's when you know you're in trouble.
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader
Tags/warnings: Introvert girl. Enemies to lovers. Slow burn. Hurt/comfort. Hockey romance. Fluff. Mutual pining. Mild language. Suggestive theme. No explicit content. Using the word (Name).
Word count: 3.4k
Author's note: English is not my first language, let me know if there's any mistake. I haven't read the book, so I follow the tv series but not really haha. Btw, today is my birthday! Enjoy my birthday gift! 💗
This was supposed to be a one-shot, but my fingers couldn't stop typing so... here we are 🫰
"Come on, (Name)! I know you're not busy!"
You let out a soft sigh, staring at your roommate, Jules. Reference books for your class were scattered all over the bed around you, your laptop open right in front of you.
"Sorry, Jules, but I have a quiz tomorrow. I need to study," you replied.
"Aren't you bored? Studying all day long. Hey, live a little. Enjoy your college years."
"I am enjoying them." You lazily pointed toward your books with your chin.
Jules groaned in boredom. Then, out of nowhere, they flashed you a suspicious, knowing smile. You recognized that look instantly.
It was the exact expression Jules wore whenever their inner 'the fifth line social media admin' persona took over. They would do absolutely anything to get the latest hot campus gossip. Anything.
"Jules. No."
Jules chuckled. "(Name), yes."
Thirty minutes later, you were standing outside the Maxwell family summer home.
"This is a terrible idea, Jules. I should go back."
You started to turn away from the yard, but Jules grabbed your arm, holding you back.
"Hey, it's about time you got out of your room. You need to enjoy life, (Name). Don't waste your college years locked up in your room with books and mind-numbing course materials. You need a stress reliever." Jules went on a long rant, which you met with an equally long sigh.
"This isn't my scene, Jules. I don't like this kind of stuff, and you know it."
"Well, I promise you it'll be fun and nothing like you think."
"Oh, really?" You shot Jules a lazy, skeptical look.
"Just trust me, okay? It's time for you to make some new friends."
"I have friend—" you cut in, feeling defensive.
"I know, I know. But name just five friends from a different major. Someone who isn't a classmate, or your roommate—which is me." Jules challenged.
You closed your eyes and sighed in defeat. "Fine. But I'm only staying for a bit. If the party sucks, I'm leaving immediately."
"Deal. Let's go!" Jules linked their arm through yours, pulling you excitedly into the house.
You looked around the moment you stepped into the Maxwell summer house. It was crowded. Packed. Loud. A 'fun' kind of chaos was unfolding everywhere.
If Jules hadn't been with you, you probably would have turned right around and headed back to your quiet, cozy room. But Jules had zero intention of letting you go. They dragged you toward the living room, which connected straight to the kitchen. People were chatting, joking, playing games, and some were heavily making out. You instantly averted your eyes. That was a bit much for someone like you, who had never dated or even been close to a guy.
"Hey, you actually made it?"
A voice ahead made you look up.
"What does it look like?" Jules shot back sarcastically.
"Why so harsh on your own brother, Jules?"
The guy was John Logan. He's one of the star hockey players on campus, and also Jules's brother.
Of course you knew who he was from Jules's endless stories. Jules constantly gave you campus updates, even when you didn't ask for them.
"Wait, is this (Name)?"
You blinked in surprise when Logan mentioned your name. You had never spoken to him before, so how—oh, forget it. You were positive this was Jules's doing. But why on earth were they talking about you to Logan?
"Yep. Finally, after all this time, I managed to drag her out of her cave to enjoy life."
"Hey!" You glared at Jules, offended.
Logan laughed. "That's great. Hey, (Name), I'm Logan. Jules talks about you all the time. It's an honor to finally meet the legend who scolds this little brat whenever they skip class for their gossip account."
Jules rolled their eyes in annoyance.
You offered a small smile. "Hi, Logan. Nice to meet you. Jules talks about you a lot, too."
Logan shot his sibling a playful, curious look. "Oh, really? I hope it's good stuff." He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. "You know, they tend to exaggerate sometimes."
"I can hear you, dumbass," Jules snapped, looking irritated.
That made both you and Logan burst out laughing.
Gradually, the atmosphere began to feel more comfortable. Logan was warm, friendly, and easy to talk to. You no longer felt awkward or out of place.
Suddenly, the kitchen counter grew loud as two figures dressed in matching Top Gun uniforms appeared. From where you stood, you watched them effortlessly command the room's attention. Dean Di Laurentis and Beau Maxwell. Two best friends who shared the same birthday and the exact same level of fame. The star defenseman for the hockey team, and the starting quarterback for the football team.
From what you gathered, Dean seemed to be the more famous of the two, purely because he was a Briar hockey star with an endless supply of charm. Even though you didn't care about campus celebrities like Dean or Beau, you knew all about them because your classmates constantly gossiped about Dean's supposed perfection. Sitting behind them in lecture meant you could never actually focus on the professor.
Dean the handsome, Dean the sweet, the ultimate ladykiller, the perfect gentleman, and so on. Some called him a playboy and a certified heartbreaker, but his charm was undeniable.
Sometimes you wondered how these girls fell for him so easily, worshiping him like some sort of god. They completely ignored his flaws just because of his pretty face and his shamelessly flirty attitude around any woman in sight.
You, however, saw things differently. Sure, you weren't a hypocrite; you could admit Dean was gorgeous and practically flawless on the outside. But his playboy lifestyle, his lack of commitment, the casual hookups, and the endless partying? Total red flags.
People probably thought you were old-fashioned or had impossibly high standards, especially given your single status and lack of dating experience.
But you made a conscious effort to stay far away from guys like Dean or another famous players.
So, when the music pumped louder and the crowd swarmed the living room to dance, you immediately slipped away to find a quieter spot. Logan and Jules had already wandered off when some friends approached them. Though Jules originally wanted you to come along, you turned them down, promising to wait right there.
Thud!
And now, you deeply regretted it. You had found a safe haven to remain invisible—sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase—only for someone with zero situational awareness to trip right over your feet.
Actually, make that two someone.
Dean and a girl were so busy making out that they didn't even look where they were going. They're crashed right in front of you because he hadn't noticed you while trying to guide her up the stairs.
"Are you okay, sweetheart? Let me help you." Dean looked down at the girl with a soft, apologetic gaze, kissing her gently after pulling her to her feet.
You were just about to apologize, feeling a bit guilty that your extended legs had caused them to trip.
"What, were you so jealous that you had to trip her? Hm... I haven't seen you around before."
That accusation swallowed your apology whole, replaced instantly by a wave of pure anger.
"First of all, use your eyes to look where you're going. I've been sitting here the entire time. Second of all, I'm not jealous. And third, lose the massive ego because you're nothing but a playboy who uses women, lacks commitment, and only cares about a good time and sex. So don't flat-out assume every single girl is just going to fall easily into your lap! You arrogant jerk!"
You stood up, deliberately brushing your shoulder against his as you stormed out. You were absolutely furious and deeply insulted.The guy didn't even know you, yet he had the nerve to accuse you of being jealous enough to hurt the girl he was with. Unbelievable. It made your blood boil.
"According to the course plan I presented at the beginning of the semester, we will be dividing into groups for the midterm project. The class representative will organize the groups. Once finalized, please submit the roster by this afternoon."
"Yes, sir."
Krieeet!
Every head turned toward the classroom door.
"Oh, look, our favorite athlete has finally decided to join us."
"Sorry, Professor. Practice ran late." Dean Di Laurentis walked in, wearing a completely unapologetic smirk.
"Remind me again, why did you transfer into my class?" your History professor asked dryly.
"Because... I was told to find a class schedule that didn't conflict with hockey practice?" Dean replied, his tone teasingly inquisitive.
"And why are you late today, Mr. Di Laurentis? Just because you are one of the campus's star athletes, do not expect special treatment for your lack of discipline in my classroom."
"Um... my bad, Prof. Won't happen again." Dean smiled, giving a playful mock salute.
Having been checked out the second you heard his voice, you chose to focus entirely on the group assignments the class rep was dropping into the group chat.
Wait.
Your eyes snapped over to the class representative sitting behind you, your jaw dropping in disbelief. The groups had been generated randomly, and by some cruel twist of cosmic fate, you were paired with the exact guy who had sent your temper flaring just two days ago.
"Hey, I need to switch groups," you whispered urgently to your classmate.
"Sorry, (Name), but I ran a randomizer to keep it fair. And... honestly, you shouldn't switch. Every other girl in here is practically dying of jealousy right now."
You lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. "Exactly. That's why I want out. Anyone can take my spot."
"Can't do it, (Name). I already emailed the roster to the professor."
"You are evil." You stared at your friend-slash-class-rep with pure betrayal.
She just let out a quiet giggle. "What's the big deal anyway? Come on... shouldn't you be thrilled? It's not every day you get a free pass to talk to Briar's star hockey player."
"Don't mock me. You know I can't stand drama, especially the kind that follows Di Laurentis around."
"Did you miss me? Is that why you keep saying my name?"
You and your friend looked up to find Dean standing right over your desk, leaning down with a cocky grin.
"In your dreams. I wouldn't even waste a nightmare on you," you shot back coldly.
"Ouch. You're breaking my heart, you know. But it's fine, I know you're actually crazy about me and just trying to play hard to get." Dean smirked, radiating pure, unadulterated confidence.
The sheer audacity left you completely speechless. The guy in front of you was clearly delusional, his ego skyrocketing past the atmosphere.
Then, without waiting for an invitation, Dean slid into the empty seat right next to you. "So, it's (Name), right? Destined to be partners. Wait, did you request to be in my group? Wow, you move fast quietly, don't you?"
You could only stare at him like he was an alien, actively suppressing the urge to curse him out or strangle him right then and there.
Dean unlocked his phone and slid it across your desk. You looked from his face to the screen and back again.
Dean chuckled, his deep dimples showing on full display. "We need to discuss this group project, don't we? So, give me your number."
You stared at it for a few seconds before finally picking up his phone and typing something out.
"An email address?" Dean looked at you, utterly bewildered.
"Are you so busy playing hockey and partying that you don't know what an email is?" you asked sarcastically.
"Of course I know. But—"
"If you need to reach me, use that. Or don't. I don't care." You packed your things at lightning speed just as the professor dismissed the class, and swept out the door without looking back.
- - - -
"Thanks, Logan. How much do I owe you?"
"Don't worry about it."
"No, no way. You went out of your way to fix the plumbing in Jules' and my room. A simple thank you definitely isn't enough." You watched Logan as he packed away his tools.
"Seriously, (Name), it's fine. I'm just helping out Jules and their roommate."
You sighed. "Fine. But in that case, you have to let me buy you lunch."
Logan looked up at you and laughed. "Okay, deal. But I get to pick the place."
"Good. Let's go!"
True to his word, Logan brought you straight to Malone's.
"Hey, Allie!"
"Hey, (Name)! Wow, look at you, actually out with a friend for once." Allie, who was working her shift as a waitress, grinned at you and then at Logan, who was walking right behind you.
You laughed. "This is Logan, my roommate's older brother. Oh, by the way, we're ready to order."
Allie handed you a couple of menus. "Just call me whenever you guys are ready."
"Okay, thanks Allie."
"Wait... are you Hannah's friend?" Logan asked Allie suddenly, making you freeze just as you were about to look for a table.
"Yeah. Why?" Allie asked.
"I just wanted to make sure if Hannah already talked to the owner about using this place for the charity fundraiser."
"Oh, yeah, Hannah already brought it up. Our boss gave the green light. We just need to confirm the exact date and time."
Logan smiled in relief. "Awesome. I'll let Hannah know later. Thanks a lot."
"What's the fundraiser for?" you asked once the two of you had taken a seat at a table, waiting for your food.
"It's a charity fundraiser for youth ice hockey scholarships. It helps buy gear, rent ice time, stuff like that," Logan explained.
You nodded. "Wow, that's really great. I hope it turns out to be a huge success."
"You should come, (Name). It's going to be a blast. We're planning to hire a band, so there'll be live requests." Logan looked at you enthusiastically.
You smiled softly. "If you need any help, just let me know. But I'm not sure if I can actually make it to the event. My assignment load this week is brutal, and I really need to review some course materials I'm struggling with."
Logan nodded understandingly. "No pressure at all. The hockey guys are handling everything anyway. If you find some free time, you can just stop by. Jules definitely going to be there too."
"Haha, okay."
Truthfully, you really wanted to show up and support Logan. But between your hectic workload and your absolute desperation to avoid running into Dean, you ultimately decided against it.
The afternoon atmosphere at Malone's was pretty relaxed. There were only a few students chatting casually and enjoying their lunch. A couple of people were moving back and forth, setting up decorations on the mini stage for the hockey charity event tonight.
Meanwhile, you were buried in your laptop and a stack of printed drafts for your History group project. Every now and then, you anxiously glanced toward the entrance, which you had intentionally sat with your back to. You were waiting for your classmate, who had suggested meeting up here to discuss the project. Because you felt bad turning him down— especially since Malone's was the closest spot to his part-time job, so you ended up agreeing. Even though, ever since Logan’s invitation a few days ago, you had actively tried to avoid this place. You didn't want to risk running into Dean.
But here you were. In the exact place you were supposed to stay away from, surrounded by hockey players busy prepping for their charity event.
Because of that, your anxiety had been on high alert. You kept praying your partner would show up quickly so you could wrap up the project discussion and leave before Dean could ever cross your path.
"Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. So, what about Dean?" Leon arrived, sliding into the seat across from you.
You breathed a massive sigh of relief that your group partner had finally made it, even if his opening question was one you'd rather completely ignore.
"I have no idea."
"He didn't contact you?" he asked.
You shook your head. Even though you hadn't expected Dean to actually shoot you an email, you had still found yourself checking your inbox every single day. And yep, just as predicted, absolutely nothing.
"Forget about him. He's probably too busy with his hockey schedule. We shouldn't hold our breath waiting for him to contribute. It's better if we just focus on our own parts so we can get this done quickly." You opened up your printouts and began mapping out the project with Leon.
Before you knew it, over twenty minutes had flown by. Leon was incredibly easy to work with, thanks to his friendly personality. He even cracked a few jokes, making your lingering headache vanish for a moment.
"Well, well, look who we have here. No wonder my email never got a response. Turns out you're on a 'study date', huh?"
The baseless accusation instantly wiped the smile right off your face. Dean was standing right by your table, looking down at you with a mocking, arrogant smirk.
"Uh, no, I'm Leon. We're in the same History group. We're just going over the project draft," Leon spoke up.
Dean sat down right next to Leon, forcing him to awkwardly scoot over to make room. "Oh, the History group? That's great. Guess that means I don't have to do a single thing, right? Since you two are clearly smart enough to handle it." Dean looked back and forth between you and Leon.
You fixed Dean with an ice-cold glare. "If you're not going to help, then stop bothering us. Go help your hockey buddies instead. They actually need it."
"Well, they can survive without me for a bit. Right now, I want to hang out with my History group. This is still my group, isn't it? Even if I was completely left in the dark?" Dean asked, flashing a wide, infuriating grin.
Leon looked between you and Dean, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "We were waiting for you to contact (Name). But you never did."
Dean let out a sharp, amused laugh, looking straight at you. "You were waiting for me? Aww... why didn't you just say so? I thought you were just playing hard to get, which is why you only gave me an email address."
You stared at him sharply. "I am not an object to be pursued. So stop talking shit like that."
"Or what?" Dean challenged, a smirk spreading across his face that made you want to punch him right then.
You clenched your fists tightly under the table, forcing down the fiery rage that was threatening to boil over. You refused to cause a massive scene inside Malone's, especially in front of Leon and others people.
Taking a slow, deliberate breath, you closed your laptop and gathered your printed drafts, stacking them against the table with a sharp thud. You shoved them into your bag and stood up.
"Or nothing," you answered, your voice dropping into a cold, utterly disgusted tone. "I don't have time to entertain a validation-starved toddler. Honestly, even a toddler has better manners than you."
The arrogant smirk on Dean's face visibly faltered the second he registered the venom in your voice.
You turned your attention to Leon, who had been wincing awkwardly throughout the entire exchange. "Leon, sorry. The atmosphere here isn't conducive anymore. Let's finish discussing this over text tonight. I'm heading out."
"Uh... yeah, sure, (Name). Get home safe," Leon stammered quickly, feeling deeply apologetic that you were driven out like this.
Without wasting another second or even throwing a single glance back at Dean, you slung your bag over your shoulder and stormed out of Malone's, leaving the booth behind.
Meanwhile, Dean sat frozen in his seat, the annoying smirk completely wiped from his face. He was entirely used to girls flirting back or getting playfully mad at him, but the look you just gave him... it was pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Wow, you seriously crossed the line there," Leon muttered quietly, shaking his head. Dean snapped his head toward him, his brow furrowed. "She stayed up all night pulling our project draft together. She was actually in a great mood today, and you just came in and completely ruined it."
summary: The thing about Logan is that he always knew what to say. He just kept finding reasons not to say it.
or: the five times Logan almost confessed and the one time he did.
notes: hii!! lazy sunday inspiration, this one is like sabrina short and sweet, hope you guys like it! enjoy your reading!!
warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, happy ending.
word count: 4k
I've been afraid of changing because I've built my life around you
You had met Logan at a rink.
This was, in retrospect, the most inevitable thing about you, that two people who had built their entire lives around ice would find each other on it. You had been eleven, in the middle of a spin sequence that wasn't working, frustrated enough that you had stopped and put your hands on your hips and glared at the ice like it had personally wronged you. He had been eleven too, sitting in the penalty box with his helmet off, watching you with the focused attention of someone who had forgotten he was supposed to be somewhere else.
"Your left shoulder drops," he said.
You had looked at the penalty box. At the boy in it. At the hockey gear he was still wearing.
"Did I ask?" you said.
"No," he said. "But it does."
You had glared at him for a long moment. Then you had tried the sequence again with your left shoulder deliberately up and it had been better. Significantly better.
You had not told him that.
You had skated to the boards and looked at him.
"Why are you in the penalty box?" you said.
"Coach," he said, simply.
"What did you do."
"Argued a call."
"Was the call wrong?"
"Obviously," he said.
You had looked at him for another long moment.
"I'm (Y/N)," you said.
"Logan," he said.
Ten years later you were still talking.
one — the competition february, sophomore year
The thing about watching you skate was that it was completely impossible to be indifferent to.
