I Circle You
I've written reader as feminine and wanting traditional things (big house, kids, etc), swearing (maybe), drunk father dynamics, vague smut, reader is 20
Snapshots into John Logan's relationship
Not proofread, i have a migraine 😪
Logan has always known what his life would become after graduating. Everyone around him would move forward, go to the NHL or go work regular jobs, move around, settle down with their families. Not him though, he!d have to take care of his good-for-nothing, drunkard excuse of a father. Jeff would finally be free from the shackles of watching the old man drink himself sick into throwing up and then whining about his self-inflicted turmoil.
Jeff had a girl, and he deserved to marry her after everything he'd gone through so Logan could get through college, even if the degree was ultimately worthless, not like he could do anything with it. His life had been decided by fate at a very young age, it wasn't his own anymore once his father became a drunk. His life was boiled down to being a caretaker, a slave to the very man who had a hand in creating him.
Even though he hated what was coming, he couldn't bring it in himself to hate his father. He remembered being a kid, the man he used to be, the father who'd tuck him and Jeff into their beds at night, the father who said he loved him. He hadn't said that in years. Logan wondered if he still loved his dad or just the memories in his head that he clung to, hoping and dreaming that he'd wake up one day and the bad parts were all just dreams.
But they weren't, and Logan knew that, which is why he tried so hard, so hard, to not love you. You were air, you were his new dream, the one he could dream about without even sleeping. And he never feared that the dreams would make a turn for the worse because how could they? How could a dream with you in it ever be bad when you were the light shining in all of them?
You had been a freshman, which Dean would have warned him about, had you not been 20 and taken two gap years, something the blonde could commend you for. Your uncle was the coach, which would have scared Logan off immediately had you not been so...you.
Your smile was bright, so bright that Logan caught himself trying to make you laugh more and more when he was around you just to see it. Everyone noticed it, he'd deny it, say "no, no, she's coach's niece, i'd never go for it." But he would, and he did.
"Can I take you to dinner on Friday?" He'd asked you after practice one day, knees almost buckling when you looked up at him.
"Like a team dinner?"
"No, uh...just us. The two of us. Together." He'd asked swallowed, nervous now. He saw you process it before you smiled.
"If you're asking me out, do it properly."
"Y/n L/n, will you do me the honor of going out with me to dinner on Friday night?"
"Woah there, you're asking me out on a date, not proposing."
"I can't do anything right here, can I?" I scoff, smiling boyishly.
"I'd love to go out this Friday. Pick me up at 7:00?"
"It's a date."
And it was. If he'd been nervous before, all worries flew out the window once you opened the door for him on Friday looking worse for wear. Your nose was red, eyes the same shade to match. You'd looked confused.
"What are you- I texted you, didn't I?" You looked around for your phone, letting him step inside. You grabbed your phone, checking the messages before sighing. "I forgot to hit send..."
"Cold?" Logan asked, slipping his shoes off, setting the pink roses down. He knew you had a cat and you'd talked his ear off one day about how pretty much every flower was toxic to cats, minus roses and sunflowers and a few others. He'd pocketed that information for this.
"I dunno." You sniffled. "I think it's stress. Some girl was out sick, she sits next to me in physics, and then the next couple days I had a horrendous migraine." He frowned as you sat on the couch, curling in on yourself.
"Do you want me to leave or should I just order us some food and we stay in?" He asked, leaning against the wall that joined the living room to the kitchen, his eyes on you.
"I don't want to get you sick, or make you feel like you have-"
"I want to stay, if you want me to stay." He said. You pouted, eyes softening.
"I do." The minute you'd said it, he was stepping forward and sitting with you on the couch, pulling you into his arms and letting you melt into him.
"Did you take medicine?" He asked.
"I did, it didn't help much." You sighed.
"Maybe food will help, what are you in the mood for?"
"Something easy," you said tiredly, "like porridge or something." He wracked his brain before texting Tucker.
L: I'll pay you $50 if you can make something for Y/n, she has a cold.
T: I'll make it for free, what's she want?
L: Porridge?? She said something light.
