[utopeian]

i can be more than just a pretty thing!

ija 21 she / her / they / them seasian libra ⋰˚☆

jason todd’s hand holder, john logan’s doe-eyed angel, & avid pinkpantheress lover

࿐𝄞𝄢℘ atla dc fashion film literature marvel music off campus photography

masterlist request guidelines ao3 reading & fic rec side blog buy me a coffee?

[haverst]

source / Haverst

[utopeian]

is it a crime to be unsure?

SUMMARY You're pure, kind, mature, divine, and too good for Peter Parker.

PAIRING tasm!peter parker x gender neutral!reader

GENRE angst, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers

WORD COUNT 2.4k

WARNINGS not proofread, college!au, peter deals with his grief over gwen, leads you on as a result, makes up for it by grovelling and begging, he's pathetic in this, told through peter's pov, reader is very patient with him, gender neutral pronouns are used, no use of y/n

AUTHOR’S NOTE i've seen tasm edits to who knows by daniel caesar, but i thought, let's flip it around. i loved writing this, so i hope y'all enjoy reading it, too! xx

Grief doesn’t leave. It’s an unassuming seed that grows in a crook of dirt; it creeps up on you and blooms, wrapping itself on your being. At first, it’s comforting like an embrace until the very same roots that hold you end up suffocating you. You feel it’s grip loosen, notice that its petals eventually cascade down, remnants that wither dry to a crisp. Remnants of what once was.

Fact: Peter Parker will always love Gwen Stacy.

Fact: Peter Parker loves you now.

Fact: Peter Parker has to decide if he’ll remain in a world that is now a memory, or move forward with a future he could have.

In some painful ways, you remind him of Gwen. Not in a manner of replication, but in your subtleties. You’re kind, yet determined. You’re divine, yet humane. You’re passionate in every single thing you do, big or small.

You’re too good for Peter. He knows that. He knows you deserve someone who can love you fully, someone who doesn’t carry the weight of blaming themselves for their dead girlfriend and all the other trauma he grips tightly in his palm to the extent of self injury, cradling it right by his beating, remorseful heart.

(It should’ve been Gwen’s heart continuing to pulse.)

Peter can’t help the void that engulfs his whole being from time to time, thinking about how much patience you’ve extended towards him. Despite all your reassurances, he never wants you to feel as if he were abusing your kindness. He doesn’t deserve it, he thinks.

“What’s on your mind, Pete?” You call out softly to his pondering figure from your spot on your sofa.

He’s remains silent for a bit across you, eyebrows still furrowed. A deep breath then a shaky exhale follows.

“I’m sorry.”

He really can’t help but space out sometimes, deep in thought and doubt. If it’s ever bothered you, you never brought it up.

He let you pick his brain apart in the past, but not always out of fear of breaking down in front of you. However—despite his best efforts to dance around the topic—you eventually guessed the correct topic his mind often drifts off to after being in his life for a little past a year. He hasn’t had any protests against you knowing that Gwen still graces his thoughts when he isn’t thinking of anything in particular, but does and he hates himself for it when he’s got you.

You were surely more than friends, but tightroping on the fine line between that and lovers. Neither of you are ready to address it.

“What for?” You know what for, he knows you do as he screws his eyes shut to will his unshed tears back in.

His head is in his hands, elbows digging into the muscle of his thighs. Peter can almost hear you scolding him for his backache prone posture.

“For being a waste of your time, for never being a hundred percent despite giving me your everything.”

He hears you sigh. “Peter, I told you, I never expected this to be simple for you.”

“But, it’s selfish! I’m selfish! I can’t keep being unsure, but I can’t help it because I don’t know how.” He’s desperate to confidently reciprocate your gentleness, anyone with a pulse can tell.

“I don’t blame you for it.”

He can’t help it when he snaps his head up to look at you with his bloodshot and cries out, “But it’d be easier if you did!”

He immediately regrets it when he notices your breathing pattern change out of shock and ache, he deduces. You huff and stand, not out of malice, but stubbornness. Peter follows suit, meeting you in the middle because that’s the least he can do.

(Peter wants to vomit when he makes an unintentional parallel of your tenacity and Gwen’s.)

“Have you ever considered that if I wanted it easy, I would’ve been gone by the time you told me about Gwen? About Spider-Man?” His mouth opens to protest, but you beat him to it.

“Peter, I knew that loving you meant coming second. To Gwen, to your vigilante duties, to New York. It wasn’t ideal to, but here I am. All I ask of you is to let me love you at all.” You laugh in defeat, weakly throwing your hands up.

Frozen in place, he realizes this is the first time you clearly admit to loving him. He tries not to linger on the possibility of you holding the urge back up until this moment.