Logan had been to enough of your competitions by now that he had developed what he privately considered a professional appreciation for figure skating, he understood the technical elements, the edge work, the difference between a clean landing and one that cost points. He had opinions about judging. He had once gotten into a fifteen-minute argument with Tucker about the scoring system.
He was, in other words, not watching you the way a normal person watched figure skating.
He was watching you the way he had been watching you for approximately five years without doing anything about it, which was with focused attention of someone who had accidentally learned the exact shape of their own feelings by observing them in a controlled environment and then never done anything with the information.
You were in the middle of your free skate program.
The arena was quiet, something that happen only when a competition in progress, a few hundred people all holding the same breath and you were in the center of the ice in a deep red costume that caught the light when you moved, and you were moving the way you always moved when you were doing this properly, like you were constantly sure of all the decisions and it was up to everyone else to accept it.
The triple axel was coming. Logan knew your program better than his own game tape.
He watched your set up for it and then you were in the air and rotating and landing clean, one blade, no stumble, the crowd exhaling around him in something close to relief.
Logan exhaled too.
You finished the program and stood in the center of the ice with your arms out and your chest heaving and your face doing something close to relief and the thin line with triumph.
He knew that face. He had photographs of that face going back five years.
Logan was completely gone.
After the scores were posted — first place, which was not a surprise to anyone who had been paying attention — Logan found you in the corridor outside the changing rooms, still in the costume, skates exchanged for boots, medal around your neck that you kept touching like making sure it was real.
You saw him and couldn't help but to smile.
"You came," you said.
"I always come," he said.
"I know." You were smiling the real one, not the competition smile, not the public smile. "How was the axel?"
"Perfect," he said. "Clean landing, good height, the rotation was exactly right."
"You sound like my coach."
"Your coach is correct."
You laughed and walked toward him and he opened his arms because that was what happened after competitions you walked into them and he held on and you smelled like the rink and some body lotion that he has been trying to steal for a long time, he had his chin on top of your head and everything was exactly the same as it always was.
Except that his heart was doing something extremely inconvenient.
"I have something to tell you," he said, into your hair.
"Mm?" You didn't move.
He had the words right there. Had been carrying them for approximately two years, which was when he had stopped being able to pretend to himself that what he felt was just friendship, had been practiced and ready and —
"You dropped your left shoulder in the step sequence," he said. "Third section. It cost you."
You pulled back and looked at him. "You can not be serious right now, Johnny."
"It's a small thing, but —"
"I just won," she said.
"I know. You also dropped your shoulder."
You stared at him for a long moment with a watchful expression.
"I hate you," you said.
"No you don't," he said.
"Maybe I do" you looked at him "No I don't," you confirmed.
You took his hand and pulled him toward the exit to find the others, and Logan walked behind you and thought about what he had almost said and hadn't. Logan had decided for once, to store away this information, maybe soon would come in handy.
two — the lazy day april, sophomore year
It was a Sunday in April, a Sunday that had decided to be warm for the first time all year, and you were lying on the floor of Logan's room with your legs up on his bed because the floor was cooler than the bed and you had been at the rink since six in the morning and every single part of you ached.
Logan was on the bed, technically reading something for class, practically staring at the ceiling.
You had been in this exact configuration approximately four hundred times over ten years. The comfortable silence of two people who had run out of things to say and were fine with that.
"My coach wants me to change the music for nationals," you said, to the ceiling.
"What's wrong with the current music?"
"She says it doesn't show enough range."
"What does she want instead?"
"Something more emotional apparently." You paused. "She used the word vulnerable which made me want to scream."
Logan made a sound that meant he was listening.
"I'm not un-vulnerable," you said. "I'm just — I show it differently."
"You show it on the ice," Logan said. "Anyone paying attention can see it."
You turned your head to look at him. He was still looking at the ceiling.
"That's a nice thing to say," you said.
"It's a true thing to say." He turned his head and looked at you. From this angle, floor to bed, you were looking at each other sideways, and there was something about the afternoon light coming through the window that was doing something to his expression, making it more open than usual, less managed.
"I've been thinking," he said.
"About what."
He looked at you for a moment. The open expression doing something more complicated.
"About —" he started.
Your phone went off.
The ringtone you had assigned to your coach, which you had made deliberately annoying so you couldn't ignore it. You grabbed it off the floor and sat up and mouthed sorry at Logan and answered.
Your coach talked for eleven minutes about the music change.
When you hung up Logan was reading again, or pretending to, and the afternoon light had shifted, and whatever the moment had been it had passed.
"What were you thinking about?" you said.
"Nothing," he said. "Doesn't matter."
You looked at him for a second longer than necessary.
Then you put your legs back up on his bed and went back to staring at the ceiling.
three — the boys september, junior year
The thing about you was that you were, objectively, extremely easy to be around.
Dean had arrived at this conclusion independently and over time, through the accumulated evidence of approximately a year of you being at various team events and group hangs and spontaneous Malone's trips, and it was not a controversial conclusion, Tucker had said the same thing, Garrett had nodded in agreement.
You were funny and direct and had opinions and didn't perform interest you didn't have, which was rarer than it should have been. You also had the unselfconscious ease of someone who had been comfortable on a competitive stage since you were fourteen, which meant you walked into rooms the same way you walked onto ice like you had already decided you belonged there.
Dean had been thinking about this for approximately three weeks when he cornered Logan after practice.
"Your figure skater friend," he said.
Logan looked at him over his equipment bag. "Her name is (Y/N)."
"Is she single?"
The locker room continued around them. Tucker was unwrapping tape. Garrett was checking his phone. Nobody appeared to be paying particular attention.
Logan's jaw did something.
"Yeah," he said. "She's single."
"Nice." Dean leaned against the locker with the easy confidence of someone who had made a decision. "Do you think she'd be open to —"
"She's focused on skating," Logan said. "Nationals are in February. She doesn't have time for —"
"I'm not talking about anything serious," Dean said. "Just —"
"She's busy," Logan said.
Dean looked at him.
Logan looked at his equipment bag.
"Sure," Dean said, slowly. "Right. Busy." A pause. "You sure you don't have a —"
"She's my best friend," Logan said. "Can you just — not."
Dean looked at him for a long moment with the expression of someone doing math.
"Okay," he said. "Sure."
He went back to his own locker.
Tucker caught his eye across the room and raised his eyebrows. Dean gave the smallest possible shrug, which in their particular shorthand meant: you are seeing what you think you're seeing.
Tucker looked at the ceiling briefly and then went back to his tape.
Logan texted you that night.
logan: what are you doing
yn: stretching. my hip flexors are staging a revolt. what's up
logan: nothing. just checking in
yn: at 10pm on a tuesday
logan: is that suspicious
yn: a little
logan: go stretch your hip flexors
yn: i am. you could come over and suffer with me
A pause. Longer than usual.
logan: be there in twenty
He showed up with food and sat on your floor and watched you stretch with the expression he sometimes had when he was thinking about something he wasn't saying. You didn't push. You had learned, over ten years, the difference between Logan processing something and Logan ready to talk about it.
You stretched your hip flexors.
He was quiet beside you.
It was, somehow, exactly enough.
four — the party november, junior year
Hannah had a very simple theory about Logan and you that she had shared with Allie approximately four months ago and had been collecting evidence for ever since.
The theory was: you were both completely in love with each other and were going to keep not doing anything about it until one of them finally cracked or they both graduated and went their separate ways, which would be a tragedy.
Allie's theory was identical, arrived at independently, and they had spent four months running what amounted to a covert observation project with no intervention component because, as Allie had said, correctly , very time anyone said anything to Logan he went quiet and every time anyone said anything to you, you laughed and changed the subject, and the only thing that was going to fix this was one of them actually doing something.
The party was in November, someone's house, the kind that happened naturally when enough people were in the same place with nothing specific to do. Allie and Hannah had come together. Logan and you had come separately and found each other within four minutes, which was, Hannah noted, always how it went.
You were in the corner of the living room now, in the configuration you always occupied at parties, close enough that yourshoulders touched, talking in the way you talked when you were somewhere loud, which was slightly lower and slightly more direct, leaning in.
"He's doing it again," Hannah said.
Allie, beside her, followed her eyeline. "The shoulder thing."
"He always does the shoulder thing when he's about to say something."
They watched. Across the room, Logan's shoulder had indeed done the thing, a slight forward tilt, the specific posture of someone turning toward something rather than standing beside it.
You were looking up at him with the expression you had when you were actually listening to someone, which was different from your polite listening expression and your processing expression and was reserved for maybe three people in your life.
"He's going to do it," Hannah said.
"He's not going to do it," Allie said.
"He's leaning in —"
"He never does it."
"There's always a first time —"
Someone across the room called Logan's name. Loudly. Urgently. Something about a game in the kitchen that required his participation immediately.
Logan closed his eyes very briefly.
Then he straightened up and said something to you — one second probably, or back in a minute — and went toward the kitchen.
You watched him go with an expression that lasted approximately two seconds before you reorganized it into something neutral.
Allie looked at Hannah.
Hannah looked at Allie.
"I'm going to lose my mind," Hannah said.
"Same," said Allie.
They looked at each other.
"We're not intervening," Allie said.
"We're absolutely not intervening," Hannah agreed.
They watched you drift toward the snack table looking slightly like someone who had been about to hear something and hadn't.
"We're not intervening," Allie said again, more firmly.
"Right," said Hannah. "Definitely not."
allie: okay so
hannah: i KNOW
allie: the shoulder thing
hannah: and her FACE when he left
allie: someone needs to do something
hannah: we said we weren't intervening
allie: i know what we said
hannah: allie
allie: i'm just saying
hannah: we are not telling them
allie: fine
hannah: fine
allie: ...fine
hannah: goodnight allie
allie: if they're still doing this at graduation i'm saying something
hannah: GOODNIGHT ALLIE
five — the almost january, senior year
You found out about the Dean thing entirely by accident.
You had been in the kitchen at the off campus house, making tea because it was January and you were cold and your coach had banned coffee during competition prep, and Tucker had come in and started making a sandwich and you had been coexisting peacefully until Tucker said, entirely unprompted and clearly without thinking:
"By the way, for what it's worth, I told Dean not to."
You looked at him. "Told Dean not to what."
Tucker looked at his sandwich. Then at you. Then at his sandwich again with the expression of someone who had realized, too late, that they had said something.
"Ask about you," he said finally. "Like — ask Logan if he could pursue you. I told him it was a bad idea."
You put down your tea.
"Dean asked Logan if he could pursue me," you said.
"Back in September. Logan said you were busy with skating." Tucker picked up his sandwich. "Which was — I mean, you are busy. But also —" he stopped. "I probably shouldn't have said anything."
"Probably," you said.
Tucker took a bite of his sandwich and left the kitchen with the energy of someone removing themselves from a situation.
You stood at the counter with your tea and thought about September and Logan showing up at your apartment at ten on a Tuesday for no reason, sitting on your floor, being quiet beside you in a way that had felt like something without ever becoming something.
She's busy, he had apparently said.
You looked at the doorway Tucker had disappeared through.
You looked at your tea.
Hm, you thought.
Logan found you twenty minutes later in the living room, already in his jacket, apparently on his way out.
"Hey," he said. "You good?"
"Fine," you said. "Where are you going?"
"Skate rental shop. I need new laces." He paused. "Do you want to come? We can get food after."
You looked at him.
"Sure," you said.
You got your coat.
one — the one time he did january, senior year.
The skate rental shop was quiet on a January afternoon, the mundane warmth of a place that smelled like rubber and old equipment, and Logan found his laces in approximately four minutes and then stood in the aisle for another ten not moving, which you had learned to recognize as Logan making up his mind about something.
You looked at a display of blade covers that you did not need.
"Tucker told me," you said, to the blade covers.
A pause.
"Told you what," Logan said.
"About Dean. In September."
The aisle was very quiet.
"She's busy," you said. "That's what you said, apparently."
Another pause. Longer.
"You were," Logan said. "You were in nationals prep."
"Logan."
"What."
You turned to look at him. He was looking at the laces in his hands with the expression he got when he was trying to decide something and hating that he had to decide it.
"Why did you say she's busy," you said. "Instead of — anything else."
He looked up. His jaw did the thing.
"Because," he started.
"Because why."
He looked at you. Really looked at you, the way he sometimes did when he thought you weren't paying attention, except you were paying attention and he knew it and he still wasn't looking away.
"Because it's you," he said. "And I couldn't just — I didn't want Dean to —" he stopped. Started again. "I didn't want anyone to."
The skate rental shop was very quiet.
"Okay," you said.
"Okay?" he said.
"That's — I needed to know that." You looked at the blade covers. You looked at him. "I also needed you to know that I'm not busy. I mean — I am. But I'm not. Not for — not for this."
Logan looked at you for a long moment.
"Not for this," he repeated.
"Not for you," you said, which was the more honest version, which you had decided to say because you were twenty-two and you had been doing this for five years and Tucker had accidentally said something in a kitchen and it was January and you were tired of not saying things.
The laces in Logan's hands had been thoroughly analyzed.
He put them back on the shelf.
"I was going to tell you after your competition," he said. "In February. Your sophomore year."
"You talked about my shoulder."
"I know," he said. "I know I did."
"And on the Sunday in April —"
"Your coach called."
"And at the party in November —"
"Dean," he said, simply, and you almost laughed.
"Five times," you said.
"Probably more," he said. "I stopped counting."
You looked at him. This person who had been in the penalty box when you were eleven and had told you your shoulder dropped and had come to every competition and had stood in a locker room in September and said she's busy when what he meant was something else entirely.
"So say it now," you said. "We're in a skate rental shop in January. There's nobody here. Say it now."
Logan looked at you.
"I love you," he said. Not dramatically just simply, the way he said true things, like it was information that had been waiting a long time to be delivered and was relieved to finally arrive. "I've loved you since you told me I didn't ask and then tried the spin again anyway. I love you and I'm sorry it took me this long."
The blade covers blurred slightly.
You reached up and took the lapel of his jacket in your hand.
"You talked about my shoulder," you said.
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
"I'm going to bring that up for years."
"I know," he said. "I deserve that."
You pulled him down by the jacket.
He kissed you in the skate rental shop in January, between the blade covers and the laces display, with nobody watching and nothing to interrupt, and it was warm and unhurried and tasted like something that had been a long time coming and had finally, simply, arrived.
When you pulled back he had the expression you had been trying not to notice for five years — open and certain and entirely unmanaged.
"For the record," you said, "my shoulder doesn't drop anymore."
"It really doesn't," he said. "You've completely fixed it."
"I know," you said. "I'm very good."
He laughed and pulled you back in, and the skate rental shop continued to be entirely quiet around you, indifferent and perfect.
You told Allie and Hannah together, which was the only way to do it.
You had barely gotten the words out before Hannah made a sound that could only be described as vindicated, and Allie said I told you to Hannah at the same moment Hannah said I told you to Allie, and then they looked at each other and then at you and both started talking at the same time.
"The shoulder thing at the party —"
"In sophomore year when you called after the competition —"
"The thing in September with Dean —"
"We knew," Hannah said. "We have known for so long."
"How long," you said.
They looked at each other.
"Since the first time we saw you two in the same room," Allie said.
You looked at them. "And you didn't say anything?"
"We said we weren't going to intervene," Hannah said, with the dignity of someone honoring a commitment.
"You could have said something to me," you said.
"We said we weren't going to intervene," Allie said, equally dignified.
You looked at them both.
"I cannot believe," you said.
"You're welcome," they said, simultaneously.
Logan told the team at dinner.
Or rather, Dean asked where you were and Logan said she's coming later and Tucker said she's coming? is she — and Logan said yeah in the even tone that contained a lot of information, and Dean looked at Tucker and Tucker looked at Dean and Garrett looked at his food and the table continued exactly as it always had except that something had shifted in the specific, settled way of something that had always been heading here finally arriving.
When you got there Logan moved over without being asked and you sat beside him and his shoulder was warm against yours and everything was exactly the same as it had always been.
Except that his hand found yours under the table.
And this time he didn't let go.
allie: so
hannah: SO
allie: we called it
hannah: from the beginning
allie: the penalty box story is the most romantic thing i have ever heard
summary: reader gets a minor head injury when logan is not around and everyone jumps to help. core characters mentioned but mostly dean and allie. short fic, genuinely not as dramatic as the summary makes it sound like lol. requested!
Logan’s phone won’t stop buzzing on his backpocket as he’s elbows deep in Professor Walsh’s car engine. He grabs the rag over his shoulder and does his best in cleaning the oil from his fingers before fishing the phone out of his pocket, only to find a bunch of texts from Dean.
dean: before you say anything
dean: it was an accident okay
dean: and she really really wanted to play with us :(
That, followed by a picture of you laying down on their couch, ice pack over your forehead, is enough to make Logan mumble a stream of apologies to Professor Walsh, something akin to “sosorryigottagoseemygirlfriend” and a promise of checking his engine another day as he literally runs back home.
He finds you in that very same resting place, except your head is on Allie’s lap while she holds the ice pack for you. Dean, who’s bandaging your ankle on the end of the couch, immediately stands up and walks over to Logan’s direction,
“Dude, I swear to god that it was an accident.”
Logan takes a look at you over Dean’s shoulder, “What the fuck happened?”
“Me and Garrett were playing soccer when she got here looking for you.” Dean starts talking, “Then she asked us if she could join and I obliged, of course, ‘cause– Well, I wouldn’t I? Can you imagine how misogynistic that sounds if–”
“Dean, get to the fucking point!”
“Right, sorry– She tripped on my foot while we were playing and hit her head. It wasn’t too bad, I managed to catch her. But–” Dean motions his head to you, awake and murmuring something to Allie neither the boys can hear.
Logan moves in your direction, kneeling by the couch, “Hey, honey. How you feeling?”
You can’t see him, ice pack covering your eyes as well as your forehead. Still, your lips quiver up when you listen to his voice, “I’m good. They’re all being dramatic.”
He looks up at Allie, gesturing for him to take her place on the couch. Allie carefully holds your head as she moves from under you, letting his hands hold you instead before she let go. You lay your head on Logan’s thigh, nuzzling as he presses a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth. There’s a small cut on your chin, covered by a pink band-aid. His hands move to your cheek, drawing circles as he caresses your face, “You hurt your chin?”
You hum, and Allie speaks up, “Her arms are a bit scratched too. But we already cleaned them, and Garrett is on his way to the rink with Hannah. He said you guys keep a full first aid kit in the locker room.”
Logan hums, “Did you eat anything?” he murmurs to you.