T: 👍
That night, you two had laid on the couch and watched the first season of NCIS, the music and chase scenes were loud and he thought they'd bother you but no, ten minutes in and you were out like a light.
He sat up, slowly and carefully picking you up, taking you to your bed and covering you with your blankets. He turned on your fan, pecking your forehead softly, brushing a hand gently through your hair before pulling away to leave, pausing when you mumbled something.
"Huh?"
"Stay...stay here." You said, rolling over right after. He hesitated. You were sick, drugged up on painkillers and sleep medicine, not on your right mind at all. But he sighed. He wasn't going to do anything, obviously, and in the morning, if you yelled at him to leave, he'd do so. But your lips were in a pout, eyes cracked open just enough to look at him with a plea, and he folded.
He slipped off his jeans, staying in his shirt as he slid in next to you, rubbing you back once you curled into him, head tucked under his neck. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing in bliss. You smelled nice, you always did. Warm, some caramel mixed with something tangy, floral.
He felt a small shake on the bed, eyes peeking open to see your cat having jumped up to check on you. He recalled you saying your cat was always in tune when you were sick, had been since you were a kid, and he knew it was true when the cat took its place between your legs, purring loudly enough to where you could feel it. You'd told him how purring had calming effects on both humans and animals, something he had also tucked away for a time just like this.
The next week, when he showed up sick to practice, coach had sent him right on home to yours when you returned the favors and cared for him.
He'd taken that as a sign, a look into the future, that with you in the picture, didn't seem so bleak anymore. He took you to meet Jeff and his girl and after that went swimmingly. you met his dad. It had gone...as well as it could have.
Logan had confided in you that night, begged you to leave him since he could t give you what you wanted, picket fence, a husband that came home to you, maybe a few rugrats running around. He'd always be tied down, and he didn't want that for you, someone who was so passionate, so creative.
But you dug your heels into his grave and planted a garden there, a colorful array of wildflowers. He'd cried that night, right into your neck, and when you held him closer, he'd cried even more.
Logan came to yours a week later, looking...light.
"Good news?" You asked, sitting down on the couch.
"...Yeah. Like- the best news." He'd replied, sitting next to you. "My uh..my dad's going to rehab again, six month program." He swallowed. "And he said I should...he said I should apply to the NHL draft."
"Woah...I think you should," you said, always encouraging.
"I did." He chuckled. "Your uncle had the damn paperwork ready for me to just sign my name."
"So..." You bit your lip, looking up at him, squealing when he pounced on you, cupping your jaw as he kissed your mouth before trailing hot kisses down your neck.
"I'm going to the NHL, and you're coming with me."
"Oh, I am now, am I?" You mused, hands threading through his curls.
"Mhm, never letting you go, ever." He said, tilting your head back and kissing down the valley of your clothed breasts.
"Sounds clingy."
"You love when I'm clingy." He scoffed.
"Mm, true." You hummed, letting him nuzzle your neck once more before he pulled away.
"...I love you." He said, voice firm but quiet. You'd both said it before but this time was softer, intimate, the hopeful promise of a life beyond this.
Your lip quirked upward. "I love you too, Logan."
"If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?" He asked, making you chuckle.
"I'd say where's the damn ring-.." You trailed off when he rummaged in his shirt pocket before producing a small ring, the exact design you had saved on your pinterest board.
"Will-" He fumbled, quickly getting off the couch and onto his knees before realizing his mistake and lifting one knee, holding the ring up.
"Y/n L/n, will you to me the honor of being my wife?" He voice trembled slightly.
You'd blinked twice before rushing him and tackling him to the ground, making him laugh loudly before your lips were on his, his hands in your hair, ring set on the table as you kissed eachother. After pulling away, you murmured against his lips a quiet,
"I'd love to marry you, John Logan."
The ring slipped onto your finger, fitting perfectly. Like a puzzle piece that had been lost for years finally reunited with the original set. Nothing in this world was bleak anymore, because how could it be? How could anything be colorless anymore when you lit everything up with a glance, reviving his heart with a smile. Coloring his life in with your words.