“You love me.”

Your eyes widen, frantic. He can hear your heartbeat thump aggressively. “Peter, I—”

Despite his brain being aware that he had to tell you no, you never come second, he lets his mouth blab freely.

“Almost every single day, I go out and help everybody in need. Before—” he swallows the pain that blockades his throat. Why was she still a sensitive topic after three years?

“Before Gwen died, seeing people eased was enough for me. Seeing that I made a change was enough. When I forced myself to go back out there after watching her speech, it wasn’t the same. It could never be. Nods and thank you’s no longer meant anything to me. Before I knew it, I was numb. To fear, anger, sadness. I let all of it control me, in a way.” He lets out a wet, humorless chuckle.

“Despite faking my bravery, I was sure I’d never find peace or love at all again.”

“But, you came in and started to make me feel loved like it’s nothing, like it’s simple. Even,” Peter takes a hefty breath to continue, “with… with Gwen, the circumstances were so different, but I could feel my mere presence affect the way her life operated. Despite her still being the girl I fell in love with, I knew I was taking a toll on her.”

“It’s not that she made me feel like I was hard to love, even if I was, but I felt the limits. Even then, I knew I wasn’t deserving of her. I was… it was a lot. Complicated, for many reasons.”

He pauses, finally noticing you watching him unravel in front of you with your usual concerned, yet amorous gaze that he can’t help but melt under every single time. It makes him ill knowing that the look is only reserved for him, despite roping you along like the coward he is.

“You…” it takes everything in him to look away from you to continue. “I was terrified to let you in because it meant the possibility of losing another person because of me. Even if May would tell me it wasn’t my fault, deep down, it’ll always feel like it is.”

You can tell this is deeper than just Gwen, that it went as far as Harry and Uncle Ben. Why was it that the people he loved, he could never save? God, he’s sick at the mere reminder.

Realization rules over his body as he takes a step forward closer towards you.

“I’m so, so, so sorry. For making you wait, for hurting you... for making you come second. You never asked for anything in return except for me to accept your love.”

Before he knows it, his legs grow weak with guilt, abruptly collapsing to his knees. You, despite your panic, try to coax him to get up, unfamiliar with his unfiltered display of vulnerability. Your efforts are in vain, Peter’s build being much more sturdy and stubborn than your own.

All you can see is the top of the brunet’s head, heaving as if he had just swung from a skyscraper to a fire escape, to and fro. Darkened droplets start to decorate your sock-cladded feet slowly, then at full force.

“Peter…”

Out of your second nature, your palm cards through his slightly outgrown hair. He’s a scrap of metal to your precise magnet touch, responding desperately as if this were the last time you’d ever gently lay a hand on him. The scratch of your nails against his scalp alleviates some heaviness from his spirit.

(You had told him how much you liked the hairstyle on him; he’s maintained it ever since.)

The head on his shoulders is weighed down, but he wills himself to look up at you with his teary, tired eyes. The pads of your thumbs dab away the tear paths on his cheeks. The tears he left start seeping into the cotton of your socks.

“I couldn’t even do the one thing you wanted from me and it’s still for my best interest.”

Despite your constant reiterations of reassurance, you’d never told him you did all of this out of the divinity of your heart because, “I love you, Peter.”

He chokes on his sob, forehead collapsing on your stomach as he embraces the backs of your thighs. You start feeling the salty tears extend to your shirt, too.

“I’m a lot.” Peter pathetically negotiates with you, hinting an out for you despite all his blubbering.

You fiercely don’t take it because of course you wouldn’t; you’ve made it this long loving him, once you both find your footing, the rest of your life is nothing.

“So am I. Yet, you’re here.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not a lot.”

The chuckle you let out is fond, but Peter can sense the underlying frustration. He wants to so badly make up for all his shortcomings, but he knew that it’d be a lifelong process to do so. He’s more than willing to change, he’ll make sure of that.

You eventually remove your hand from his hair to pry his limbs away, which he pouts at but is slightly taken aback when you sink to his level, finding your solace right across him.

“Then it’s only fair for me to say that you aren’t a lot either, no? You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle.”

There it is, one of the million reasons why he loves you. You knew how to put him in his place, but never had any malice in your words.

It wasn’t lost on you that he hadn’t said the three words back, but you knew better than to expect it right away, but—

His warm palms gently holding your face pulled you out of your trance. The words that leave his lips were so quiet that if you weren’t right in front of him, you would’ve assumed you were hallucinating.

“I love you, too. I’ve been in love with you for quite some time.”