“Tucker made me a smoothie.” You answer, then your hand moves to remove the ice pack. Logan sees a purple-tinted bump on your forehead, but your eyes are shiny and smiling, “Baby, I’m fine. Really. Don’t get too worried, handsome. Hannah and Allie patched me up, and Dean said he’s sorry a thousand times already.”
Your boyfriend looks up, watching Dean’s apologetic face turn into a pout. Logan rolls his eyes at him, a tiny smile on his lips as he feels disarmed. He’s a little ashamed now, being so ready to pick an argument with his friends a second ago for letting you get hurt, yet there you are, laying all pretty on his lap, tended and smiling as Logan’s heartstrings pull a little.
He gives you a grin, “Do you want paracetamol or something?”
Dean raises his hand and gives his most prideful look, “Already had her take one, boss.”
“Alright. You’re good, man.” Logan says before adjusting your ice pack back to its place, pressing a quick peck on your cheek, “And you keep icing your head, there’s a bump right under your hairline. Allie, take my place?”
You stir, “I can lay on the couch just fine by myself.”
“No, no. We’re keeping someone by your side for the next twenty four hours.” Allie says, already taking Logan’s seat, “We gotta make sure you don’t have a concussion and choke on your own vomit.”
“Geez,” you sneer, “So dramatic.”
He stands from the couch, moving in Dean’s direction, “And you are helping me make dinner,” he drops his arms over his friend’s shoulder, muttering, “Thanks for helping take care of her.”
Dean beams at his friend, “That was nothing. The least I could do for almost killing her, really.” He jokes, squeezing Logan’s shoulder, “She’s all yours now, dude. And I’d say a little TLC is much needed.”
He looks back at you, giggling with Allie on the couch, “I think she’s in good hands.”
“I meant for you.” Dean says, “I know you love when you get to fuss over her, you softie.”
“Well, yeah. Like you said,” Logan shrugs, “Who am I to deny some tender loving care over my oh so hurt and in need of care girlfriend?”
“I can hear that,” you shout from the couch.
“And I don’t hear you complaining, babe.”
notes: thank you for reading! requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3
✶ dean tries to act unbothered by the growing relationship between you, so you kiss his best friend as payback.
002. WARNINGS !
✶ no actual smut, but some suggestive stuff happens. beau is used but he’s right where he wants to be, don’t feel too bad.
word count : 2,8k
gif by @luke-thompsons
Dean has a problem.
He’s always been good at acting nonchalant. Keeping things casual. Avoiding the emotional side of hookups altogether. Usually, it works out pretty well.
He makes it a point not to get involved with the same girl for too long. Everyone on campus knows about his reputation, and if he suddenly seemed devoted to one person, people would start getting the wrong idea.
So how has he become the one with the wrong idea?
Somewhere along the way, Dean caught feelings for his fuckbuddy. Friend with benefits. Whatever label you wanted to slap on it, he’d broken the one sacred rule: don’t catch feelings.
You blew into his life like a tornado.
You tore apart his carefully maintained routine and—before he even realized it was happening—made everyone else seem considerably less interesting.
At first, Dean didn’t mind. He’d found a girl who could match his energy, someone who wanted the same uncomplicated physical release he was more than happy to provide.
But then things started changing.
Sometimes, after sex, you stayed.
You’d lie in bed talking about classes, his hockey practices, your bizarre family dilemmas, campus gossip—anything and everything. Neither of you ever intended to fall asleep together, but somehow it kept happening. More than once, you woke up with Dean wrapped around you, his arm draped across your waist as if it belonged there.
Which was honestly very nice.
The problem was that Dean had always been excellent at avoiding things. Yet he’d never felt this way about a girl before.
At least not since high school, and he’d be a senior in a matter of months. The whole thing felt strange. Too serious. Too grown-up. It didn’t fit the effortless, unbothered persona he'd spent years perfecting.
You weren’t much better.
You’d tried to bring up the subject more than once, testing the waters carefully, only to abandon it whenever Dean gave you nothing to work with. Every conversation seemed to end with him brushing things off or changing the subject before it could become real.
Of course you’d caught feelings too.
Because beneath all the flirting, the confidence, and the reputation, Dean was kind. Thoughtful in ways most people never got to see. He was gentle when it mattered, attentive without making a big deal out of it, and he'd never once made you feel disposable.
Not like certain frat boys or other athletes, who only cared about themselves.
Dean Di Laurentis is boyfriend material.
The problem is that he doesn’t seem to realize it.
Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it.
Which brings you to your current dilemma.
Dean is sprawled across the couch, a girl’s hand resting on his chest as she gazes up at him like he hung the stars himself. And he’s entertaining it.
You’d never explicitly asked for exclusivity, but the two of you had established one rule from the beginning: if either of you wanted out, or wanted to be with someone else, you’d say so.
For the past few weeks, you’d seen each other almost every day. You weren’t seeing anyone else, and you’d gotten the impression he wasn't either. In fact, campus gossip had been practically buzzing about the fact that Dean Di Laurentis hadn’t hooked up with anyone at a party in weeks.
It shouldn’t have made you jealous.
You weren’t together. You weren’t anything.
So why did it feel like you were everything? Why did it feel like he was breaking your heart without even realizing it?
The noise of the party faded into the background as you chugged the drink in your hand and headed for the kitchen in search of something stronger.
You wanted to curse Garrett for hosting this stupid party. For practically forcing you to come, knowing Dean would obviously be here.
Grabbing a bottle of tequila, you started pouring.
Your eyes kept flicking back and forth between Dean’s hand resting on the girl's thigh and the way their faces seemed just a little too close together.
“Whoa, there.”
A voice beside you pulled you from your thoughts.
Beau Maxwell.
Dean’s best friend gently took the bottle from your hands before you could continue.
“Rough night?” He asked, glancing at the alarming amount of tequila you’d managed to fit into one cup
“Yeah,” you said with a tight smile. “You could say that.”
His expression softened. Without a word, he grabbed a random mixer from a nearby shelf and handed it to you.
“Here,” He twisted off the cap and passed it over. “Unless your plan is to drink four tequila shots at once.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You poured some into the cup and took a sip. Immediately, you coughed.
“That bad?” Beau asked, amused, patting your back lightly as you struggled to swallow.
“It's really strong,” you managed.
“Can I try?”
You looked up at him and held out the cup. “Be my guest.”
Beau took a sip and a second later, he grimaced.
“Damn.” He lowered the cup. “Who hurt you?”
You tried to laugh but the joke landed a little too close to home.
Had Dean talked to Beau about whatever this thing between you was? Did Beau even know you'd been sleeping together?
Your eyes drifted back toward the living room.
Dean now had two girls caressing his face and chest. Logan and Tucker were sitting nearby with girls of their own, laughing about something. Still, the knot in your stomach refused to loosen.
Beau followed your gaze, understanding immediately flashed across his face.
Before you could look away, his hand settled on your waist. He gently turned you around until your back was resting against the kitchen island, blocking your view of Dean entirely.
“He's really dumb sometimes,” Beau said.
You hummed in agreement, taking another small sip.
Then, before you could think better of it, you asked, “Wanna do something maybe even dumber?”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Like what?”
You tilted your head slightly. “Like helping me forget what his name even is.”
For a moment, Beau said nothing, but he didn’t remove his hand from your waist. Instead, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric of your top, moving back and forth.
His gaze flickered down to your lips.
“He’ll be pissed,” Beau said quietly.
“I doubt he cares.” Your voice came out softer than intended. “Just look at him. Not a care in the world.”
He glanced toward the living room before looking back at you, his jaw tightening. Then he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
The word barely left your mouth before the space between you seemed to disappear. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the tension hanging between you. Then Beau closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft and careful, nothing like Dean.
Dean kissed like everything was urgent, like he was always one second away from losing control. Beau, meanwhile, seemed content to take his time.
You found yourself kissing him back anyway, driven by a messy combination of hurt, anger, and the lingering hope that Dean might finally show that he cared.
The kiss deepened, and for a moment you let yourself get lost in it. It was nice. Beau was nice. A few weeks ago, you might’ve even considered going back to his place, letting the night unfold into something more. But now, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the boy kissing you, your thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.
Now, all you could think about was a certain blond hockey player.
Despite the warmth spreading through your chest, despite the attention and the distraction, there was no real desire to take things any further.
Still, even if you’d wanted to, you never got the chance.
You’d barely noticed how much time had passed when a loud clearing of a throat cut through the moment. A heavy hand landed on Beau’s shoulder, the interruption sharp enough to make both of you freeze before slowly pulling apart.
And there stood Dean. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful, his entire body rigid with tension. But it was his eyes that made your breath catch, blazing with a fury that left little doubt he’d seen far more than enough.
“Having fun?” He asked through gritted teeth.
“Hey, Dean,” Beau said breathlessly, moving his hand away from your jaw.
You took a deep breath, glancing between the two men.
“Didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Dean said.
“Yeah, we’ve crossed paths a few times,” Beau answered. “We have a business course together too, right?”
“Yeah, right,” you stammered out, suddenly acutely aware of Beau's hand on your waist and Dean’s eyes burning into your profile.
Dean hummed, his jaw still tightly clenched.
“I think one of your teammates was looking for you,” he said to his friend.
“Who?”
“I don’t fucking know. He was just asking around for where you were.”
You knew it was a lie. You could tell by the bored tone of his voice and the way he seemed far more interested in staring at you than looking at Beau. Dean had never been a particularly good liar.
“Okay...” Beau trailed off. “I’ll see you around?”
You looked up at him and nodded, “See you.”
Dean watched him walk away to search for his supposed teammate.
“You won’t be seeing him around,” he all but growled.
Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the staircase leading up to his room. You stumbled after him, startled by the sudden movement.
You barely had time to process what was happening before you were standing in his bedroom, the door locked behind you while Dean paced in front of his bed.
“Dean, what the fuck?” You finally asked, breaking the silence as you frowned at the man in front of you.
“Me what the fuck?” He shot back, turning to point at you. “You what the fuck?”
“Huh?”
Your brows knitted together as you stared at him in confusion.
“Why the fuck would you kiss Beau?”
A sharp laugh escaped you, completely devoid of humor.
“You think it’s funny to mess around with my friend? That’s so fucked up.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have no right to act like this or throw accusations around when you’re not any better.”
You let out a deep breath and rubbed at your eyes, trying to gather yourself.
“You don't get to practically entertain a threesome on the couch and then get mad because I kissed someone.”
“It's not just someone. That’s my friend,” he snapped. “And what threesome? I haven’t slept with anyone since we started—”
The words died on his tongue, and you caught it immediately. The hesitation. The way he suddenly seemed unable to finish the sentence.
Because the truth was, even Dean couldn't figure out what exactly the two of you were. Or, perhaps more accurately, what the two of you weren't.
“You’re gonna act like you didn't have two girls all over you?” You huffed. “Because you looked really comfortable.”
“All over me?” He looked genuinely offended by the accusation, as if it couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“I know we’re not exclusive or anything, but really? You had to do it right in front of me?”
“I don’t know what you think happened, but I didn’t even kiss them.” He shook his head. “I mean, one of them tried, but I just didn’t...”
“Didn’t what?”
For a moment, he stayed silent.
Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, dragging a hand over his face as he searched for the right words. His elbows rested on his knees, his head dipping briefly into his hands before he finally looked back up at you.
The anger had vanished, replaced by something far more vulnerable, something pained enough that it made your chest tighten just looking at him.
“I couldn’t kiss someone else.”
You let out a shaky breath at his words, watching as he waited for your reaction.
“Dean, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why?” He asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Because...” Your mind flashed back to all the times you’d carefully tried to bring up whatever this thing between you was. The times he’d thanked you for being so chill about your arrangement. The times he’d said he didn't have time for a girlfriend. How much he enjoyed his freedom.
“Is it so crazy that I could feel something between us?” He asked, a frown creasing his brows.
“You told me you didn’t want a girlfriend,” You replied.
“And you said you wanted a casual relationship.”
“Yeah, because you said you didn’t want to be tied down,” you shot back. “I’m not going to ask for something serious from the same guy who’s with a different girl every night.”
“You should’ve told me that,” he muttered.
Taking a deep breath, he stood and closed the distance between you.
“I've done casual before. It wasn’t an issue for me,” you explained. “But then you started doing things… You remember my friends’ names. You cuddle me. You kiss my forehead when I leave in the mornings...”
His expression softened.
When he gets closer to you, he takes your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your palm.
“Did you like kissing Beau?”
“What?” You asked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic when it felt like the two of you had almost finally admitted your feelings.
“Did you like kissing Beau?” He repeated, his gaze darkened now, one hand lifting to cradle your cheek.
“It was nice,” you admitted softly, watching the way he couldn't stop looking at you. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Yeah?”
His face was closer now, his breath brushing against your skin.
“It wasn’t fair to Beau, to just... use him.”
“You feel guilty, then?”
“I think he knew it came from jealousy, but it still wasn’t right.”
Dean slid a finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up until your eyes met.
“Beau can handle himself,” he said quietly. “He knew what he was doing.”
“So you're not mad?” You asked, the gentleness in his voice was making it difficult to think straight.
“I'm furious,” he admitted, a humorless laugh escaped him. “But I’ll deal with him later.”
His thumb brushed across your jaw.
“You, on the other hand, are another story.”
Before you could even react, Dean slid his hand to the side of your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. The frustration that had been simmering between you all night seemed to collide at once.
One hand settled at your waist before drifting lower to your ass, drawing you closer as his other arm wrapped around you, hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs around his waist.
He backed you against the door, kissing you like he had a point to prove. When he finally pulled away, it was only to press a trail of kisses along your jaw, his forehead resting briefly against yours as both of you fought to catch your breath.
His hand moved toward the hem of your skirt, brushing over the fabric of your panties and finding the evidence of just how affected you were. The corner of his mouth twitched as his gaze flickered up to meet yours.
“This for him or me?” Dean asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.
“You,” you whispered immediately, your pulse racing as his heated gaze locked onto yours. “Always you.”
Those three words were all he needed.
Dean pulled away from the door and guided you toward the bed, dropping you on it before leaning over you. His lips found yours again, the kiss softer now, stripped of some of the jealousy and frustration that had fueled it moments before.
Then you suddenly broke away.
“Wait,” you gasped, catching his wrist before things could go any further. “Before we do this, I need to know what we are now.”
For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of both your breathing.
“Whatever you want us to be,” he said finally.
“Seriously? You’d just give up your womanizer ways for me?” You stared at him, a skeptical look on your face.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Baby, if you wanted to get married tomorrow, I’d do it.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you laughed, feeling him press a soft kiss to your cheek.
“Too soon to talk about children, then?”
“Take me on a proper date first.”
Dean's smile widened, “That can definitely be arranged.”
NOTE : sorry for the abrupt ending i just didnt really know how to end it without making it too long... also please don’t ask for a part two i won’t be doing one! reader was a bit of a hypocrite in this one but let’s support messy female characters 💜
The late-night quiet of Garrett’s apartment was a rare luxury. Usually, the place hummed with the chaotic energy of the rest of the hockey team, but tonight, it was just the two of you.
Garrett was sprawled across the sofa, his long legs draped over your lap, while you mindlessly traced patterns on his shin. He was halfway through staring at a playbook on his tablet, but his focus had clearly drifted. A soft, lazy smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked up at you.
"One year," he murmured, setting the tablet down on the coffee table. "Can you believe we haven't sickened each other yet?"
"Speak for yourself, Graham," you teased, giving his leg a playful nudge. "I'm surviving on pure willpower."
He chuckled, pulling himself up and tugging you into his side. He wrapped a heavy arm around your shoulders, burying his face in your hair. "Sure you are. That’s why you’ve stayed for a whole three hundred and sixty-five days." He kissed your temple, his tone softening. "Happy anniversary, beautiful."
"Happy anniversary, Garrett."
For a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence, save for the hum of the refrigerator. But milestone dates have a funny way of making you look forward instead of just backward.
"Hey," you said quietly, shifting so you could look at him. "Where do you see us in, say... five years? Ten?"
Garrett blinked, a little caught off guard, but he didn't pull away. The cocky, golden-boy captain persona he wore on the ice melted entirely, replaced by the fierce, grounded sincerity he only ever showed you.
"Five years? Well, hopefully, I’m solidly established in the NHL," he began, his eyes locking onto yours. "But more importantly... I want you there. In the stands. Every single game."
"Is that a permanent fixture?" you smiled.
"Absolutely," he said, without a shred of hesitation. He took your hand, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. "I want the whole deal. If we’re talking future plans, I'm not playing around. I want to marry you."
Your heart skipped a beat. Hearing it out loud, spoken so casually yet so fiercely, sent a warm rush through your chest. "A wedding, huh? Should I brace myself for a massive, media-circus event, Mr. First-Round Pick?"
Garrett groaned playfully, rolling his eyes. "God, please no. My dad would probably try to turn it into a networking event. Let's do the exact opposite. Something intimate. A beach, maybe? Or just a small venue with our actual friends and family. Cheap beer, good food, and zero press."
"Deal," you laughed. "As long as Logan doesn't try to give a best man speech while drunk."
"Oh, he’s definitely banned from the microphone," Garrett agreed instantly.
He pulled you a little closer, his gaze drifting to the window as if he were picturing the life you were sketching out together.
"And after that?" you asked softly. "Where do we build this empire?"
"Wherever the draft takes us first, obviously," he said realistically. "But when the dust settles? I want somewhere with a big backyard. A place where we can actually breathe. Maybe New England, or somewhere with distinct seasons. I want a house with enough room for a massive kitchen—because you know I need to eat my weight in protein daily—and space for..." He trailed off, a slight, uncharacteristic flush creeping up his neck.
"Space for what?" you nudged him.
"Kids," he muttered, looking back at you, checking your reaction. "If you want them, I mean. I want them. Two, maybe? Enough to play a little one-on-one mini-hockey in the hallway."
A soft laugh escaped your lips, your heart swelling. Garrett Graham—the man who spent half his life avoiding his own father's shadow—talking about wanting a family of his own, wanting to do it right.
"Two sounds perfect," you whispered, leaning up to kiss his jaw. "Though if they inherit your competitive streak, we're going to need a lot of band-aids."
"Hey, they’ll inherit your brains, so they'll know when to back down," he countered, a brilliant, breathtaking smile breaking across his face. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "It's scary sometimes, thinking about the future. Everything changes so fast. But when I think about it with you... it just makes sense. You’re the anchor, babe."
"I'm not going anywhere, Garrett," you promised, leaning into his touch.
