Feb 7
I lowkey wish I had those secret anonymous inboxers who send the most random/flirty asks and leave like a little emoji to signal which anon its from.
Thats what all the cool people on here have and its so cute😔
seen from India
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Yemen
seen from South Africa
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from Slovenia
seen from France
seen from Russia
I lowkey wish I had those secret anonymous inboxers who send the most random/flirty asks and leave like a little emoji to signal which anon its from.
Thats what all the cool people on here have and its so cute😔
𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 - 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚞
𝚃𝚠'𝚜: 𝙹𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚑𝚙𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚎 (𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚜𝚜), 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆, 𝚖𝚍𝚗𝚒, 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚕𝚖𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎
Don’t I look soooo cute and hypnotizable like this? 💕
Please tease and brainwash me 💕🌀
Pucks & pom-poms(2)
𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓈:John Logan X cheerleader! Reader
“You missed.”
Logan doesn’t even look up as he skates toward the corner to collect another puck.
“I scored.”
“Barely.”
“The goalie disagrees.”
“The goalie looked embarrassed for you.”
Several heads snap toward the sidelines.
Then laughter erupts across the ice.
You offer the team your brightest smile before lazily twirling a pom-pom over your shoulder.
“Don’t encourage him,” Garrett sighs from the bench.
Dean, however, looks entirely too entertained.
“Oh no,” he says. “Please continue.”
Tucker nearly falls over laughing.
Logan skates closer until he’s leaning against the glass separating the rink from the sidelines.
“So…”
You raise an eyebrow.
“So?”
“You always this annoying?”
“Only on weekdays.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“I know.”
His mouth twitches.
Then he laughs.
Actually laughs.
Which is unfortunate.
Because somewhere between the spilled coffee incident and arguing over whether hockey players counted as athletes or just men with expensive knives on their feet.
You’d started liking his laugh.
A lot.
More than was reasonable.
More than was smart.
More than you planned to admit to literally anyone.
Spoiler alert.
You failed.
Miserably.
But that was before.
Before the girl sitting in the front row.
Before the matching smiles.
Before everyone started whispering about John Logan having a girlfriend.
The rumors spread fast.
Almost impressively fast.
By the time practice started, half the cheer team knew.
By halftime, apparently the entire arena knew.
You found out when Mia casually said.
“Oh, that’s her.”
You looked up automatically.
And there she was.
Pretty.
Obviously.
Because of course she was.
Sitting near the front row wearing his jersey.
His number.
His name stretched across the back.
Like she belonged there.
Like she’d always belonged there.
Your stomach twisted.
Which was ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
Because you didn’t like John Logan.
Not like that.
Not even a little bit.
Probably.
“She’s really committing to the hockey girlfriend thing.”
Your teammate nudges your shoulder.
You force yourself to look away.
“She looks happy.”
Mia studies your expression.
“That wasn’t what I said.”
You shrug.
“I’m happy for them.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I am.”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
You roll your eyes.
“I’m not.”
The lie comes too quickly.
And you both know it.
Across the rink, Logan notices.
He notices everything.
He notices you aren’t standing near the tunnel anymore.
He notices you stopped yelling insults every time he missed a shot.
He notices you haven’t called him arrogant in almost a week.
He notices you don’t look at him the same way.
And somehow.
That bothers him more than it should.
“You’re distracted.”
Garrett’s voice pulls him back.
Logan tears his eyes away from the sidelines.
“I’m not.”
“You missed your last shot.”
“I scored.”
“Eventually.”
Logan grabs another puck.
“You’re annoying.”
Garrett snorts.
“That’s her line.”
“What?”
“That’s what she always says about you.”
Logan goes quiet.
Because that’s the problem.
He misses it.
The arguments.
The teasing.
The sarcastic comments after every practice.
The way you’d clap dramatically every time he missed.
The way you’d grin when he rolled his eyes.
The way talking to you had somehow become the easiest part of his day.
He misses you.
And he hates that he does.
“You have a girlfriend.”
Dean says it casually while reaching for his water bottle.
Logan looks over.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His eyebrows pull together.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dean gestures toward the sidelines.
“You’ve looked over there more than you’ve looked at your actual girlfriend tonight.”
Logan immediately looks away.