The kiss presents itself as an invitation to imagine your shared future: quiet afternoons with sun rays and lingering fingers dancing on your skin, Peter characteristically late and out of breath to every other date but properly makes up for it throughout the day that you completely forget about it, sinful whispers and heavy sighs, a ring that shines when the sun hits the crystal.

You pull back, pleased that the look of love is reflective on both your features.

“Good.”

Peter never stopped visiting her grave, except for the week you told him you loved him. It was a necessary distance; he won’t discredit that this time.

He situates in the usual spot in front of her, demeanor drastically lighter than the previous times he had stood here.

“Hey, Gwen. Sorry I haven’t seen you in a bit. I was… dealing with some things. Unresolved things.”

“I—I’ve told you about it before. The day we met, I went to you as soon as my shift ended.”

He provides her a brief refresher: how you entered the school library with the manager, eyes bouncing around to observe the crooks of the aged bookshelves, watching you linger on him longer than expected, then the emergency exits right after; just the right amount of curiosity and on guardedness. He isn’t sure if he’s hallucinating the glow that seems to surround you.

Any room became brighter with you in it.

It was ironic that the job Peter landed was at a library. Where he handled books and pages with so much care and precision and attention, yet could not reflect that in the actions of his alter ego nor towards you. At least, initially.

He didn’t know what to do since Gwen was all he had known up until this point. The slightest sliver of interest towards someone else sent Peter into a spiral because he was so sure they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. It became true for at least one of them.

Of course he went to her out of guilt and frustration. He thought he didn’t get to move on because it wasn’t fair to Gwen, because it was his fault she never got to live the life she wanted, so why does he get to live on with his?

One can no longer assume a dead person’s words nor thoughts, but Peter knew her so well to the extent that Gwen would’ve wanted him to continue despite it all. He internalizes that now; not just for her, but for you now, too. Most especially for you.

“I have a feeling you two would get along. I’ll let you meet her once I get my shit together.” He cracks a sheepish smile, knowing her spirit will soon find a way to smack the back of his head for how long he’s been playing with your heart. God knows he deserves that at the very least.

“I love them. I…” He’s unsure if it’s appropriate to admit, but she deserves to know. She would’ve loved to hear all about you.

“I can see myself getting married to them one day.”

He finally unroots himself from the spot he was standing on to crouch by her grave to offer the bouquet of flowers he was anchoring onto.

“I’ll love you always, Gwen,” he lets his fingers graze her name engraved in stone. A gentle smile tugs on his lips. “But I’m ready to move forward.”

He’s back on his feet when a gust of wind picks his words up, lost to the city. For a second, he thinks he hears her respond.

Take care of them.

“I will.”

Dried, fallen petals aren’t meant to be clutched, for when you open your palm, dust is all you’ll return to. While you watched the breeze blow the debris away, the flora continued to flourish, not a care in the world if you noticed or not; it was a matter of time spring came once more, anyway.

[utopeian]

writer’s block so bad i have to check my three to four year old docs for inspiration

[puckmegirl]

UPTOWN GIRL (ft. John Logan)

blurb: a rich uptown girl with car issues keeps visiting the small garage off the highway where the owner’s super hot son works.

warnings: fem!reader, fluff, lowk ditzy!reader but not really, yummy mechanic!logan.

Logan heard you before he saw you.

He memorized the sound of those heels clicking against the rough pavement like a second heartbeat. After all, not many girls around this side of town wore vintage Prada pumps to an off-highway garage.

And even if they did, they most certainly did not own a BMW 6er f12 convertible.

Logan’s older brother Jeff was leaning against the workshop desk and sipping on a can of Coke when he saw you strut in. He sighed, “Here comes Lottie.”

The nickname was a running joke between the brothers. Jeff had muttered it under his breath when you first visited the shop and asked a question about diesel gas. He took one look at you and knew you were a clueless, rich girl who shouldn’t be visiting garages such as theirs.

Logan hadn’t entertained the nickname so much. He thought it was unnecessarily mean. Besides, Lottie was always a sweetheart in Princess and the Frog.

Jeff turned on his heels and disappeared into the garage’s office, leaving Logan to deal with you on his own.

Logan put down a spare part he was working on and turned around, leaning back against the counter.

You waved excitedly with a cheerful grin. “Hi, Logan!”

He smiled politely, “Hey…”

“Did you save my girl?” You asked, batting your lashes.

Logan nodded, “She’s all fixed up for you,” he said, walking over to the wall of car keys hung on hooks to retrieve yours.

You clapped your hands, “Yay!”

He chuckled whilst shaking his head. You got happy over the simplest of things. He thought it was endearing.

You walked over to your car. Nebula, as you called her. A fitting name for a sleek, black convertible with dark purple leather upholstery and shiny silver rims.

Logan came over and handed you your keys. “You wanna try her out?”