"Good," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to yours in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like a promise. "Because I've already planned out the next fifty years, and you're the star of all of them."
It wasn’t some dramatic attempt to impress him or drive him insane or become unforgettable.
She’d literally just walked past a small shop downtown after class, sprayed a sample on her wrist out of curiosity, and thought:
Oh. That smells nice.
That was it.
End of story.
Or at least it should’ve been.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, John Logan lost his actual mind over it.
It started subtly.
Too subtly for her to notice at first.
That evening she came back to the hockey house exhausted from classes with shopping bags hanging from her wrist and cold wind still clinging to her hoodie.
The boys were scattered around the living room in various states of laziness.
Dean yelled at the television. Tucker was upside down on the couch for some reason. Garrett looked one inconvenience away from murder.
And Logan—
Logan immediately looked up the second she walked through the door.
Normal.
That part was normal.
He always looked for her first.
But then his expression changed strangely.
Like his brain stalled halfway through functioning.
She blinked.
“…Hi?”
Logan stared.
Not creepy.
Just intensely confused.
Then slowly:
“Come here.”
Dean paused the game immediately.
“Oh no.”
She laughed softly.
“What?”
“Come here,” Logan repeated, already standing.
There was something oddly focused about him now.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously but walked closer anyway.
The second she stepped within arm’s reach, Logan grabbed her hoodie sleeve gently and pulled her directly against his chest.
Then—
he buried his face into her neck.
Silence.
Complete silence.
Dean looked horrified immediately.
“TUCK HE’S SNIFFING HER AGAIN.”
“I AM NOT,” Logan argued against her skin.
Which unfortunately weakened his defense significantly.
She burst out laughing.
“Baby, what are you doing?”
Logan didn’t answer immediately.
Which was concerning.
Instead he inhaled again slowly like he was trying to solve a complex equation.
Then finally:
“…You smell really good.”
“Oh my God,” Garrett muttered without looking up from his phone. “It begins.”
She blinked in surprise.
“Oh. It’s probably the new perfume I bought.”
Logan pulled back slightly.
"New perfume?”
“Mhm.”
“What’s it called?”
She squinted suspiciously.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“That sounded deeply like a reason.”
But Logan was already leaning in again.
Not even subtle this time.
His arms wrapped around her waist while he tucked his face against her neck and inhaled dramatically.
Dean gagged loudly.
“THIS IS INSANE.”
Tucker pointed at Logan in delight.
“He’s gone feral.”
“I hate all of you,” Logan muttered.
But he still didn’t let her go.
Not even slightly.
She laughed harder now, cheeks warming faintly.
“Pretty boy.”
“Hm?”
“You’re literally clinging to me.”
“No I’m not.”
Everyone stared.
Because he absolutely was.
Logan stood there attached to her like a koala while continuing to breathe in the perfume like it personally healed him emotionally.
Garrett finally looked up.
“Buddy.”
“What.”
“You’re acting weird.”
Logan frowned slightly like this was offensive.
“I’m hugging my girlfriend.”
“You’ve been hugging her for six straight minutes.”
“That’s called affection.”
“That’s called concerning behavior.”
She was nearly crying laughing now.
Mostly because Logan genuinely didn’t seem aware he was doing it.
He just kept absentmindedly pressing tiny kisses against the side of her neck while holding her close.
Then after a moment he muttered quietly against her skin:
“…Seriously though, what is that?”
“The perfume?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He looked at her finally.
And she physically felt her stomach flip because his pupils looked ridiculously blown.
“You smell incredible.”
Dean made a dramatic choking sound.
“Oh he’s DOWN BAD bad.”
Logan flipped him off immediately without breaking eye contact with her.
Which somehow made it worse.
Because now she was suddenly very aware of:
his hands resting on her waist
his nose brushing lightly against her neck
how unfairly attractive he looked staring at her like that
Her voice came out weaker than intended.
“It’s not even expensive.”
“I don’t care if it came from a gas station.”
Tucker physically collapsed onto the couch laughing.
“This is the greatest day of my life.”
From that point onward, things rapidly spiraled.
Because apparently Logan developed a full emotional dependency on her perfume within hours.
Every time she walked into a room, his head turned immediately.
Like a bloodhound.
Actually worse than a bloodhound.
One evening she sat beside him on the couch and before she could even speak, Logan dragged her directly into his lap and buried his face against her shoulder with a content sigh.
Dean looked up from his phone.
“There he goes again.”
“I’m comfortable,” Logan defended.
“You look addicted.”
“I am addicted,” Tucker whispered dramatically.
She laughed helplessly while running fingers through Logan’s hair.
“You know normal people usually compliment perfume once and move on.”
Logan looked genuinely confused.
“But you smell good.”
“That is not a valid defense.”
“It is to me.”
Then he kissed her neck absentmindedly again.
Directly beneath her ear this time.
Her breath caught instantly.
Dean immediately stood up.
“Nope. Absolutely not. I’m too sober for this.”
The worst part?
Logan became clingier because of it.
Not intentionally.
Just instinctively.
He’d walk past her in the kitchen then suddenly stop and come back for another hug.
Movie nights became impossible because he spent half the time curled around her inhaling her neck like a lunatic.
At one point Garrett watched Logan physically leave a conversation midway because she walked downstairs wearing the perfume.
“Jesus Christ,” Garrett muttered. “He imprinted on her scent.”
“He’s like a giant emotionally unstable golden retriever,” Dean agreed.
Logan ignored both of them completely.
Because she’d just sat beside him.
Which meant his attention span disappeared instantly.
“You wore it again.”
She smiled innocently.
“Maybe.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I haven’t known peace since you bought that bottle.”
Tucker looked fascinated.
“Can you smell colors now too?”
“Shut up.”
She laughed softly while Logan immediately wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer against his side.
Honestly?
She loved it a little.
Maybe more than a little.
There was something devastatingly sweet about how unconscious it all seemed.
Logan genuinely couldn’t help himself.
Like her perfume became permanently associated with comfort and affection in his brain.
One night she tested it intentionally.
Just to see.
The boys were downstairs watching a game while Logan argued loudly with Dean over something deeply stupid involving statistics.
She quietly disappeared upstairs.
Then twenty minutes later returned wearing one of Logan’s hoodies and a fresh spray of the perfume.
The reaction was immediate.
Logan stopped mid-sentence.
Dean noticed first.
“Oh no.”
Logan slowly turned his head toward her.
Then blinked.
Once. Twice. And immediately stood up.
Tucker screamed laughing before Logan even reached her.
“HE SMELLS IT.”
“YOU PEOPLE ARE INSANE,” she laughed while Logan walked directly over like he was hypnotized.
He reached her, grabbed her waist automatically, and pulled her against him with a deep sigh.
“There she is.”
Dean pointed dramatically.
“THIS IS PAVLOVIAN.”
Logan ignored him entirely.
Of course he did.
Because now he had his face buried against her neck again looking genuinely peaceful.
She tilted her head down toward him with a grin.
“You’re obsessed with me.”
“No,” he answered immediately.
Then after a pause:
“…Maybe a little.”
“A little?”
Logan finally looked up.
His cheeks were slightly pink now, probably realizing everyone was staring at him like a zoo exhibit.
But instead of getting embarrassed, he just shrugged once and tightened his arms around her.
“She smells nice. Mind your business.”
That somehow made her heart melt completely.
Because there was zero shame in it.
No hesitation.
He just liked her.
Liked holding her. Liked being close. Liked everything about her enough that even perfume became something he adored because it was attached to her.
Her expression softened without meaning to.
Logan noticed instantly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
"Liar.”
She leaned down and kissed him softly before he could interrogate her further.
The second she pulled away, Logan chased another kiss automatically.
Then another.
Dean made the loudest fake vomiting noise imaginable.
“Oh my GOD.”
Tucker pointed accusingly.
She burst out laughing.
“He’s using the perfume for cuddles.”
“It’s psychological warfare,” Garrett agreed.
Logan didn’t even bother denying it this time.
Instead he just pulled her fully into his lap and rested his face against her shoulder again.
Comfortable. Content. Completely attached to her.
She smiled helplessly while wrapping her arms around his neck.
“You know,” she murmured softly near his ear, “I could stop wearing it.”
Logan immediately looked genuinely alarmed.
“…Don’t.”
And the idiot somehow looked offended she found him adorable.
The first time you met him, you hadn't received the memo.
You didn't know about the campus-wide reverence, the hockey pedigree, or the unspoken rule that dictated he was to be addressed solely by his last name. To you, he wasn't a mythical god on ice. He was just the guy who had accidentally knocked your towering stack of textbooks out of your arms in the university bookstore, looking genuinely horrified as pages and highlighters scattered across the linoleum.
When he extended a hand to help you up, introducing himself with a sheepish rub of the back of his neck, he had said, "Sorry about that. I'm Logan."
You had glanced down at the student ID card that had slipped out of his wallet, reading the bold letters printed next to his photo. You looked back up, smiled, and said, "It's fine, John. I'm Y/N."
The way his brow knitted together in that exact moment was something you’d never forget. It wasn't anger; it was pure, unadulterated shock. Like you had just spoken to him in a long-dead language.
Months later, you finally understood why.
Sitting in the stands of the campus arena, the roar of the crowd was deafening. “Let’s go, Logan!” chanted the row behind you. On the ice, the announcer’s voice boomed over the PA system, capitalizing on his last name with practiced bravado. In the locker room, his coach barked it. To his teammates, his friends, and the girls who hovered around the glass hoping for a glance, he was just Logan. A singular, locked-in entity defined by a jersey number.
But to you? He was just John.
You waited near the exit after the game, leaning against the concrete wall as the players began trickling out, duffel bags slung over their shoulders. He emerged near the back of the pack, laughing at something short-stop Garrett Graham said, looking exhausted but buzzing from the win.
"Hey, John," you called out, your voice easily cutting through the ambient hum of the corridor.
Logan froze mid-stride. A slow, helpless grin immediately broke across his face, completely transforming his post-game intensity into something incredibly soft. Garrett gave him a knowing nudge to the ribs, whispering something teasingly before walking ahead to give you two space.
Logan jogged over, the heavy thud of his sneakers echoing before he dropped his gear bag at his feet.
"Hey," he murmured, pulling you into a hug that smelled of cold ice and his favorite cologne. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "You made it."
"Of course I did. You played great tonight," you said, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Tired?"
"A little," he admitted, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone. His eyes softened, a look reserved strictly for you. "Say it again."
You blinked, letting out a soft laugh. "Say what? That you played great?"
"No," he chuckled, his voice dropping an octave, laced with a warmth that made your stomach do a little flip. "My name. Say it again."
"John," you complied easily, leaning into his touch. "John, John, John."
He let out a low breath, his smile widening as he shook his head. "You have no idea what that does to me. Every single day, it's 'Logan' this, 'Logan' that. It feels like I'm always on the clock, you know? Like I'm just a stat sheet. But when you say it... I don't know. It feels like I can actually breathe. Like I'm just a normal guy."
"You are a normal guy," you teased gently, reaching up to fix a stray, sweaty lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. "A normal guy who happens to be very good at skating."
"Only to you, Y/N," he said, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before looking back into your eyes. He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips right there in the hallway, completely unbothered by the passing trainers or lingering fans.
When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with something fierce and fiercely protective. He hooked his arm around your waist, picking up his duffel bag with his free hand and pulling you close against his side as you walked toward the exit.
"Come on," John whispered, kissing the top of your head. "Let's get out of here. I want to hear you talk about your day, and I want to hear you say my name about a hundred more times."
✮ Garrett fucking you in the showers after practice !
the last srchhh of his skates against the ice finally stopped, and you leaned against the boards, watching garrett coast to a halt. the rink lights had already dimmed, the zamboni humming somewhere in the distance, but he was still out here in the rink.
he caught your eye and grinned. that grin. the one that made your stomach flip every damn time. stupidly cute. stupidly effective.
"couldn't leave yet, huh?" he called, voice echoing off the empty stands. he skated toward you, stopping just short, close enough that you could smell the ice and salt and him.
you shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "you're the one who's still in your gear, genius."
"mm." he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the boards, his face level with yours.
"but you waited for me."
it wasn't a question. his hand came up, gloved fingers brushing your hair. "come on. help me shower."
your heart kicked. "that's not a good idea—"
"yes it is." he hopped over the boards with practiced ease, landing right beside you. "we've got the whole place to ourselves. no one's coming back ‘til morning." he pulled off his gloves, dropped them with a thud, and cupped your cheek. "please? i've been thinking about you since practice started."
his thumb traced your lower lip.
you lost.
×
steam billowed as hot water hit the floor, fogging the room. garrette had his jersey off before you could blink, undershirt following, revealing the lean planes of his chest and his happy trail disappearing into his pants.
"your turn" he said, voice low, fingers already working at the buttons of your jeans.
you helped him push them down, then your underwear, the cold air making you shiver. he pulled you into the spray, the water hot against your skin, and pressed you against the cool tile.
"been thinking about this," he murmured against your throat, kissing down to your collarbone. "about you. here."
his hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you slick and ready. he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "fuck, you're already wet."
"shut up," you breathed, but you arched into his touch anyway.
he laughed softly, that stupid cute laugh, and sank to his knees. the water ran over his back, over his shoulders, as he kissed the inside of your thigh, then higher. his tongue found your clit, flat and warm, and you gasped, fingers tangling in his wet hair.
he took his time—slow, deliberate licks, then a finger, then two, curling inside you while his mouth worked you closer to the edge. the tile was slick under your palm, the steam thick, and all you could hear was the water and his quiet, satisfied hums.
"garrette–please-"
before you could say anything else he stood, water streaming down his face, his eyes dark. he kicked off his pants, his cock already hard and flushed and ready before he pressed you back against the wall. one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to your entrance.
"you ready?" his voice was soft, almost a whisper.
you nodded, and he pushed in – slow, deep, a stretch that made you both moan. he stayed there for a moment, forehead against yours, just breathing.
then he started moving. steady thrusts, each one hitting deep, the water sluicing over your joined bodies. his mouth found yours, open and hungry, muttering sweet, dirty things between kisses.
"feel so good–so tight–fuck, the sounds you make-"
you clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist and he fucked you against the tile until you came undone – a sharp, throbbing release that made you cry out. he followed moments later, buried deep, his groan lost between the hiss of the shower and your shoulder.
when he stilled, he didn't pull out right away. just held you, face tucked into your neck, breathing hard. the water had started to cool, but neither of you moved.
"totally worth getting caught" he mumbled into your skin. and god help you – you could feel that stupid, adorable smirk of his against your neck.
summary: garrett finally decided he’s done with your game of cat and mouse, the only thing standing in front of him? a football player who’s name you can’t even remember.
request: yes/no
warnings: mature themes, drinking, fingering, p in v, swearing, high key toxic garrett
word count: 4.78k
authors note: yes, I know this is the third one in a day BUT I have been feeling like a machine today and the moment I thought of the bathroom to bedroom scene I knew I needed the whole thing done. hope you guys love it as much as the other one and as always requests are open for the off campus boys!
The first time you met him, he was shirtless, bleeding from his eyebrow and grinning like getting sent to the physio’s office was the highlight of his day.
He was the last of the freshmen to get sent, and all of them had been talking about the pretty new intern from their year. You were stood at the free table, checking something off on tour clipboard as the physio head barked orders at everyone “you gonna save my life or just stare at that?” The boy joked, furrowing his brows as you looked up rolling your eyes before you could stop yourself, “depends if you’re always this dramatic or just for me.” The rest of the boys went quiet while you grabbed a piece of gauze.
Everyone waited to see what was going to happen because nobody was meant to be talking to Phil Graham’s son like that. But Garrett, not being anything like his father, laughed as his dark eyes flickered with interest.
And from that moment on, the tension didn’t seem to stop. Instead, it lived in things, both little and small.
It lived in the way he’d crowd your space while you taped people’s wrists before practice and how your fingers lingered on his skin for a little too long when it was his turn. Or the way his voice would drop an octave when he spoke to you, making sure you had his full attention as he spoke from in front of you. As if he was worried you wouldn’t take all of his words in if he didn’t, a treatment only you got.
The boys noticed; everyone did.
That’s how he ended up waiting for Dean to finish getting his shoulder wrapped, just so that he didn’t have to let someone else touch him “you two are exhausting.” Dean rolled his eyes as he watched the brunette stare at you, “just hook up with him already.” He added as if it were the solution to world peace.
Garrett smirked from the treatment table behind you, “maybe she likes playing hard to get.” You didn’t bother looking at him as you tightened the tape around Dean’s shoulder, making the blonde man hiss in discomfort.
Your eyes sharpened, “maybe I just have standards.” You matched his tone, making all the guys laugh.
The brunette watched you turn around, and he couldn’t help it when he sent you that dangerous smile that made your stomach twist. God, he loved it when you fought back.
By junior year, everyone around you came to accept whatever it was between you both. Which you argued was absolutely nothing.
You worked for the team, and Garrett flirted with his fair share of girls who threw themselves at him. And besides, each time you two got close enough to finding a title for whatever the two of you were, one of you would pull back, leaving it right at square one.
But that’s why the party was bound to spiral out of control. The boy’s house was packed as music blared, echoing off of the walls. You fully intended on staying home, but one of the other assistant physios begged you to come along after her midterm write-up was less than impressive.
You should have known Garrett was going to be insufferable tonight, maybe you did actually. Maybe that’s why you shaved your legs and were lotioned up, smelling like vanilla. But what really got to him was the red scoop top and jeans you were in, that outfit looked like it was made for you, and you knew it.
That’s why Garrett already looked pissy from the moment you walked in “you trying to kill someone?” Garrett grumbled as he walked past you, getting another drink.
It made you smirk into your solo cup “I’m sure you’ll survive, pretty boy.” Your lips formed a pout as you patted his shoulder.
But apparently, he wasn’t going to survive, because an hour later you found yourself talking to the star transfer from the football team. He was tall and broad, and stood close enough to you that you were contemplating the pores on his forehead at one point, “so you work with the hockey team right?” Tyler, or maybe his name was Trevor, asked, sending you a smile as he placed his hand on your hip.
The sight made Garrett’s eyes twitch “careful now, you’re looking at her like she’s your wife.” Dean warned, enjoying this far more than he was willing to admit.
The football player in front of you had to be some form of torture “you should really switch to football.” The only member of that team you actually like was Beau, and that was for his love of musicals “we treat our girls better.”
There was the comment that meant you no longer had to act like you cared, “careful talking about my coworkers like that.” You watched him frown, “will you excuse me?” You didn’t wait for a response as you pushed his hand away from you before you headed to the bathroom.