“I was watching the crowd.”
“The crowd isn’t wearing a cheer uniform.”
Tucker doesn’t even try to hide his grin.
“The game is happening on the ice, buddy.”
Silence.
Because Logan knows.
He knows exactly who he was looking for.
He knows whose reaction he waited for after every goal.
Whose voice he expected to hear making fun of him.
Whose smile he’d started searching for before every game.
And it wasn’t the person wearing his jersey.
That should probably mean something.
Unfortunately.
You hate that you still notice him.
You hate that your eyes still find him on the ice without trying.
You hate that when he scores, your first instinct is still to cheer.
You hate that you still know his habits.
The way he taps his stick twice before face-offs.
The way he fixes his gloves between shifts.
The way he looks toward the crowd after a good play.
The way his eyes always.
Always.
Find you.
Even now.
Especially now.
Except now…
You pretend not to notice.
Because what are you supposed to do?
Walk over and tell him watching someone else wear his jersey bothered you?
Tell him that hearing the word girlfriend felt like someone knocked the air out of your lungs?
Tell him that you’ve spent the entire week
avoiding him because somehow he matters more than he should?
Absolutely not.
After the game, you’re packing your things when his voice stops you.
“Leaving already?”
You freeze.
Of course it’s him.
You turn around slowly.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
His eyebrows pull together immediately.
“What does that mean?”
You force a smile.
The fake kind.
The polite kind.
The kind you’ve perfected over the years.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You ignored me twice this week.”
“You counted?”
His jaw tightens.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Because he doesn’t know.
Not really.
He just knows something feels wrong.
And somehow that bothers him more than it should.
“You’ve been weird.”
You let out a short laugh.
“I’m always weird.”
“Not like this.”
That annoys you.
Because he knows.
He always knows.
“You have a girlfriend, Logan.”
The words come out quieter than you intended.
His expression shifts.
Not because he didn’t know.
Because he didn’t expect you to say it.
“So?”
You stare at him.
“So nothing.”
You look down at your bag.
“Congratulations.”
He says your name.
You hate how your heart reacts to it.
“She seems nice.”
“You don’t mean that.”
You let out a laugh.
“I don’t know her.”
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
The silence that follows feels worse than an argument.
Because neither of you is yelling.
Neither of you is teasing.
Neither of you is hiding behind sarcasm.
For once.
You’re both dangerously close to being honest.
Logan wants to tell you that the jersey doesn’t matter.
That the girl wearing it isn’t the person he looks for in the crowd.
That every time he steps onto the ice, his eyes still search for the cheerleader who called him arrogant on their second meeting.
The one who made fun of his shots.
The one who somehow became part of his routine without him noticing.
He wants to tell you that lately, even when someone else is standing beside him
He’s still looking for you.
But he doesn’t.
Because he doesn’t understand why it matters so much.
And admitting that it matters at all would mean admitting something else.
Something worse.
Something terrifying.
You want to tell him you don’t care.
That you’re fine.
That this doesn’t hurt.
That seeing another girl wearing his jersey didn’t make your chest ache in a way you don’t know how to explain.
But your silence says enough.
Because maybe the worst part isn’t that John Logan has a girlfriend.
Maybe the worst part is realizing that if he wanted to hurt your feelings.
He already could.
Without even trying.
So you both keep pretending.
You’re not jealous.
He’s not confused.
There’s nothing here.
Nothing at all.
Even when his eyes still find you in every crowd.
Even when yours still find him first.
Even when everyone around you notices before either of you do.
Because she might have his jersey.
She might get the goodnight texts.
She might get to stand beside him after games.
But somehow.
When John Logan looks up after scoring , He’s still looking for you.
𝒜/𝓃: if you wanna be tagged feel free to ask !! 💘
𝒯𝒶ℊ𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉: @thecraziestcrayon
When will you wear wigs?
That ass hairy?
Of course it is
Foot specific turn on/off
Painted nails, specifically solid colors?
*MASSIVE* Turn on, I love painted nails, there’s a @juniper-petunia post I’ve reblogged a number of times that says “Black nail polish is like lingerie to me,” and I live by that shit. I’m *Always* pleased to see painted nails
oh nooo i hope nobody sends me asks….