You nodded and unlocked your car before opening the driver’s side door. No beeping. Perfect.

You beamed at Logan. “You did it!”

He smiled with an easy laugh, feeling proud of his work. In reality, your car issue was a minor one; the door sensor just needed a replacement. Nothing about it required a lick of rocket science, and yet you looked at him as if he hung the stars in your galaxy.

You put your designer bag into your car and bent over to fish out your wallet. Logan stared at your body for a second before he caught himself, clearing his throat and looking away respectfully.

You stood up straight, holding your leather wallet between both hands, looking at him with a doe-eyed expression.

He scratched the back of his neck and gestured for you to follow him to the counter. The gritty sounds of his boots crunching the gravel below and the rhythmic click click click of your heels echoed through the garage.

Logan went around the counter and pulled out a receipt and wrote down the service you needed with the price. He slid the piece of paper to you but you just kept looking at his face with a smile. He blinked before realizing you didn’t care for the price. Right, he thought. Rich girls don’t worry about those things.

“Cash or card?” He asked.

You held up your metal black credit card.

Logan pursed his lips and nodded as he pulled out a card reader. You tapped your card without even glancing at the screen and clapped your hands when the machine beeped in satisfaction.

“Thank you, Logan,” you told him kindly.

He shrugged politely, “It’s no problem.”

You smiled at him. He returned it, “Do you want your recei—“

Before he could even hand you your proof of service, you were walking back to your car. He nodded to himself and stuffed the receipt into the cash register.

He watched as you exited the garage, waving at him enthusiastically as you drove by. He gave a small wave back.

+

A week later, your BMW pulled into the garage whilst Logan was working under a car.

He didn’t hear the sound of your heels this time as he had headphones in, blasting a classic rock song. He felt a shadow looming nearby so he turned and saw your heels appear. He paused and rolled out from under the car, meeting the sight of your broad smile peering down at him.

“Hi, Logan!”

“Hey…” He sounded confused. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced around, “Didn’t you pick up your car last week?”

You nodded. “Yep. But my AC is broken now…” You pouted.

Hm, Logan thought. He sat up, “Oh, I didn’t see that when I did the diagnostic last week—“

“Must be a new issue, then. These foreign cars are all funny,” you replied, tilting your head.

He cleaned his hands with a rag before standing up. He had oil stains on his shirt and just a little smudge on his face. You thought he looked so ruggedly handsome.

“Let me take a look,” he said and you stepped out the way for him to crank open your hood and inspect the situation.

As he got to work, you leaned against your car and watched. After a moment, you asked, “How was your weekend?”

People don’t usually talk to Logan when he repairs their cars. Especially not pretty, rich girls like you.

“It was good, played hockey, worked here in the shop,” he responded casually.

You nodded along even though he couldn’t see you.

“Did you win?” You asked.

He laughed, an amused sound. “Yeah…yeah, we won.”

You clapped your hands, “Yay!”

Logan laughed again. It was cute, he thought, how you always clapped at good news.

“You like hockey?” He asked, looking over your hood to meet your eyes.

You hummed, “I only recently got into it. My family prefers watching polo, golf, or tennis.”

Rich people sports, he wanted to say. That made sense.

“Recently, huh?” He said instead, ducking his head to keep working. “Who should I thank for putting you onto hockey?” He joked.

You smiled shyly and said, “You…”

His hand paused. The parts of your car suddenly looking like alphabet soup moving in jumbled letters. He lifted his head to meet your gaze again. But before he could manage a reply, you changed the subject. “Is it broken beyond repair?” You asked, turning your attention to your car parts.

He snapped out of his daze and shook his head. “Uhh, no. No, you just need AC coolant.”

“Is that an easy fix?” You asked.

He nodded, “Yeah, the easiest.” He said.

You smiled in relief. “Thank goodness I have you fixing my car,” you told him.

He smiled at that.

He fixed your car, you chirped out a “Thank you, Logan!”, you paid without looking at the bill, and waved goodbye as you left.

“That the BMW girl again?” Logan’s dad asked as he stepped out the office.

“Yeah,” Logan replied, wiping his hands.

“Lottie back again so soon?” Jeff teased. Logan rolled his eyes at the jab.

“You overcharge her?” His dad asked.

Logan looked at him, “Why would I do that?”

His dad shrugged, “Luxurious car fee?”

Logan squinted his eyes, “We don’t do that.”

Jeff piped in, “We could. She doesn’t even check her receipts.”

Logan looked between his dad and brother, “So what? We charge her fair and square.”

His dad shared a looked with Jeff before he went back inside the office.

+

Week after week, you came by to the garage. First it was an oil change, then a rim replacement, then a loose window ribbon, then a tire with low air, and so on.