Garrett couldn’t help it when he smirked, “for the love of god if you don’t go get her I will.” Deans warning was never going to be made good on, but Garrett wasn’t going to wait to let that one happen.
So the captain chugged what was left of his drink before he handed the empty cup to the blonde “don’t even think about it.” He warned making the boys all laugh as they sent him a thumbs up.
You had to admit that you were enjoying the quietness of the bathroom a lot more than you should have, which is why you were surprised when you walked back into the bedroom to see that you weren’t alone “jesus fuck!” you clutched your chest as you gasped.
Garrett smirked as his legs spread on the bed he sat on “it’s just me, sweetheart.” the nickname made you roll your eyes “pretty sure its classified as predatory to sit here while a girl goes to piss.” Your words were blunt, making him laugh.
The captain shook his head “you didn’t seem too upset when you were getting attention down there.” And there it was, Garrett was jealous.
And it was clear you were enjoying this far too much “you mad that I’m getting a little male attention?” You asked as you crossed your arms, unintentionally pushing your boobd up in your top “you’re getting a lot more than a little.” Garrett stood up, finally letting the gap between you both close.
You smirked, getting that little bit of confirmation that he was watching you all night “not from anyone that matters.” You swore in that moment that his eyes dropped down to your lips.
Garrett felt like his brain rewired in that moment “I just think that you should be careful.” It was such a lie, but he had to try to find a way to justify it without feeling like a total psycho, “and I think that if you feel the need to tell a woman what she should or shouldn’t do.” You ran your fingers along the buttons on his shirt, letting them circle the one at the top.
He swore he forgot how to breathe, “then you should go find one of those girls downstairs that actually give a shit about what you think about them.” With that comment, you turned on your heel and headed for the door without a second thought, leaving him to collapse on the bed.
The football player whose name was still a mental coin toss away from being wrong smiled when he saw you come back, “thought you were avoiding me.” He handed you a drink when you stood next to him “bathroom line was like super long.” You didn’t think twice when you put the drink onto the TV stand, forcing a smile onto your lips.
Garrett came down to see the guy attempting to explain some lousy football play that you clearly weren’t interested in “poor guy is fucked.” Logan announced as the boys around him nodded, all stood watching this like it was a show.
The captain was really willing to play nice until you laughed, the sound was the genuine thing that stupidly sounded like music to his ears “there you are babe.” Garrett forced a smile onto his lips as he had a fresh cup of beer in his hand that you didn’t think twice about taking and actually drinking.
It made the boy in front of you frown “thanks for keeping her entertained while I was gone.” Garrett turned to him as he let his hand settle on your waist “she’s also always been more into hockey so I’m sure it was your football that made her laugh.” You could see how the younger guy winced at the comment, knowing there was no way to come back from it.
Trevor/Tyler shoved his hands into his pockets “look I think you need to talk to your girl cause-” he cut himself off before he walked away, clearly not wanting to get involved in whatever was going on.
As he funnelled back into the crowd, you turned to Garrett with a glare, “okay what the hell was that?” You grumbled as you shook your head “god you are unbelievable.”
But Garrett didn’t even care, if anything he was a little turned on that you were annoyed, “figured I’d give you attention from a man that finally matters.” He used your words against you and you laughed. Not because you found it funny, but because you found it so insane that you had to laugh so that you didn’t try to hit him.
Your fists curled at your sides “oh bite me Graham.” You thought you’d have a much wittier comeback before you stormed off, but instead, that was all that came out.
And that should have been the end of it, but as you got two steps away from him he decided he was done trying to be what he thought was reasonable. Because he took two steps and before you knew it one arm was on your back and the other was under your legs as you were thrown over his shoulder “put me down you asshole!” Your words came with closed fists as you hit his lower back.
Everyone kind of left you two because anyone who knew anything knew that this night was bound to come eventually in your degrees, “pay up boys.” Dean smirked, watching Garrett not even argue with you as he walked towards the stairs.
The boys grumbled, pulling out their wallets, begrudgingly, as none of them was ready to accept this “you are so beyond insane.” You huffed when he didn’t slow down. Not even you threatened him, or even when he started laughing so hard at one point that he almost dropped you “yeah.” He nodded, honestly agreeing with you.
“Put me down right now.”
“No.”
His words made your eye twitch “this is not how consent works!” You slightly twisted your body to glare at him as he continued down the hall “relax you are not in danger.” He rolled his eyes, letting a low laugh slip from his lips.
You shook your head “you are literally kidnapping me,” you spoke in a duh tone as you hit his back again, “it’s called relocating.” The boy corrected you like it made it any better.
A noise of pure disbelief slipped from your lips “I hate you.” You huffed, finally giving up and accepting your face on his shoulder “no you don’t.” He wasn’t wrong, he could do just about anything and you would crave his company. Let your eyes find his first when you got to morning skates because he was the only person you actually wanted to listen to at that time of day, but of course you’d never let him know that.
He finally got to his door and pushed it open his his knee as he brought you both in before shutting it with the back of his foot. Then came silence as it seemed like the party died down, at least for the two of you it did, and that was all that mattered. And with that he finally set you down, allowing your feet to be on the floor once more “you are so unbelievable.” You sent him a glare as you shook your head.
Garrett nodded as if he was agreeing with you “you keep on saying that, you know that right?” He asked as he licked his lips as a beat skipped “because it’s true!” You almost wanted to laugh at how stupid this all was.
His head tilted slightly as he leaned against his desk, looking at you as if he had all the time in the world, “he was going to kiss you.” He said the words so matter-of-factly as if he had known the dudes whole plan for the night “I wouldn’t have let him.” Your announcement came with a sigh as you ran your fingers through your hair.
It made the captain’s heart skip a beat in a way that he should have been embarrassed to admit to “Garrett, why do you even care what guys do with me?” The question came for the first time with no defence behind it, you were genuinely curious, “I mean, you get to flirt with whomever you want, but god forbid a guy likes me.” He never liked any of the guys you were with over the years that he knew you for.
Garrett chewed at the inside of his lip “I don’t like pretending that I don’t care.” For the first time, you felt like Garrett wasn't putting on some kind of act to seem cool; there was no smirk and no quick remark that you had grown so used to; there was just Garrett.
The air shifted slightly as your breath caught, “so that is meant to give you permission to just throw me over you-” he cut you off “yeah, it does.” His voice was soft as he rubbed his hand in his face.
He didn’t know how to explain it “look if you think I was out of line tonight, then you can leave and I will deal with that.” His words came as he stood up finally taking a step closer towards you, “and if I stay?” You cocked your head as you licked your lips.
Garrett stopped in front of you, “then I am going to do something that I have been thinking about since the moment I met you.” His eyes dropped to your mouth and then back up again.
And it seemed like that was all it took, your hands were in his shirt pulling him closer to you as he stepped you both back until you were against the wall when he kissed you. It wasn’t gentle or clean; it was messy.
Years of trying to hold it in, that moment you both had the green lit it just burst. The world outside stayed gone; to you, there was just him and you to him. He kissed you like it was the last thing he was going to do on this earth, and honestly, you weren’t going to complain, “you still mad at me?” He asked, resting his forehead on yours.
You couldn’t help it when you sent him a grin as you shook your head, “gimme a minute to decide on that.” You mumbled, pulling him back into a kiss as your tongue swiped across his lower lip.
The boy shivered, feeling your hands go under his shirt as you let your nails run over his abs. You had done it before, but this time he tensed his thigh between your legs; it was clear that tonight was different.
Feeling his hand cup your bra you felt him pull away “can I?” He asked, letting his eyes on your boobs as you nodded, “fuck yeah.” You almost wished that he had done it sooner.
His fingers were skilled as they pulled your top down, bringing your bra with it as the cool air of his room hit your nipples “shit they look so good.” Garrett let out a grunt as he let his lips settle on your neck. He sucked and nipped at the soft skin, knowing fully well that he’d leave a mark. And as his hand teased your nipple, you almost didn’t care about the repercussions as you drove your hips against his thigh.
Your jeans did little to help relieve the tension that was forming in your pants as you arched your back, trying to make Garrett take more of you, if that was even possible. Your teeth caught your lower lip as you swallowed your moans.
It was a move that the captain picked up on instantly, “c’mon pretty girl let them out.” He cooed, bringing his lips to your jaw as his hand moved to your other boob, his fingers of his free hand dug into your hip to force you harder onto his hip “what if they hear?” You whimpered as you shook your head.
Garrett couldn’t help it when he laughed “baby they were all there when I had you over my shoulder.” He reminded you as his lips hovered over yours “now do you want to be a good girl and let them hear me help get you off or are we just gonna make out and act like they don’t know what’s going on?” His eyes stared into yours as he waited for you to make up your mind, as it was a decision he wanted you to come to.
You reached for his lips as you whimpered “please Gar.” You nodded making him smile as he listened, kissing you again while his fingers were at your jeans.
It served as a good reminder what kind of reputation the boy had, he was able to undo your jeans with one hand without even look, now that was something that you even struggled with in the best of times “come back to me pretty girl.” Garrett cooed as his fingers slipped into your panties.
His head rested against yours when the pads of his fingertips found your clit “why me?” You moaned, knowing that the thought was going to consume you if you didn’t ask.
It made the boy suck at his teeth. Not because it was any kind of mood killer, but because he couldn’t believe that it was a question you felt the need to ask “you could have anyone.” You cut yourself off with a whimper when you felt his fingers slot into your cunt “but you pick the girl who you bicker with.” You got the words out through gritted teeth, feeling your walls adjust to him curling his fingers.
He couldn’t help it when he smirked “you’re the girl that never gave a shit about who I am to this place.” Garrett whispered, pressing a kiss against your lips.
His fingers didn’t slow down as the feeling of his palm against your clit made your eyes screw shut “you made me earn the right to be in your life.” The words were so soft that he wasn’t even sure that you heard them at first.
But then he saw how your eyes met his “so yeah I could have them but I’ve always wanted you.” It was the emphasis on the end that should habe made this a sweet moment.
Yet when you combined the way his hands felt against you and the way his fingers worked in ways you didn’t even know were possible, as he moved to this almost scissoring motion it sent you over the edge, so before you could respond with something comforting. Garrett was instead met with “holy shit I’m gonna cum.” It seemed almost as if the warning was late as he watched your eyes roll back and he felt his knee now holding up more of your body weight than before.
Your orgasm was strong, your cunt clenched around his fingers as your body shook “work through it baby.” He mumbled as he sucked at your earlobe.
You forced your head to nod as you could hear your heartbeat. When his movements began to slow, it was as if you came back down to earth “that was.” You cut yourself off when he kissed you again “I know.” He nodded in agreement pulling his hand from your panties.
Garrett didn’t think twice before he wrapped his lips around his fingers lapping up your release “wow.” You mumbled, a little shocked that you just watched him do that.
“What?”
The question lingered in the air as if he had just done the most normal thing in the world “I’ve never seen a guy do that.” It made Garrett laugh, of course the guys you had been with before hadn’t ever bothered to taste you.
It shouldn’t have surprised him, given that he never approved of your type, “they have really been missing out because you taste fucking sweet.” His confession should have been something normal, but instead it made your body squirm against his leg.
Garrett smirked as he picked up on it instantly “you still want more sweets?” Even though he was trialing out what seemed like the 20th nickname of the night, he had to admit that this one felt perfect.
Your eyes answered his question for you as they landed on his bed, the perfectly fuckable location that neither one of you seemed to acknowledge since you got into the room “c’mon.” Garrett held his hand out for you even though his bed was mere steps away, you still took it.
He smiled as he sat on his bed and pulled you onto his lap “how is it that I’ve got my tits out but your still in everything?” Your words made him grin as he was enjoying the sight.
Garrett shrugged, “I haven’t cum yet so.” He stuck his tongue out at you, fully intending for this to be a joke.
You smirked as you pushed his chest into his bed “now what are you going to do about that?” You asked as you grinned, knowing all too well that you were playing with fire.
And Garrett made sure that he let you know that too as he flipped you over “you are so dangerous.” He clicked his tongue as he kissed you.
Your clothes were quick to end up on the floor, in a disorganised pile as his hands were all over you. Your hands were in his hair as he hovered over you “Graham if you don’t fucking hurry up I swear I’ll.” He cut you off.
His nose grazed over yours “what will you do?” He really thought that you were going to say something that wasn’t that bad.
“I’ll go fuck Trevor.” You hoped that it was his name, but in that moment, Garrett didn’t even care.
Because his face hardened at the mention of the other boy “you are gonna regret that one.” He shook his head as he flipped you over. The sudden movement made you let out a squeal as you were now facing his bedframe “Garret I-“ You were going to apologise, but instead you were shut up when he dragged the head of his cock over your clit.
The boy had a scowl on his face “I was planning on fucking you real good tonight.” He sucked at his teeth, letting his cock thrust into your cunt.
Both of you groaned at the feeling “look I’m.” He didn’t even let you finish your sentence.
“I know you’re fucking sorry.”
His fingers gripped your waist as your cunt swallowed his cock when he bottomed you out “but I’m gonna ruin ya in cause you choose to go back to a guy like that.” He announced as his thrusts began to settle into a rhythm.
Your head rested against his bed as your brought your ass back to meet him “fuck you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” The brunette let his hand squeeze your ass, making you moan as you nodded, gripping at his sheets.
The sound of your skin slapping against his echoed against his walls as you felt your tits bounce with every thrust “god why do you have to be such a brat.” Garrett scoffed as he felt you clench around him “maybe that was your plan all along.” He sucked at his teeth when you whimpered.
You felt your eyes flutter when he hit your g-spot “fuck don’t stop.” You begged, making him smirk. He had you in the palm of his hand, and a total mess “wouldn’t do that to you yet, sweets.” He did think about the concept of edging you all night, but right now he just wanted to enjoy how his cock felt inside of you. Your walls hugged his length, practically suffocating it.
His cock throbbed as it pressed against your pelvis “you make me feel so good.” You babbled on as you didn’t know how much more you could take of this “told ya I wasn’t gonna let another guy get a chance.” His sense of possessiveness weirdly made you squirm.
You chewed at the inside of your cheek “please I’m gonna cum.” you arched your back as your thighs began to shake.
Garrett shook his head, “I wanna hear ya beg for it pretty girl.” He cooed as he rolled your nipple between his fingers.
You turned your head back to look at him “please Garrett I promise I’m all yours.” Those words made him pray that he wasn’t dreaming, “go on and milk my cock sweets.” He nodded, knowing that he was about to cum on the spot from your words alone.
That was all it took as you were sent into overdrive. Your fingers were against your clit, strumming as if it was the strings on a guitar. Your eyes screwned shut “oh my god Gar.” You cried as you felt your cunt spasm around his cock.
It triggered the boys orgasm as he let his head fall back, his cock shot sticky strings of his release into the condom as he fucked you through it.
You both came down from your highs as the boy pressed a kiss against your shoulder blade.
Garrett pulled out of you as he lay you down softly on his bed “I wasn’t too rough, right?” His concern made you smile “I would have told you if you were.” You nodded, putting his worries at ease.
You turned to him as you giggled “what?” He crossed his arms as he grew confused, “you’re cute when your jealous.”
The words made his cheeks feel warm “I was not jealous.” He scoffed as he shook his head.
Somehow that made you find this even more enjoyable “so if I went back down to him you wouldn’t care?” You taunted the captain who pulled you back into his arms “you’re gonna be the death of me.” He shook his head as he pressed a kiss against your temple.
The gesture felt mundane “feelings mutual, aye.” You kissed his lips as the two of you started talking about everything that got you to that point.
By the time the sun rose, the two of you were still awake “just so we’re clear no more getting me over your shoulder.” Your announcement made him roar with laughter that broke the silence you were in.
He ran his fingers over your arm as he pulled you in closer to him “no more letting football players flirt with you.” Garrett shot back, deciding that it was the perfect trade-off.
You pretended to think about it as you turned your head on his chest to face him “I don’t know, Beau is pretty cute actually.” Your words made him scoff, causing you to crack immediately as you laughed.
Garrett sucked at his teeth as he hooked his fingers under your chin “now you’re the unbelievable one.” He mumbled as he pressed a kiss against your lips.
You nodded as you moved to straddle him, “oh baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” At the next practice, all of the boys were going to tease you about this; hell, they were going to be talking about it the moment you left Garrett’s room. But when you were on top of the team captain, with the sun hitting you in just the right place to make you look angelic to the boy beneath you, you really didn’t care what it was that anyone else thought about you.
✮ Dean has an obsession with leaving hickeys on you !
the first thing dean does is pin you against the door of his room, his body a wall of heat and smug intent. that signature smirk curves across his lips as his hands find your hips, thumbs digging into the sharp jut of bone.
"y’know what happens now, don't ya?"
he doesn't wait for an answer.
his mouth is already on your neck, hot and wet, tongue tracing your pulse point before his teeth graze the skin.
you gasp and he chuckles against your throat in response, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. his hands slide up your sides, pushing your shirt out of the way until your collarbone is bare. he doesn't waste time. he sucks hard, a purposeful, possessive pull that stings and aches in the best way. he pulls back just enough to admire the dark bloom spreading across your skin, his thumb rubbing over it with a satisfied hum.
"gonna mark you up so everyone knows." he murmurs, already diving lower. his lips find the curve of your shoulder, the hollow above your chest – he's methodical, leaving a trail of bruises in his wake. each one is a claim. his teeth scrape, his tongue soothes, and then he's sucking again, harder this time, until you're squirming under the pressure.
he pulls back to look at his work, eyes dark and half-lidded, that same infuriating smirk plastered on his face. "you like that, don't you?" he doesn't need an answer.
he knows.
by the time he gets you on the bed, you're covered in hickeys. there's a deep red mark just below your jaw, one on the slope of your neck, a bite on the curve of your shoulder, another on the inside of your wrist where he'd pinned you down just moments ago. he's trailing his mouth down your stomach now, pausing to bite at your hipbone, leaving a fresh bruise that he laps at with his tongue.
"deeean," you whine, and he looks up at you through his lashes, smug as sin.
"one more" he says, like he's doing you a favor. his mouth closes over the soft skin of your inner thigh. he takes his time, sucking slow and deliberate, making sure it's deep. when he finally pulls away, he grins at the dark, angry mark he's left behind.
"perfect" he purrs, and then he's on top of you again, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips finding a fresh spot on your body to ruin.
𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 : john logan x fem! di Laurentis!reader
𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : points of tension? but not angst, secret relationship
𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : Being Dean di daurentis' little sister came with many...features, hundreds of eyes would be trained on the both of you- a dynamic pairing that was sure to breathe life into a party just by blinking at the venue, lavish lives of comfort and quiet luxury, it didn't help you had killer genes on top of it all. With those abilities came challenges, such as, your personal lives being the literal talk of the town.
Meaning you'd be willing to do just about anything to protect the one good thing you had kept to yourself since you lied to your parents about getting drunk for the first time. That included, a bunch of brain rotting dates with the most eligible bachelors at Briar, which, fair warning- will lead to your boyfriend not being the happiest man on earth.
𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 7k words
𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : What can I say for this one. I just hope you guys think I still have a life. I do, it's just a bit lost at the moment. I swear. I'm also on break right now- so I have alot of free time haha. catch me not uploading anything when teaching starts again. Anyway, just goes to show that when I get requests I don't half ass them haha. Thank you @pinkyups for the gif and @onyxdaze for the dividers !
𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 : I would really appreciate if you could send in an ask to be on my taglist, it's easier for me to manage and make sure everyone is added!! here is the post of my current taglist. Also, if your user is bolded, I'm going on a prayer that youve been tagged but Tumblr wouldn't let me properly do so. I would recommend checking your privacy settings to allow other people to tag you.
The hockey house was always, somehow, loud. Loud in that pre-party way on a Friday night that made your head spin and bring a giddy smile to your face. The warm-up stage, if you will. Everyone half-distracted and talking over each other while deciding what the night was actually going to become.
Which was exactly why Dean had decided it was the perfect time to ruin your life.
“No seriously,” your brother insisted from across the kitchen island, pointing his beer bottle at you like he was presenting a business proposal to investors instead of actively setting his sister up on a date, “this guy is perfect for you.”
You stared at him flatly and leaned on your elbows, the stool you were sat on tipped dangerously.
“Every time you say that, I suffer.”
“That’s because you keep picking emotionally unavailable weirdos.”
Everyone partially ignored Dean, he was always doing this- offering to set you up with the next eligible bachelor that he had scouted in his classes, or mutual friends, one time he set you up with one of his ex-hookup’s hookup. That one didn’t go as well as the majority of your brother’s matchmaking pursuits.
From the couch, Logan’s ears perked up and he choked slightly on his drink; he glanced around hoping nobody noticed, and it didn’t seem like they did.
Except Garrett.
Garrett glanced up from his phone, eyes moving from Logan to you and then back to Logan again with the expression of somebody who had just noticed a bomb underneath the dining table.
Your eyes flicked to Logan, a secret twinkle in them before you steeled and ignored him. Dean, fortunately for you didn’t even notice and continued talking.
“He’s pre-law,” he said proudly.
Logan rolled his eyes and scoffed before he could stop himself. He didn’t even recognise the noise that he made, but he stilled when he felt the group’s eyes on him.
Allie frowned from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. “Why did you react like that?”
Logan shrugged quickly, leaning further back into the couch cushions beside Tucker. “I didn’t.”
“You literally scoffed.”
“I breathed.”
“That was a judgmental breath.”
“It’s pre-law,” Logan muttered, finger running along the rim of his beer bottle.
Dean narrowed his eyes immediately, “What’s wrong with pre-law?”
Logan took another sip of his drink like he hadn’t just entered the conversation voluntarily. “Sounds evil.”
Tucker barked out a laugh from beside him. “Bro, weren't you considering law for a bit?”
“We don’t about that dark time of my life,” Logan muttered, he nodded silently as the yeasty alcohol slipped down his throat- his eyes flicked to you but he refocussed on the conversation at hand.
You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to stop yourself smiling.
The two of you had agreed on the secrecy together.
Mostly because your friends were all deeply nosy and incapable of minding their own business for longer than six consecutive minutes, but also because you and Logan had somehow slipped into dating without fully meaning to and then panicked slightly once you realised how serious it had become.
Now here you were.
Four months deep into a relationship that you couldn’t reveal, unless you wanted to bring about the next Dean-meltdown. The last one almost ended with him moving to Australia and making a life with the kangaroos.
Which meant that every time somebody tried setting one of you up with another person, you both had to sit there pretending it was completely normal.
You liked to think that you had been handling it significantly better than Logan.
“All I’m saying,” Dean continued, oblivious to the psychological warfare occurring three feet away from him, “is that he’s smart, he’s tall, he cooks-”
“That’s manipulative,” Logan interrupted.
The room went quiet.
You looked at him.
Dean looked at him.
Even Hannah slowly lowered her phone.
“What?” Dean said eventually.
Logan blinked once like he had only just realised he’d spoken aloud.
“What?” he repeated.
“You think cooking is manipulative?”
Logan shifted slightly in his seat. “Sometimes.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Neither does pre-law.”
Allie turned fully toward him now, deeply suspicious. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “You seem weirdly invested.”
“I’m not invested.” He quickly replied.
Garrett spoke without looking up from his phone.
“You wanna explain why you’re reacting like a divorced father who just found out his ex-wife is dating again?”
Tucker physically folded over laughing.
Logan pointed at Garrett immediately. “See? This is why nobody likes you.”
“People love me.”
“Your own girlfriend looks tired.”
Hannah snorted into her can of coke and ran her hand through her boyfriend’s hair, who was staring daggers at Logan until he melted into her touch.
You looked away before you snorted at Logan’s antics, which probably in hindsight wasn’t the best idea, because the second your attention drifted away- you could feel him boring holes into the side of your face, like he was trying to telepathically communicate his annoyance across the room.
Your phone buzzed against the counter and you grabbed it quickly before someone noticed the way you grinned to yourself, biting down on your lip you checked the notifications; even though you already knew who it was.
Hockey boy 💗
stop smiling at dean about another guy before i lose my mind
Across the room, Logan stared at his own phone with the deeply concentrated expression of someone trying not to commit homicide.
You typed back carefully, intentionally slower so as not to alert your brother- who was now chattering with his girlfriend across the room.
You:
you are being unbelievably dramatic rn
Hockey boy 💗
he said the guy cooks
You:
so…do you?
Hockey boy 💗
yeah but i do it sexier
You physically had to cough to disguise the laugh that escaped you.
Hannah looked over instantly.
“What?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing.”
“You just giggled at your phone.”
“I did not.”
“You literally did.”
Dean pointed at you accusingly. “Wait. Is there already another guy?”
You jumped so hard that your knee hit the island and you hissed. Logan had sat up straighter, fast enough that it alarmed Tucker, who was sunken into the couch next to him.
“No,” he said immediately.
The entire room turned toward him.
A beat passed.
Logan slowly leaned back again, cringing and half hoping the universe would grant him reprise in the deepest black hole it could create.
“I mean,” he added poorly, “how would I know?”
Garrett finally looked up fully now, staring directly at Logan with open fascination, his eyes widening as he properly studied the both of you. His mouth popped open in an O shape.
Your heart launched into your throat as you met the captain’s eyes, half pleading that he was as slow as his stereotype allowed him to be. But before Garrett could elaborate further, Dean steamrolled right over the moment.
“Whatever,” he said dismissively, already pulling out his phone again, “look at this guy and tell me I’m wrong.”
He shoved the screen in your direction, you squinted and slumped forward, hitting your older brother with a dead look.
You hated how attractive the man was.
Tall. Dark hair. Nice smile.
One of those annoyingly clean-looking corporate boys that somehow always smelled expensive.
Before you could stop yourself, your eyes flicked instinctively toward Logan. If there was a bigger mistake you could've made, it would be murder. Because he was already looking at you, his eyes inquisitively blinking between you and Dean.
Waiting.
You raised one eyebrow slightly, teasing him and Logan narrowed his eyes immediately. Then, because apparently self-preservation had abandoned him entirely tonight, he muttered,
“He looks like he moisturizes too much.”
Dean stared at him, baffled that this was coming from the same man who probably owned 500 different types of skincare. What Dean didn’t know is that each time a new product would pop up on his sink, it was actually yours.
“All humans should moisturize.”
“Not that much.”
“John,” Hannah said slowly, “you own more hair products than me.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Logan opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“It just is.”
“You are such a fucking hater,” Tucker wheezed.
Logan looked genuinely offended, looking at the group, whipping around like a broken spinning top, “I’m not a hater.”
“You’re beefing with a man none of us have met.”
“I’m not beefing with him.”
“You called his face moisturized in a derogatory way.”
Logan rolled his eyes and slumped again, tapping at his phone. Yours buzzed against your thigh- it seems secrecy had flown out of the window tonight. Four months of perfect sneak-ins, disguised dates and unknown sleepovers flushed away.
Hockey boy 💗
if he touches you im transferring schools
You stared at the text for a full three seconds before looking up, Logan was already messing with his hair absently, jaw tight, eyes narrowed at absolutely nothing.
God.
He was unbelievable, you tried not to gape at him while tapping on your phone,
“He wants to meet tonight?” You ask Dean, feigning interest as you squinted at the phone over the lip of your cup.
Dean perked up and texted this guy, Ethan, Evan? You didn’t care, “He says…” Dean held the room still with his hands outstretched, “He’ll be over in an hour!” Your brother jumped triumphantly into Beau, who had missed the entire debacle when he disappeared into the toilet.
That gave you the perfect window to meet Logan’s gaze, which had flared considerably. You shrugged and winked at him, biting your cheek when he blushed and huffed, turning away to down the rest of his drink.
You managed to escape upstairs under the guise of getting ready for this date- far away from Tucker, who had gotten into the habit of critiquing your outfit choices like he was one planned ensemble away from Vogue.
You slipped into the bathroom, starting to wash your face with products that Logan had shamelessly claimed as his, just so you could keep more of your stuff over on his shelf.
You towel dried your face when the door to the bathroom cracked open with a dull knock. You didn’t turn around immediately, mostly because you already knew who it was.
“Baby.”
There it was, you huffed, hands barely pausing their circular movements of rubbing moisturizer into your skin. You glanced over bemused with the puppy act that Logan was currently playing at the doorway. That tone is exactly the tone he used on you when he was not happy about what your secret relationship brought along with it- it was low, annoyed in a way that immediately made warmth crawl up your spine despite your best efforts
Adjusting one of your earrings in the mirror and pressing your lips together with a new layer of lipgloss, you watched him click the door behind him and lean against it- bashfully looking at you from below his eyelashes
“You know following me upstairs while I’m getting ready for another guy is objectively making this situation weirder.”
He crossed his arms over his chest as you adjusted your skirt.
“Another guy,” he repeated flatly.
You met his eyes through the mirror.
Your boyfriend looked deeply unimpressed by the entire concept of tonight, which was slightly ironic considering he’d spent the last few months allowing Allie to continuously set him up with girls under the assumption he was still hopelessly into Hannah.
“You’ve literally gone on three dates this month,” you reminded him.
“They barely count.”
You turned around fully then, eyebrows lifting. “One of them took you mini golfing.”
“She talked about her ex for forty minutes.”
“That’s still a date.”
“It was psychological warfare.”
You snorted and planted your hands on your hips, your resolve barely holding when his eyes softened slightly at the sound, that was part of the reason you both worked. No matter how irritated he got, no matter how jealous or grumpy or territorial he became, there was always this underlying tenderness to him around you that completely gave him away if you paid attention for long enough.
And you were always paying attention to him.
His gaze dragged over you slowly now. Taking in the dress, your hair, the shimmer of your lipgloss that he interrupted the application of. Your eyes widened when his jaw tightened
“Oh my god,” you laughed quietly, shaking your head, “you’re actually jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You compared his moisturizer usage to shooting puppies.”
“He looks slippery.”
“That is not a real critique.”
“It could be.”
You laughed again, properly this time- Logan’s expression immediately worsened, as if he couldn’t believe that you were going to look like that for a guy that wasn’t him.
“You look too pretty for this,” he muttered.
Your stomach flipped, your laugh settling to a soft smile. Logan always spoke like that, somehow injecting sincerity into everything he said even when he was irrationally possessive.
You tried very hard not to melt visibly.
“Well unfortunately,” you said lightly instead, stepping closer to him, “our friends are insane and think you’re still in love with Hannah.”
“I haven’t liked Hannah in like 6 months.” Your eyebrows lifted slightly with a grin
“6 months?”
Logan realised his mistake immediately.
“Don’t do that,” he warned.
You cheekily bit your tongue, “Do what?”
“That thing where you look smug.”
“I’m not smug.”
“You’re literally smirking.”
You were doing the mental maths, because if Logan stopped liking Hannah almost 6 months ago.. Well.
You’d started sleeping together six months ago and got together two months after that.
Interesting timeline.
Your boyfriend stepped closer before you could weaponize that information further, hands finding your waist automatically like muscle memory. Like he physically couldn’t stand within arm’s reach of you without touching you somehow.
“You better not actually like this guy,” he muttered.
You blinked once. Twice. Then brought your arms to his shoulders- comfortingly rubbing the soft flannel
“John Logan,” you said slowly, “are you trying to establish rules for a date I didn’t even want to go on?”
His hands tightened slightly against your waist.
“No.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“You’re literally pouting.”
“I don’t pout.”
You reached up immediately and pressed your thumb against his lower lip, his eyes darkened.
“There,” you whispered sweetly. “That. That’s pouting.”
Logan grabbed your wrist before you could pull away, dragging you flush against him in one smooth movement that made your breath catch embarrassingly fast.
“You think this is funny,” he said quietly.
“A little bit.”
“That’s concerning.”
“You’re being insane.”
“I’m being reasonable.”
“You called him slippery.”
“He is slippery.”
You dissolved into laughter again, forehead dropping briefly against his chest. Logan exhaled heavily above you, one hand sliding up your spine slowly - exposed from the cutout of your dress. His fingers curled at the back of your neck.
“Don’t let him kiss you,” he murmured.
You tilted your head back immediately and grinned at him- as if you would ever consider the ridiculous idea.
“Oh my god.”
“I’m serious.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“I mean it.”
Your amusement faded slightly then, into something gentler that settled underneath your expression, beneath all the jealousy and dramatics and weird comments about moisturizer, you knew what this actually was.
Logan wasn’t angry, he was scared. Not of you cheating- you’d threatened him enough that you’d need to be held at gun point for the thought to even breach your mind. He was worried that someone better would come along, someone more charming, someone who was a part of your world. The world that Dean and you shared along with the ultra elite trust-fund babies.
Your expression softened.
“You know I’m yours, right?” you asked quietly.
The change in Logan's face made your chest hurt ever so slightly- he sighed and dropped his forehead against yours,
“Yeah?” he asked softly.
You swallow away the knot in your throat and kiss his nose, “Yeah.”
Logan smiled at the feeling of your lips on his face, grinning at the triumphant look on your face. And for a second, neither of you moved, just basking in the feeling of each other's closeness. Then his hand slid properly into your hair and he kissed you, and just like every time this man kissed you, your knees felt weak and you leaned into him.
His mouth moved against yours slowly at first, careful and lingering and familiar enough to make your sigh slightly before he deepened it with the quiet sort of desperation that always seemed to sneak into him around you, you hum softly into his mouth, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie.
“John,” you whispered when he kissed down your jaw.
“Hm?”
“If you leave a mark on me before my date I’m actually going to kill you.”
Logan kissed your neck again deliberately then started nipping at the skin purposefully, you whacked his head, groaning when he soothed over the stinging skin with his tongue.
“You asshole.”
“You said no marks,” he murmured smugly against your skin, “these are just... friendly reminders.”
You were seconds away from shoving him when Dean’s voice suddenly echoed up the stairs.
“HEY!”
You gasped and jumped apart violently, his hands tightened on your waist and you could feel his heartbeat thumping wildly below your hand.
“IS MY SISTER READY YET OR IS SHE MAKING THIS GUY WAIT ON PURPOSE?”
Logan inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut . You bit down on your smile and turned to fix your makeup, your lipgloss smudged to your chin and all over his mouth. You usher him towards the mirror to wipe it off.
Then Dean yelled again,
“AND LOGAN WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO?”
The two of you stared at each other, a short moment of silence passed, then you both had to stifle laughs against the other, your mouth pressed into his shoulder as he cradled your head and pressed a hand to his lips.
Logan dragged one hand down his face. “I hate everyone in this house.”
“You live here.”
“Don’t remind me.”
You grinned and reached up, gently fixing the collar of his shirt where you’d wrinkled it. His eyes softened again immediately and he smoothed out your hair,
“Go on your stupid date,” he muttered, rubbing away the last of the lipgloss from your chin.
“You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You followed me upstairs.”
“I was stretching my legs.”
“Through my tonsils?”
Logan rolled his eyes and kissed your forehead
If you were to be objective about the situation your brother had put you in- you’d have to say that he did an annoyingly good job. You’d never tell him that of course, you’d prefer to use Logan’s pliers to rip your teeth out individually.
But the guy sitting across from you was genuinely perfect on paper.
Ethan was funny in that easy, socially polished way corporate aspirants somehow always were, where every joke sounded rehearsed enough to land properly but natural enough that you couldn’t call him out on it. He opened doors without making a huge deal out of it, remembered details from previous conversations Dean had apparently told him about you, and somehow managed to make expensive restaurants feel casual instead of pretentious.
Worst of all. He was genuinely attractive. You could think of at least 5 of your girlfriends who would happily take the inconvenience out of your hands.
Dark hair slightly messy in that intentional way rich men cultivated, broad shoulders underneath a fitted black sweater, stupidly nice hands that looked like they belonged in a watch advertisement.
You hated how much Dean would enjoy being right about this.
“And then Di Laurentis told me,” Ethan laughed lightly, leaning back in his chair, “that if I hurt you he’d apparently feed my body to the hockey team.”
You snorted into your drink. “Yeah, that sounds like my brother.”
“He’s weirdly intimidating for a guy that owns that many tank tops.”
“He weaponizes confidence.”
Ethan grinned and held eye contact with you while he sipped from his whiskey glass. And you stumbled into the same feeling you had been experiencing the entire evening, everytime Evan smiled- your brain automatically compared it to Logan.
Ezra’s smile was clean, polished and pristine. You’d go as far as to say it was pretty under most lighting.
You couldn’t help the comparison. Logan’s smiles made your stomach flip and consciousness flutter in a way only he could manage. Split lips after hockey games- stretched into victorious laughter, crooked smirks when he was about to say something unbelievably annoying and your favourite, the devastatingly soft grin he got only around you, like his entire body was tuned to your reactions.
Your throat dried and you worked hard to keep an uncomfortable grimace at bay.