By week 7, Logan had had enough. It’s not that he didn’t like seeing you, no. Far from it. He actually enjoyed your company. He often looked forward to when you’d come by and say Hi, Logan! in that sing-song voice of yours, your joyful smile, and innocent questions.

But now he was noticing a pattern.

So when you rolled in that Thursday night like clockwork, he didn’t go up to you. He stayed by the workshop desk and watched you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hi, Logan!” You beamed with a gleeful wave.

But upon meeting his stern expression, your smile faltered and your hand slowly dropped back to your side. You looked around the empty garage before walking over to him in hesitant steps. The sound of your heels filled the space between the two of you. You stopped in front of him and flattened down your skirt, a nervous tic of yours that you never noticed before.

“Y/n,” he said, his tone serious. “This is the seventh time you’ve come to the garage.”

You nodded, “Nebula keeps acting up—“

“No, she doesn’t.”

You looked at your feet. No smile, no lively clapping.

His arms uncrossed and he stepped closer. He wasn’t angry. No, it wasn’t that. Logan isn’t an idiot. He knew. He knew you had a crush on him, knew the only reason you showed up time and time again was just to spend time with him. Why else would you come? He knew families like yours had their own repairmen at fancy dealerships who could fix any problem. You didn’t need to come into his family’s garage.

Yet, you did.

Logan figured it out by week 4. But truth be told, he never mentioned it because a part of him liked being around you too. He liked hearing your upbeat voice, the familiar tap of your heels, the sound of your laugh. So he stayed quiet, he fixed your tires, and refilled your car’s oil. He went along with it. Because he liked your company just as much as you liked his.

Unable to lie to him, you lifted your head and met his eyes. “I did those things to my car on purpose.” You confessed quietly.

Logan blinked. His stance eased at your admission and he looked at you with soft eyes.

“I watched a YouTube video on how to drain AC coolant,” you added. “And drove around until my tires lost some of its pressure, and—”

“Y/n,” he held your chin with his hand. “You didn’t have to do all that to see me.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at him. He smiled gently, “I…like seeing you. With or without Nebula.”

“You do?” You asked.

He nodded, “I do.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. But you stayed. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. Not hungry or desperate, just a soft sealing; a mutual understanding—I like you and you like me.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. You looked at him with a honeyed, dazed expression. He smiled down at you and pecked your lips once more. You weren’t a spoiled, rich girl to him. Not clueless or ditzy. You were just…you. A sweetheart with a crush on a cute guy who would do anything to see him. You were Lottie.

He glanced behind you at your car. He pulled away with a reluctant sigh, “What did you do to her this time?”

You smiled sheepishly, “I jammed my gearshift…”

He chuckled softly, both amused and fondly exasperated by you. “Okay…let me take a look.” He said, lacing his hand with yours and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss.

omg first off campus post, i’m nervy xx

[utopeian]

ABSOLUTE CINEMA

[666eyed]

john logan x rinkside reporter!reader inspired by seb vettle if yk what im talking abt HAHA

The fluorescent hum of the campus broadcast truck was your sanctuary, a cramped oasis of glowing monitors, tangled cords, and shouting student producers parked just outside Briar University’s arena. As a student sports journalist, this was your entire world. While other college kids were out at parties, you lived for the analytics, the frantic scratching of notes on your clipboard, and the strategic chess match played out on ice. You took pride in your growing reputation around campus as a serious reporter, though you were admittedly soft-spoken, always trying to let your work speak for itself rather than drawing attention to yourself.

Which was exactly why surviving the two minutes after the final buzzer with John Logan was your biggest professional hurdle.

Briar’s star forward was a force of nature on the ice, but off it, he was a chaotic, smiling menace. He didn't just participate in your student media interviews; he completely hijacked them. While you approached the media flash zone with strict timelines, heavy clipboards, and hyper-focused queries, Logan approached it like a late-night talk show where he was the host and you were the prized guest. He had this infuriating, effortless charisma. The kind of guy who spent more time teasing you about your notes and trying to peek at your clipboard than actually discussing the game strategy.

Tonight was no exception. The campus arena was still vibrating from a wild, double-overtime thriller, the student section a roaring blur of blue and gold behind the glass. You stood rink-side, nervously adjusting your headset and trying to hear your student director over the din. “Thirty seconds, keep it tight,” the voice crackled in your ear.

You tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, smoothed down your jacket, and watched as Logan skated over. He stopped hard, spraying a light dusting of ice against the plexiglass before leaning over the barrier with his elbows propped up, looking less like an exhausted athlete and more like a guy pulling up to a campus bar counter. He was grinning already, his helmet tilted back, his dark eyes locked onto you before the camera even started rolling.