“So,” Eli said, resting his chin against his hand slightly, “Dean says you practically live at the hockey house.”
You nearly choked on your drink.
The statement itself wasn’t inaccurate, you did spend a lot of time at the house. But if Elijah knew how much of that time you’d spent in John Logan’s bedroom, you’re pretty sure he would evaporate on the spot.
“Yeah.. They’re my brother’s teammates, we all just ended up becoming friends,” you said carefully.
“You and Logan seem close.”
Your heart skipped once at the mention of his name and you fought against the natural instinct to bite back a smile, instead you kept your expression neutral with the kind of effort that deserved academic recognition.
“Logan?”
“Yeah.” Everett shrugged lightly. “He looked like he wanted to kill me earlier.”
You laughed too quickly, waving off the notion that Logan would be anything but jealous.
“He’s just weird.”
Eric nodded thoughtfully, studying your face in a way that made you send an impromptu prayer up to God that he wasn’t putting the badly veiled pieces together, then he grinned and shrugged.
“I figured.”
The waiter arrived then, setting down your desserts while Edward thanked him politely. You mentally facepalmed, again, this guy was objectively perfect. But you had to stop yourself from recoiling away when his hand brushed yours, gentle and hesitant across the table.
Your mind flashed back to the most recent date Logan took you on, a small, independent coffee shop outside of the Briar locality- away from prying, gossiping eyes. He had grimaced as he paid for your drink and stifled his love for it when you made him take a sip, your hands were intertwined the entire time, a carefree momentum settled in your conversation whilst he played with the rings on your fingers, openly, unabashedly.
The memory hit you so suddenly you almost laughed. Dean had hit gold with this guy, you could read Erik like an open book, and the entire time he had been nothing but sweet, smart at points and attentive nearly the entire length of the date. Your friends would probably start planning a big, upper-east side wedding by next week.
But still your mind drifted back to the only man you could see yourself marrying, and how much he would absolutely hate this restaurant. The excess of cloth napkins would make him tense, the dim lighting irritating him enough to make his entire face scrunch up and the lack of fries would be considered diabolical.
But you knew, with absolute certainty, that if you wanted to dine in a restaurant like this, he would suffer an eternity in these four walls if it meant he was with you.
Your phone buzzed against your lap, breaking your chain of thought.
Hockey boy 💗:
Are you home yet?
You stared at the carousel of messages prior to this, and the timestamps
9:14 PM.
9:26 PM.
9:41 PM.
9:57 PM.
Four separate messages.
Your lips twitched helplessly, all of them were as performatively nonchalant as the others.
Hockey boy 💗
If this Egbert guy touches you, I'm keying his daddy’s jeep.
Hockey boy 💗
Don’t ask how i know this but his linkedin is not very impressive- not good enough to date my girl that’s for sure.
Hockey boy 💗
I miss you.
Ethan noticed immediately, the way your eyes softened and a huff made your lips part in a ghost of a smile.
“Boyfriend?” he asked casually.
Your head snapped up.
“What?”
He smiled, cocking his head slightly, “You’ve checked your phone every five minutes since we got here.”
Heat crawled up your neck instantly and you furrowed your brows in apology,
“No,” The lie felt bitter on your tongue, but you silenced your phone and set it down face first on the table. Eran hummed like he didn’t fully believe you, but thankfully let it go.
The rest of the date shifted slightly after that, not awkward since poor Edmund hadn’t let the clarifying moment put a dent in his enthusiasm. It just meant that his hand hadn’t touched yours since you replied to Logan.
You wanted to apologise to him, to say that it wasn’t working out for any reason that didn’t involve Logan. But you opted for polite, self-explanatory silence on the matter. Letting Edwin slip on your jacket for you and engaged in a cursory side hug that made you both cringe a little, but it was easier than explaining to him that instead of his simple affection, you wanted the idiot currently losing his mind back at the hockey house over a pre-law major named Elton.
Logan would honestly rather take a hundred slapshots straight to the ribs without pads than listen to Dean brag about what a 'good guy' he’d set his sister up with.
It started with a passing comment, then a phone lighting up on the coffee table which led to Dean half-paying attention to the loud conversation being had in the living room while scrolling. This cumulative, slow motion train crash in front of Logan’s eyes, meant he had gone suspiciously quiet in the midst of the heated debate between Allie and Tucker and was now focussing on his friend who was grinning like a Cheshire cat at his phone.
Dean eventually spoke, stretching back into the couch like he owns it, a triumphant look spread across his face. The group quietens when they notice the smug expression, which either meant he was about to announce something gross or he was going to be an ass about being right.
“She just got dessert,” he casually reports, looking around the room, like a king would look at his subjects- pompous and on the highest horse possible.
Logan does not respond immediately. He just leans forward slightly, fiddling with the loose thread fraying from the cuff of his sleeve, when he does decide to grace Dean with an answer- it takes everything in him to keep his voice steady and flat in a way that should come across as disinterested.
“That’s nice.” His tone was clipped, a stark difference from his usual charismatic demeanor. The rest of the group makes up for his lack of enthusiasm, the girls giggled and congratulated Dean on finding such a catch, the guys laugh and speculate that in the dating world- getting dessert is equivalent to a perfectly timed, public, flash-mob proposal.
Logan prayed for it to end there. It normally would’ve, Dean hadn’t said anything that would invite continuation. You had ordered dessert and that meant Logan would need to become a world class pastry chef as soon as possible. Case closed. Goodnight.
“And he says she’s laughing a lot.”
A badly stifled suffering sigh escapes Logan’s lips, his body briefly pauses, as if it had forgotten how to act normal and instead decided to shut down.
He recalibrated, ignoring the ugly, curling sensation that lurched in his stomach and instead, rather stiffly, managed to say,
“Good for her,” he says. Perfect. His voice was still intensely calm, still controlled and his answer invited no follow-up.
Across the room, Tucker glances up from his seat with the vague expression of someone who is only half following the conversation but is starting to sense that the topic was sprinting full speed down an unexplored path . Hannah leans toward Allie, lowering her voice.
“Why is he talking like that?” she asks.
Allie glances between them. “Like what?”
Hannah thinks for a second, “Remember the time he walked in on you and Dean?”
Allie sighs dreamily at the memory, obviously not remembering the avoidant, distasteful tone that Logan had adopted for the rest of that night.
“Ohhhh,” Allie nodded slowly, the specifics hazy in her mind, but she could clearly remember Logan looking like he would let Garrett shave off the outer layer of his eyeballs with his skates.
Dean hears this and instead of doing the smart thing for everyone in the vicinity, he contributes to the analysis,
“That’s what it is!,” he snaps his fingers and points at Logan, who glanced at the perky blonde out of his periphery and slapped his outstretched fingers with his palm.
Garrett in the middle of the exchange has stopped pretending entirely that he is not listening. He doesn’t dare react, but his attention splits between Logan and Dean regularly, as if he was the first to picture something that everyone else had not yet realised.
Dean’s phone vibrates in his hand, “Oh,” he says after a moment, like he is remembering another detail. “He also says she’s really pretty when she’s concentrating.”
Logan exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, and finally looks down at his hands as if the table in front of him has suddenly become more interesting than anything else in the room, focussing more on the worn out grain and the used fibres of the carpet beneath it. When he speaks again, his tone is still even, but it takes slightly longer to form the sentence.
“That’s… nice.”
Hannah slowly sits up a little straighter, her brows knitting together in mild confusion rather than concern.
“Am I crazy,” she mutters, “or does this feel weird?”
“You are always slightly crazy,” Tucker replies automatically but he shares the same, puzzled look.
“That is not helpful.”
Allie is also watching Logan, like she is trying to decide whether this is something she is allowed to comment on or whether it falls into the category of things that will resolve themselves without intervention.
Garrett still says nothing, opting to sit with his discovery in unparalleled superiority.
The room continues as if it is trying to behave normally around something that it does not fully understand yet. Dean scrolls again, far too unaware of the pressure building in the man beside him.
“Oh,” he adds, like he has found another harmless detail. “She keeps fixing her hair when she laughs.”
Logan stills, properly this time. A eerie calm settles over his body, because he was internally cursing himself for being in this situation, damn his friends and their nosey tendencies and damn you for being the sister of his teammate.
He ruminates on the choices that brought him here today, coming to the conclusion, that he'd rather be trapped in an endless, no-whistle bag skate at five AM than endure these idle, cheerful updates. A bag skate ended eventually. This felt like it never would.
But Tucker leans slightly toward Hannah and whispers, “Is he doing okay?”
Hannah whispers back, “I think we are all missing something.”
Allie does not take her eyes off Logan, morbidly fascinated at the fact that the world’s most suave person, had his lips pressed against his hands and had managed to end up with a raincloud over his head in the middle of July. “Something is definitely happening.”
Garrett shifts against Hannah, still choosing to be an idle spectator in Logan’s ruin, but even he could muster up a sympathetic grimace when Dean chose to continue the narration.
Logan finally cuts in.
“Can you stop reading that out loud.”
Dean looks up, “Why?”
A pause.
“Just tired. Honestly, I’d rather coach put us through a three-hour gauntlet drill right now than hear any more details about your sister’s love life. It’s weird, man.”
Dean’s eyes widened by a fraction, “Woah, is everything alright?” He looks genuinely concerned and that just makes Logan want to run into a wall at full speed. Because the whole room was staring at him, blinking like a flock of owls that were studying their latest choice of prey.
He scratches the back of his neck, hoping that nobody notices the nervous tick, “Sorry..” Logan grabs his hoodie as he takes his leave, “My coursework has been killer lately, must not be getting enough sleep. My bad man.” He pats Dean’s shoulder once and moves towards the staircase.
The entire house seemed to be suspended in awkward confusion- and Logan was prepared to add homicidal undertones as he reached the top step and Dean’s voice fluttered after him,
“Allie-cat what kind of girls have you been setting him up with? Maybe I should take over his matchmaking”
Logan groans and flops into his bed the minute the door creaks shut behind him, too dejected to glance up when his comforter vibrates beneath him.
The window is not the traditional avenue to enter a room, you realised that throughout the entirety of your senior year of highschool. It always requires a small negotiation with physics, a bit of careful balance, and the kind of confidence that suggests you have done this before and will probably do it again.
Which you admittedly have, given that you had memorised the best notches in the brick to wedge your foot into and where not to grab unless you wanted to end up face to face with a view directly into your brother's window.
When you finally reach your destination and fiddle with the window enough to coax it open, a soft creak permeates in the summer breeze- which you immediately curse because you had dedicated a solid 20 minutes to convince yourself that you were being quiet and the window very clearly disagrees.
You pause with your knee digging into the frame, listening as your heartbeat hammers in your ears. The night answered you, a dainty chirp of a cricket paired with the whirring of traffic further away in the city made you relax, continuing your journey into the room.
Inside, the lighting is low in a way that makes everything feel softer than it probably is in reality.
A desk lamp glows in the corner, throwing warm light across the room, and Logan is sitting on the edge of his bed like he has been doing exactly that for a while without moving very much at all.
Logan looks up when he hears your pants replace the faint buzz of the house, he doesn’t startle- just rushes over as silently as possible to grab your waist before you nosedive into his bedside table.
“Woah.” He steps back whilst keeping his hands firmly planted on your waist, watching you topple slightly on your heels, “What are you doing here?”
You look up at him, your lips downturning in a confused smile, “Hello to you too,” a peck to his lips interrupts your answer, “You said you missed me, so I'm here.”
The dress you had on stretches in tandem with your movements, stepping out of his loose hold to flop onto his bed- which protested slightly with a pained squeak, “You could say the feeling was mutual” You grinned up at him, leaning back onto your hands in the process.
He purses his lips, trying to hide a smile- which he does worryingly well. The neutrality in his eyes makes your spine rigid.
“You used the window,” he says, glancing at his curtains that now flitter along the wall.
You blink at him. “Yeah… Like I’ve done since we started hooking up”
Logan exhales through his nose, but it doesn’t fully commit to being a sigh.
“You could’ve used the door,” he clarifies.
“I didn’t want to wake anyone,” you reply, finally swinging your leg onto the duvet leaving your heel to topple uselessly to the floor with a dull thud.
Logan stays where he is for a second longer, watching you like he is trying to decide whether to stay where he is or act like a normal person and come closer. You match his gaze cheekily, shrugging off your bag while taking the room in, “God I love your room baby, it's so you.”
He stands up from where he was leaning against his desk, and crosses over to you in that slightly controlled way he gets when he is pretending he is not emotional, while very obviously being emotional in a quiet, annoyed-at-himself kind of way.
“You were gone longer than you said,” he mutters.
You pause mid-unzip of your dress.
“I said I’d be out for a bit.”
“That is not a time.”
You finally look at him properly.
There it is, a signature Logan pout. You’d gotten used to every version of them, since he knew how to use his artillery- but this one wasn’t one that sat well with you, it buried its way into your chest and blossomed into a pang of anxiety.
“Oh my god,” you say mainly to yourself, pushing up so you could stand chest to chest with him, inspecting his face.
Logan barely tilts his head to meet your scrutiny, “What?” he asks, like he already knows he is about to lose this conversation.
You shake your head, “You’re pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“You are absolutely pouting.”
“I’m not-”
He stops mid-sentence, watching your hands come up to his face and gently squish his cheeks just enough that his expression breaks in a way that is immediately unfair to him.
“There,” you say softly. “That one.”
His brows knit together.
“This is not-”
You lean in and press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He pauses.
You do it again, slightly higher this time, like you are correcting the unhappy crease of his lips. His hands hover for a second like he is deciding whether to be annoyed or affectionate and then, predictably, choose neither and both at the same time as they settle lightly at your waist.
“I don’t like it,” he says finally.
You hum.
“What part?”
His eyes flick to yours properly now.
“The part where you go out with someone else and come back smiling like it’s normal.”
You blink once, then your expression softens in a way that is very deliberately not taking him seriously, even though you absolutely are.
“Logan,” you say, gently.
He looks at you like he is bracing for impact, the undeniable pain of defeat, of losing you to the suave guy who apparently was very focussed on your dessert choice. You lean your forehead against his chin.
“I was thinking of you the whole time,” you say simply, biting the inside of your cheek when you feel his shoulder drop just a fraction.
His voice, when he speaks again, is quieter.
“That’s not fair.”
You smile.
“Why?”
“Because I had to be normal about it in front of everyone,” he mutters.
You laugh softly at that, genuinely amused now, and he immediately looks offended by your amusement, which only makes it worse.
“You were not normal about it,” you say.
“I was.”
“You were sitting here brooding like a Victorian man in a tragic novel.”
“I was not brooding.”
“You were brooding.”
He opens his mouth to argue again, but you cut him off by pulling him closer by the front of his hoodie. His protests die unspoken on his lips, as they always do whenever you pull that move.
“There,” you say, softer now, kissing his cheek, then his jaw, deliberately unhurried. “Better?”
Logan exhales, arms coming up to wrap around your shoulders, pressing you tightly against him.
“You’re distracting,” he murmurs into your hair.
You snort against his neck, “That’s kind of the point.”
A short pause takes over the conversation, a lull in his displeasure as you dig your fingers into the plush material that stretched over his back.
Then, Logan sighs and very quietly, in the dark of his room admits, “I didn’t like imagining you laughing at someone else’s jokes.”
You pull back slightly just to look at him, hes looking down at nothing in particular, half of his face glowing a soft amber in the pool of light spilling out from his lamp, the other half hides in the shadows- he turns his head fully into the darkness when you cup his cheek and rub placating lines with your thumb against his stubble.
“Oh,” you whisper. “You were jealous, jealous.”
“I was not-”
He stops, because you kiss him again a quick, gentle press of your lips against his- barely anything but enough to make him smile slightly and shake his head.
“You’re annoying,” he says again, but there is no heat in it.
You hum, watching how his caramel curls wrap around your fingers as you brush your hand through them.
“You likeeeee me.” You tease, your voice barely a hushed whisper, “Baby, I don’t even have a way to contact that guy- he could tell I wasn’t into the date.”
Logan blinks at you, “Wait, what?”
“I mean- I made him swear not to tell Dean, but I think it was somewhere between me replying to you every five minutes and the fact I flinched when he tried to hold my hand” You bite your lip sheepishly, “Great guy though! I might have a friend for him.”
He finally smiles properly, small and unwilling, like it slipped out by accident, “Yeah? He can date all your friends,” His hands press against your spine, curving you into him at last.
Logan ghosts his lips over yours, turning his head out of the shadows and back into the light. Your fingers hover over his jaw, studying the new look in his eye- a twinkle of affection that makes you melt completely into him as he whispers into your mouth, “as long as he doesn’t dare to look at you.”
𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
You woke up to the morning light personally burning your eyelids open, which probably serves you right for not bothering to shut the curtains last night. But you were slightly pre-occupied, which was evident at the string of clothes that littered the floor, you blinked sleepily whilst tracing the journey the different articles went on, leading up to the bed.
Your bra and his shirt were intertwined by his desk while your dress lay pooled at the foot of the bed along with his sweatpants and boxers, the only thing you couldn’t account for were your underwear.
Strange.
The birds chirped in a messy orchestra by the window, the sharp sound made you groan and stretch lazily, wincing at the delicious ache that licked down from your thighs to your toes and up through your arms. The perpetrator of these pains was still sound asleep, tucked into your shoulder with an arm flung over your bare middle, fingers twitching slightly as you rubbed your eyes and intertwined your legs with his beneath the covers.
Logan mumbled into the pillow, or your hair, perhaps both since he was face first into the area that had been taken over by the thick fan of wispy strands, “g’morning baby,” His hands tightened on your waist, holding you still as you looped your arms around his neck. He pecked your shoulder, then the curve of your neck and ended up stifling a deep laugh against your jaw when you smacked his arm.
“I will literally snap in half if you start something mister.” You scolded softly, your words not matching your actions entirely, since your fingers had began to scratch his neck softly, grinning when he all but purred at your touch.
“I didn’t hear you complaining last night.” He mumbled, play-biting your dewy skin. You had wiped up the obvious mess in a sleepy haze, but the dampness of sex still clung to your pores like a condensation on a can.
You gasped theatrically and flipped the pair of you over, so you were now resting your face on his sternum, “I don’t think you would've heard much since you had me pressed into the pillow.” Your fingers traced the splattering of hair that tickled your face,
Logan smirked down at you, stroking your hair, “Once again I fail to hear a complaint.”
“You-”
“YO LOGAN!” The both of you jumped at the interruption.