Your cheeks immediately warmed up, but you focused on the lens as the red light snapped on.

"I'm here rink-side with John Logan," you began, your voice quiet but clear. "John, a chaotic game tonight, but you managed to pull off the win in double OT. What are your plans for the rest of the season?"

Logan didn’t even look at the camera. Instead, he leaned down, tilting his head to look directly at your notes, a brilliant, teasing smile spreading across his face.

"What are your plans?" he countered smoothly.

You blinked, your breath catching. A shy smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you instinctively pulled the clipboard a little closer to your chest to hide it from him. "My plans are to finish this interview, John," you murmured softly, looking up at him through your lashes. "Seriously, looking ahead to the playoffs—"

"Because if your plans include celebrating tonight," he interrupted, completely unbothered by your professional boundary, pointing a thick, gloved finger at you with a chuckle, "you've got my phone number. How come I don't get a text from you? I check my phone after every single period. Nothing. It's heartbreaking, really."

A bright pink flush crept up your neck. You let out a soft, embarrassed huff, looking down at your shoes for a brief second to gather yourself before looking back up at him. "We are live on the student network, Logan," you whispered, trying to brush it off with a demure, polite nod. "And I am a professional journalist."

"A professional journalist who ignores my texts," he nodded solemnly, turning to face the camera lens as if appealing to the entire student section. "Very harsh. Back to you guys in the studio, I guess."

That interview set the tone for the rest of the semester. As the winter dragged on, interviewing Logan became less of a traditional sports report and more of a weekly comedy routine that the journalism department absolutely loved. No matter how hard-hitting your questions were regarding puck possession or shooting percentages, Logan treated your microphone like a prop and your serious queries like mere suggestions.

By mid-season, the campus was tuning into the post-game coverage just to watch him try to crack your quiet, stoic exterior. You tried changing your strategy, opting for a pre-practice segment to catch him before the adrenaline of a game took over, but it was useless.

"John, huge game next Friday against the top seed," you said one afternoon, holding the mic out across the ice barrier during a Tuesday practice rerun, trying your best to sound official. "They have a notoriously aggressive defensive line. How are you preparing for that focus-wise?"

Logan paused, leaning his entire weight onto his hockey stick, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he looked you up and down.

"Well, I'm actually more worried about my focus right now," he chuckled, gesturing loosely toward you. "I really like that dress you were wearing last week. Seriously, it was great. Maybe wear it again on our date? What do you think?"

Suddenly, a loud chorus of rowdy barks and obnoxious whistling echoed from the ice behind him. You looked up to see a trio of his teammates leaning against the boards just out of the camera's frame. Garrett Graham was grinning ear to ear, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Ooh, a date! Write it down in your little notebook, Logan's getting a date!" Garrett hollered, loud enough for the microphone to definitely pick it up.

Next to him, Tucker was practically leaning over the glass, waving his arms dramatically to hype Logan up. "Shooters shoot, baby! Tell her about the dress, Logan! Don't fumble the play!"

Dean was leaned back against the bench, shaking his head with a massive, teasing smirk, crossing his arms. "You're embarrassing us, Logan," Dean called out, though his eyes were full of amusement. "She's out of your league, man, give up the ghost!"

Logan didn't even look back at them. He just flashed a wide, entirely unbothered grin, lazily throwing a hand up to give his teammates a backwards middle finger while keeping his eyes entirely locked on you.

You lowered the microphone slightly, your face burning a deeper shade of crimson as the hockey team's collective teasing amplified the warmth in your chest. You bit your lower lip to hide your shy smile, shaking your head gently as you tried to brush the chaos off. "Logan, that was just for an awards banquet. And there is no date."

"Not with that attitude," he shot back, ignoring Garrett and Tucker's loud, artificial gasps in the background. He gave you a quick, playful wink that made your heart do a chaotic little flip. "But write down in your little notes there: 'Logan says he will score two goals next Friday if she wears the dress.' Put it in writing, come on. Let me see you write it."

But the lighthearted character couldn't stay on forever. The true test of your composure came three weeks later on a brutal night. Briar suffered a heartbreaking, messy 4-0 shutout on home ice. The campus stadium, usually roaring, was dead quiet, and the post-game energy in the corridor was heavy, suffocating, and tense.

You felt a genuine lump in your throat. Because as much as you loved the journalism side, you loved the sport first, and you knew how much a loss like that stung a college locker room. When Logan walked out to the media flash zone, the usual swagger was missing. His hair was damp with sweat, his jaw was tightly clenched, and there was a fresh, angry bruise forming near his cheekbone.

You wanted to give him an out, a real, respectful question to let him address the tough night with dignity without forcing him into a corner.

"I'm here with John Logan following a difficult night on the ice," you said softly, your voice dropping to an even gentler, quieter register than usual, offering him a look of quiet empathy. "John, as we have seen today, what do you do to reset when you're having an off day on the rink?"

Logan looked down at you. The guarded, frustrated look on his face completely melted the second he caught your eyes. He saw the genuine, soft care behind your microphone, and the heavy tension in his shoulders visibly dropped, replaced by that familiar, softer glint of mischief.

He leaned close to the microphone, his voice dropping to a gentle, quiet register that felt entirely too intimate for a live campus broadcast.

"Just seeing you already makes it better."

You froze. The ambient noise of the stadium seemed to vanish into a blur. He wasn't smirking this time; he just looked at you, letting the silence hang on the air for a second too long, entirely comfortable holding your gaze while the camera rolled.

Your face flamed under the studio lights. "Back... back to the studio," you stammered softly, completely losing your place on your clipboard for the first time in your college career, your eyes darting away as you tried to hide your flustered expression.

The second the student cameraman gave the "clear" signal, indicating the broadcast had cut away, Logan didn't immediately skate back to the locker room. He stayed right there at the glass, tapping his knuckles against the top of the barrier to pull you out of your daze.

"I'm serious, you know," he said, the classic, unbothered smile slowly returning to his face, though his eyes remained incredibly steady. "You have the number. Use it. Let's get out of here."

You looked down at your notes, a genuine, shy laugh finally escaping your lips as you clicked your pen shut. You gave him a small, demure shrug, brushing it off one last time. "If I text you, Logan, will you actually answer my questions about the power play next time?"

"I'll give you a full breakdown of the playbook," he grinned, starting to skate backward toward the tunnel, pointing a finger at you. "But only if you wear that dress."

written by 666eyed, do not repost anywhere else.

[utopeian]

oh i love this

[wyvern-witch]

𝕊𝕒𝕪 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕔𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕖

[thatbitchsimone]

[utopeian]

i have writer’s block again. end my agony

[bongjoonhoe]

La Chimera (2023) dir. Alice Rohrwacher

[rosierecs13]

𝜗𝜚 John Logan Recs 2

⭒ Masterpost ⭒ 06/06/2026

⭒ Books Masterlist ⭒ TV Shows Masterlist

⭒ Off Campus Masterlist

⭒ Part 01

Off the Record, part 2, part 3 | @finalgirlfiction

you're hopelessly in love with Garrett whose your best friend's boyfriend, so when you were cornered about your love life you came up with a lie that eventually started everything.

Sorry, Wrong Number | @minminn22

When Briar University's infamous right wing, John Logan, accidentally texts the wrong number, he expects a quick apology and a dead end. Instead, he finds a witty, sarcastic girl who isn’t afraid to put him in his place.

Legendary Lovers | @vampysuccubus

After Johns hard training you and him want to have intimacy but you need to admit that you can’t finish during… And theres when things change to a better way.

Imagine | @burgundysnow

THE LOVE ADVICE | @messylxve

the 3 times he got love advice + the 1 you did

too pretty to keep secret, part 2 | @rinvvii

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

the boyfriend in row three | @/rinvvii

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

Skating on the edge | @schinug

Secretly learning to ice skate, partying with my friends, and having a huge crush on John—it was just bound to go wrong.

we had it all. | @toonice113

Logan realizes his crush for Hannah isn't actually a crush, but is it too late? or, you realize that Logan has a crush on Hannah through little interactions and decide to distance yourself only for Hannah to make Logan realize his mistake and try to get you back before it's too late.

does it hurt? | @uwtloml

in which everyone knows that john logan is head over heels with you, and it’s not like you don’t feel the same way, so what’s the issue?

off limits, part 2 | @chanelnara

Logan knows better than to fall for his best friend’s little sister.

game misconduct, part two | @pucksandpower

one random night. No names. No consequences. Except three weeks later you’re standing outside a locker room and the guy who had you pinned against a door is introduced as your fiercely protective older brother’s best friend. The same brother who makes his teammates promise to treat you “like a sister.” The same brother who will absolutely commit murder if he finds out. So obviously the only logical solution is to keep sneaking around behind his back. What could possibly go wrong?

Five Times Logan Almost Said I Love You | @rosiewrites28

five moments where Logan nearly confesses his feelings — and the one time he finally does.

she looks so perfect | @qtjohnlogan

john logan was your best friend and the guys, allie, and hannah were your family. everyone knows that you had liked logan for forever but you knew that he didn't feel the same way about you. logan was with grace and you respected it. you couldn't even hate her for it - she's perfect and she's perfect for him. it's okay though, your family's got you.