“Shitshitshitshitshit” you began whispering hurriedly, your gaze whipping around the room for possible escape plans that involved leaving the premises immediately.
It was not looking good to say the least, since Logan would probably prefer to get caught than for you to consider sneaking out of his window sans clothes.
Dean pounded on the door, “HAVE YOU SEEN MY SISTER AROUND? I WANTED TO ASK HER ABOUT THE DATE.”
Logan groaned and was close to petulantly kicking his legs like a toddler reminded about their bedtime, “Dean I think I have more knowledge about bird sphincters than I have about your sister or her sex life.”
You gape incredulously at him and mouth, “Bird sphincters?”
Logan silently stutters and shrugs his shoulders, his hands settling on your bare hips,
You heard Dean thump his head against the door, jiggling the handle but the lock held well against his attempts, “WELL ADAM HASN’T SAID ANYTHING HAPPENED AFTER THE DATE, SO IT MUST'VE GONE BADLY.”
A beat passed where you and Logan stared at each other, “His name was Adam?”
“Five Times Logan Almost Said I Love You” (And the One Time He Finally Did)
Summary: five moments where Logan nearly confesses his feelings — and the one time he finally does.
wc: 1528
Pairing: John Logan x Reader
A/N: first fic on this account (and in a really long time), it's probably really bad and I'm sorry, i'm just getting back into writing
#1
The first time John Logan almost said ‘I Love You’, he was half-asleep. It was late October, freezing outside, and y/n was buried against his side on the battered couch in the hockey house while some terrible horror movie played in the background. Logan wasn’t watching it though, mostly because y/n kept laughing at the wrong moments.
“You’re actually evil,” he mumbled as she giggled through a decapitation scene.
She tilted her head up. “This is just so unrealistic. Besides, You screamed ten minutes ago. ”
“I did not scream.”
“You absolutely screamed.”
“I made a small noise.”
“A small—” she broke off laughing again.
God.
That laugh.
Logan looked down at her curled against him in his sweatshirt, warm and sleepy and comfortable like she belonged there.
Like she belonged with him.
The words rose so fast in his chest it nearly scared him.
I love—
Then Garrett burst through the front door yelling about losing fifty bucks to Dean in a poker game, and the moment shattered instantly.
Y/N startled awake. Logan leaned back hard against the couch cushions, heart pounding for no reason he wanted to examine.
“You good?” she asked softly.
“Yeah,” he lied.
Because he wasn’t.
Not even close.
#2
The second time was during winter break. Logan hated going home, y/n realized that approximately six hours after arriving. The house was freezing. His dad was drunk before sunset. His younger brother barely spoke at dinner.
And Logan—
Logan smiled through all of it like he was trying to hold the entire house together with sheer force.
That night, she found him sitting outside on the front steps in a hoodie despite the snow. “You’re gonna freeze to death.”
He shrugged without looking at her. “Maybe.”
She sat beside him anyway, for a while neither of them spoke.
Then quietly, she said, “You don’t have to pretend around me.”
That nearly broke him. Everyone else let him play the clown, the flirt, the easygoing guy.
Y/N looked at him like she saw every ugly, exhausted part underneath it and stayed anyway.
Logan swallowed hard. “You should go back inside.”
“No.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“You’re deflecting.”
A laugh escaped him unexpectedly.
Then she reached over and threaded her cold fingers through his.
Simple and casual, but Logan felt it everywhere. He turned toward her before he could stop himself. Her face was close enough to kiss. Close enough to confess things he didn’t know how to survive saying out loud.
I think I’m in love with you.
Instead he squeezed her hand once and whispered, “Thanks for coming with me.”
Her smile was soft enough to ruin him permanently.
#3
The third time almost happened after a game.
Briar had won in overtime and the entire arena exploded.
Logan scored the winning goal.
Normally that would’ve been the best part of his night, until he spotted Y/N in the crowd and suddenly nothing else mattered. He found her outside the locker room afterward, still wearing his jersey.
His jersey.
Which did something deeply embarrassing to his heart.
“You were incredible,” she said the second she saw him.
Logan grinned, adrenaline still buzzing through him. “You see that goal?”
“I literally screamed.”
“You screamed for me?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling.
And without thinking, Logan grabbed her around the waist and spun her once down the hallway. She laughed loudly, arms around his shoulders for balance, the sound hit him harder than the roar of the crowd had. He stopped spinning but neither of them stepped back. His forehead brushed hers accidentally or maybe not accidentally.
Everything slowed.
The noise.
The people.
The post-game chaos.
Just her.
Her hands on him.
Her smile fading into something softer.
More vulnerable.
Logan looked into her eyes and thought with terrifying certainty:
There it is.
This was it.
This was love.
Not hookups.
Not attraction.
Not temporary.
Her.
Only her.
“I think I—”
“LOGAN!”
Dean slammed into the hallway at full volume with three teammates behind him.
The moment vanished immediately.
Logan nearly killed him on sight.
Dean blinked between them slowly. “...Did I interrupt a sex thing?”
“Yes,” Logan snapped.
Y/N burst out laughing.
And Logan loved her too much to even be annoyed anymore.
#4
The fourth time happened when they fought.
A real fight.
Not teasing.
Not playful arguing.
The ugly kind.
“You can’t just shut people out every time things get hard!” Y/N yelled.
Logan stared at the floor of her apartment kitchen, jaw tight. “I didn’t ask you to fix it.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do!”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“I’m trying to care about you!”
The words hung between them sharp and raw.
Logan looked wrecked.
Which only made her angrier.
Because he always did this; acted like he had to carry everything alone until he practically collapsed under it.
“I don’t know how to help someone who refuses to let me in,” she whispered.
That hit harder. Logan dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once through the tiny kitchen.
Then finally, “I let you in more than anyone.”
“You still hide when you’re hurting.”
“Because if I start talking about it, I don’t know if I’ll stop.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Y/N’s anger disappeared instantly.
Logan looked terrified.
Not of her.
But of himself, of needing too much, of loving too much.
He stepped closer slowly.
“I just…” His eyes met hers. “You matter so much to me that sometimes it freaks me out.”
Her breath caught.
He almost said it then.
She knew he almost did.
But once again, fear won.
Instead Logan pressed his forehead against hers and whispered, “I’m trying.”
And because she loved him too, she let that be enough for now.
#5
The fifth time almost happened the night before graduation.
Everyone was drunk except Y/N and Logan.
Dean was dancing terribly on a table.
Garrett was filming it for blackmail purposes.
Music shook the walls of the hockey house one last time.
And Logan suddenly hated all of it.
Not because he wasn’t happy. Because he was. He was too happy. The kind of happy that felt fragile, Temporary, Tomorrow everything changed.
Different cities.
Different careers.
Real life.
The thought made something ache violently in his chest.
Y/N found him outside on the back porch staring at the stars, “There you are.”
Logan smiled tiredly. “Needed air.”
She moved beside him, shoulder bumping his. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Lie.
She always knew.
“You’re scared,” she said softly.
He laughed once under his breath. “That obvious?”
“To me? Yeah.”
For a second he just looked at her. Really looked. At the girl who had become home so gradually he never even noticed it happening. Suddenly he couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t have her in it. That was something that terrified him more than hockey ever had.
“Y/N,” he started quietly.
Her eyes lifted to his.
The words sat right there.
Right there.
I love you.
But what if saying it changed things? What if it made the future real? What if she didn’t say it back?
So instead, like a coward, Logan kissed her. Slow, careful, like he was trying to say everything without words.
She melted into him instantly and somehow that made it worse.
Because kissing her felt too much like coming home.
+1
The one time Logan finally said it wasn’t dramatic.
There was no crowd, no grand gesture, no perfect movie moment.
It happened three months later after his first preseason NHL game.
He’d played terribly, missed calls from coaches piled up on his phone. Media criticism was already starting. By the time he got back to his apartment, he felt wrung out completely.
And there was Y/N sitting cross-legged on his kitchen counter eating cereal at midnight like she lived there. She looked up immediately. “Hey.”
And just like that—
Everything inside him unclenched.
Logan stood frozen in the doorway.
Tie loosened.
Exhaustion sitting heavy on his shoulders.
Y/N frowned slightly. “Bad game?”
“Pretty bad.”
She held out the cereal box toward him silently.
Logan laughed weakly.
Then crossed the apartment in three steps and pulled her into him so hard she squeaked.
“Logan—”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For taking this long.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him properly. “Taking what long?”
His hands tightened at her waist.
And suddenly he wasn’t scared anymore.
Because losing her would always be worse than saying it.
“I love you,” he said.
Y/N went perfectly still and Logan’s heart nearly stopped.
Then her entire face softened in the most beautiful way he’d ever seen.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Panic immediately kicked in. “Okay, wow, that sounded terrifying out loud, you don’t have to say it back right now, I just—”
She kissed him hard enough to shut him up.
When she finally pulled away, she smiled against his mouth.
“I love you too, hockey boy.”
And for the first time in his life, John Logan stopped feeling afraid of the future.
summary: when garrett gets clingy it’s clear he isn't up for hiding you anymore.
request: yes/no
warnings: drinking, swearing
word count: 2.02k
authors note: hi guys!! here is part 2 of problem, obviously don't have to read it as such like it can be a stand alone. but I know you guys wanted to see deans reaction so I thought I'd write it for you all.
It was never meant to go on as long as it did.
What started off as Garrett simply being a good partner to have in bed quickly became more than that when your meet-ups started happening at any time of the day.
At first it was just Garrett coming to keep you company in the library as you studied, but then he started coming over with take-outs and the promise of being good company before he’d spend the night.
By the time 3 months had gone by, you had seen him more than you had seen Dean.
Which was partially because he had been starting to see some mystery girl, but it was also because the blonde was sending you messages asking if you were free, whilst you were literally wrapped in Garrett’s arms “remind me to kill him.” Garrett grumbled as he heard your ringtone that you had for Dean play.
It was womanzier by Brittney Spears “you know you can’t do that.” You laughed as you pressed a kiss into Garrett’s cheek before you answered your phone.
You could hear the sounds of Logan and Tucker in the background, “please tell me you’re coming to the party tomorrow Squeak.” Dean borderline begged you as he leaned back into the couch.
It made you smile as you felt Garrett nip at the skin on your neck “of course I will.” You promised him as you sent the brunette boy a glare.
His lips grazed your sweet spot on your neck “I will drag you out of your apartment if you don’t.” He warned making Garrett smirk into the crook of your neck.
The blonde went to carry on but you cut him off “I promise I will be there now I will see you tomorrow, goodbye.” You practically threw your phone across the room once you knew you had hung up on him “I actually hate you.” You murmured as you pulled Garrett’s face up to yours so that you could kiss him.
On the other side of campus Dean sat in the living room with the boys “so is she coming?” Logan asked, not bothering to look up from the TV as he was playing against Tucker.
Dean nodded as he ran his fingers through his hair “she is but I think she’s seeing someone.” His words made both boys freeze.
In their entire time of knowing you, you had never once kept a single thing from Dean. So for him to have a theory about you, meant that it was something pretty big that you were hiding “you don’t think.” Tucker trailed off as he looked at the empted space where Garrett usually sat.
The blonde was quick to laugh “oh god no.” He shook his head “he gets under her skin like all the time she’d never.” Dean didn’t want to say it but he had a strange suspicion that the boys might have been right, even if he tried his hardest to believe otherwise.
The next day the party came and of course you were there, just like you had promised Dean.
But as the blonde hadn’t arrived yet, you were enjoying your peace and quiet in the hall.
Some guys spilled their drinks on the floor, Beau could be heard screaming the lyrics to some early 2000s song with other members of his frat as Logan and Tucker were in their very own game of beer pong where they just seemed to be drinking.
“Well there you are.”
You looked up from your solo cup to see Garrett grinning at you.
And unfortunately for you, the boy you swore you wouldn’t touch in public was looking really good in that moment.
You raised your cup “here I am.” You nodded as you leaned against the wall behind you.
Garrett stepped closer “you disappeared.” He mumured, shoving his phone into his pocket.
“I was avoiding getting beer on me.”
It made a laugh slip from his lips “smart.” He continued moving closer to you, until he was almost too close.
You immediately glanced around the hallway even though nobody was paying attention, “that nervous look should be offensive.” It made your eyes go back to the boy “you should be nervous too if we can’t find Dean.” You whispered back as you shook your head.
Garrett shrugged lazily “he’s always somewhere.” It was the truth, Dean had this ability to slip in and out of environments and atmospheres as if it were nothing.
“Garrett-”
The boy let his hands fall onto either side of you, locking you into the spot that you were in “we’ve been careful so relax.” His voice was soft as he reminded you that he was right.
Because the two of you had become experts at sneaking around, late night drives, locked bedroom doors and pretending not to sit too close together in public.
The only problem was that Garrett had started pushing the boundaries recently.
Touchier, looking at you for far too long when people were around.
And the problem was that you were just as bad “relax.” He mumbled as he tucked your hair behind your ear “you look really pretty tonight.” Your stomach flipped as he nodded.
“You can’t say things like that in public!”
Your cheeks were reddened as you turned away from him “we aren’t in public.” He pointed out as you sent him a glare “oh you know what I meant!” Garrett grined as he shook his head.
He apparently loved ruining your life because he leaned down to kiss you.
It was quick and soft, almost innocent even.
But it was enough to make your brain completely short-circuit “you’re insufferable,” you mumbled against his mouth.
“And you’re not complaining.”
Unfortunately, he was right.
You barely had time to shove lightly at his chest when voices echoed from the front door.
Dean laughed when Beau announced his arrival “oh my god,” you hissed, immediately ducking away from Garrett.
Garrett looked amused as he shook his head “you act like we’re committing crimes.” He crossed his arms as he smirked.
“We may as well be.”
Before he could answer, Dean’s voice carried through the house “you said Squeak was here?” He asked making your eyes widen “saw her in the kitchen last.” Logan answered.
You immediately straightened your clothes while Garrett leaned casually against the wall beside you like he hadn’t just been kissing you seconds ago.
Dean appeared around the corner, still laughing at something Tucker said.
Then he saw you.
Then Garrett.
Then his eyes landed on the fact that Garrett’s hand was still resting suspiciously low on your waist.
And suddenly Dean stopped as his eyes widened “oh shit.”Logan matched his react as he realised what the other boy was looking at.
You closed your eyes briefly as if you were bracing for impact.
Garrett, somehow still calm, lifted his cup “hey, Dean.” Dean looked between the two of you slowly.
As if his brain was buffering, struggling to process what was going on in front of him.
“What,” he said carefully “is happening here?”
“Nothing,” you answered way too fast.
At the exact same time Garrett said “we were talking.” And you swore you could have killed him.
Dean narrowed his eyes immediately “you two can’t even get your story straight.” He pointed between the two of you as your heart started pounding.
Around you, the party somehow continued, blissfully unaware of what the members of the house and you were dealing with.
Garrett’s thumb brushed against your waist absentmindedly.
Dean noticed.
And that was the moment everything completely fell apart as his eyes widened, “no.” You immediately stepped away from Garrett.
Dean rubbed his face with his hand “no!” He whined as he shook his head.
“Dean-”
“How long?”
Silence.
Which was apparently the worst possible response.
Dean stared at Garrett as he’d personally betrayed his entire bloodline.
In that moment, you actually wondered what would happen if he caught Summer in your position “you’re hooking up with my best friend?” Dean groaned as he scrunched his face in disgust.
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck “when you say it like that-” he trailed off as his eyes focused on the roof.
Dean laughed, like actually laughed “how else would you say it?” He crossed his arms as if there was a better way for this to end.
Beau had joined the group as he laughed, pointing between you and Garrett “you were right!” Beau patted the blonde boy’s shoulder as he let out a snort.
Dean turned to the brunette next to him “not the time.” He shook his head making Beau raise his hands in surrender.
Logan and John both laughed “knew we made the right call not betting on this.” It was now your turn to scoff, realising that you two may not have been as subtle as you once thought.
Dean turned back toward you, looking genuinely offended now “you kept this from me?” He pointed at Garrett as he cringed. Garrett opted to stay quiet until he was called in to be a part of the conversation.
You crossed your arms defensively, “because you’re reacting exactly like this.” You shot back as you knew that he was doing it because both of you were his friends.
“Because this is Garrett!”
Garrett looked insulted “I’m standing right here.” He reminded you both as he rested his hand on your shoulder.
Dean ignored him completely “he flirts with everything!” He whined as he didn’t want to think about this anymore, “so do you!” Garrett shot back as he pulled a face.
Tucker motioned to Logan and Beau to leave, but neither boy followed him.
Bastards.
You pinched the bridge of your nose “Dean can we please not act like he forced me into this?” You sighed as you begged the boy to remember that this was a mutual relationship.
Dean blinked, “wait.” He stopped you as he raised his hand to stop you.
He looked between the two of you again.
Then focused on Garrett and then looked back at you “oh my god,” he sounded like he wanted to wake up from this nightmare.
You and Garrett both gripped each other’s hands as if Dean was about to blow, “you actually like each other.” Neither of you spoke.
Garrett’s expression softened just slightly as he glanced at you, and honestly that made everything worse.
Because Dean saw that too “you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered as he threw his head back.
Beau leaned toward Logan nearby, careful not to speak loudly “this is kind of sweet.” He mumbled as he nodded, almost giving you his blessing.
Like it mattered.
Dean whipped around as he scowled “nobody asked you!” If looks could kill Beau would have been dead.
Then he looked back at Garrett with narrowed eyes “if you hurt her, I will ruin your life.” Dean knew that he couldn’t put his foot down because you and Garrett already seemed too far gone.
Garrett nodded once “that’s fair.” He knew that the threat was bound to come eventually.
Dean didn’t stop there though “and if I ever walk in on something traumatic, I’m transferring schools.” You burst out laughing despite yourself.
Dean looked exhausted already “why are you laughing?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he swore he was in his own hell.
“Because,” you grinned, “you’re being dramatic.” You teased the blonde boy who stuck his tongue out at you.
Dean rolled his eyes “I’m not dramatic. My best friend and my teammate have apparently been secretly in love behind my back.” He shot back like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.
The words hung in the air.
Silence.
Your face heated instantly.
Garrett choked on his drink.
Dean’s eyes widened slightly “oh my god, I was joking.” Nobody answered him, leaving him feeling like he was going to burn up.
Beau screamed somewhere behind him as he hit Logan’s back “Jesus christ kill me no!” Dean whined as he walked off, leaving the two of you next to each other.
“That went better than I thought.”
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