Friends | Looking after you | @drunk-on-melancholy

Slipping in the shower leads to you calling your oldest friend John to help, but for the first time you see him as more than a friend.

Tiny Librarian | @dilaurentispuckbunny

You were stranded at the library in the pouring rain, the last shuttle bus had left just as you got there, you text your brother, Garrett Graham, if he could pick you up after practice. You'll never guess who he sends instead.

one of many days | @utopeian

You’re avoidant, Logan’s anxious. Somehow, you both make it work.

Toxic | @sunnydilaurentis

in which your brother’s best friend, john logan, helps you find yourself after a toxic breakup.

Savior By Night | @dreamsdump

Picture Me in the Trees | @queensunshinee

Please Stop The Music. | @sasaririri

She’s been in love with her best friend for longer than she’d like to admit. He’s been hung up on someone he can’t have. One Halloween party later — everything falls apart in the best and worst way possible.

Noise | @sanguineterrain

John Logan smells like apples and lends you pencils and tells you it’s okay to wear your headphones in his car. He brings you to Dean and Beau’s party after you misunderstand who’s invited. He’s your friend now, apparently. You’re starting to think that maybe you don’t just want him as your friend, though.

plowed down!, part 2 | @seafoammm

you’re the captain of the briar girl’s volleyball team, leading your team through the ncaa volleyball semifinals in the hopes of reaching the championship. and you do achieve that, but not after experiencing the most insane introduction with john logan, a man you hadn’t known to exist until now

Clinical notes on loving him incorrectly | @puckingcuckbunny

They were never casual enough to survive pretending they were.

Falling for ya | @/puckingcuckbunny

two times John Logan watched you faint, and the one time he realised loving you meant learning how to be scared without letting it consume him.

Jealousy is best served secretly | @/puckingcuckbunny

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.

I pucking love you | @/puckingcuckbunny

Dating John Logan came with many benefits, great sex, cute puppy dog eyes, free coffee and an eternal study buddy. But the one thing that you couldn’t align on- hockey.

[utopeian]

thank you for including my fic! xx

[utopeian]

i hit 200+ followers ahhh! thank you for enjoying my writing :) more to come xx

[victoria-pedretti]

Mika Abdalla as Allie Hayes OFF CAMPUS Season 1, Episode 8 — "The Line Change"

[kristina100000]

incredible picture found on the interwebs i had to share with everypony

[utopeian]

same old

SUMMARY For as long as you've been together, you'd think that it'd be muscle memory for Jason to lock the door.

PAIRING jason todd x gender neutral!reader

GENRE fluff, humor, suggestive, established relationship

WORD COUNT 751

CONTENT not proofread, non-canon compliant, nothing too explicit, implied high school sweethearts reader & jason, no use of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE requested!

You giggle breathlessly into the unbreakable kiss Jason had brought you into thirty minutes ago. His hands caress your hips like it’s his lifeline while your fingers twirl around tufts of his dark hair. Unconsciously shifting in your position, you brush over his clothed crotch, making him groan and grip your sides hard. Something ignites in you at his touch, pushing your body incredibly closer to his.

Faintly in the distance, pattering footsteps against the floorboards approach the hallway. Unfortunately, neither of you hear the inevitable coming due to your heavy sighs and lips smacking against one other’s.

Suddenly, the room door dramatically swings ajar as if it were palace gates opening for the arrival of royalty.

“Oh, little wing! We need ext— oh my god!”

Your mouths part unwillingly and Jason pulls you to his chest instinctively to protect you from Dick’s sight, crankily grumbling. Simultaneously, his built back faces you both, but he’s still rooted by the doorway.

Your boyfriend’s voice booms, “Dickhead!”

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to this,” Dick brings up a hand to soothe the headache manifesting in real time for him. He huffs into the corridor he just came from.

“And for as long as you’ve been together, you’d think to lock the door, no?”

You move your head from side to side as you consider his words, forehead brushing against Jason’s collarbone. “He has a point.”

Dick throws his hands up, his aggravation only amplifying as he does. “Thank you!”

A hand that was resting on your waist comes up to very gently swat the back of your head. It does no actual damage, but your head still shoots up from the comfort of his proximity and you scoff in disbelief.

Jason gives you a look. “Don’t encourage him.”

The same hand snaps twice behind you to get his brother’s attention. Your face is still heated from embarrassment, but you will yourself to separate from Jason for everyone’s sake, smoothly removing yourself from his lap. He surprisingly has no qualms, more focused on telling off the person who disturbed his alone time with you. That, and you also wish to watch the mess unfold firsthand.

Dick tentatively shuffles before assuming the position of facing you both. He lets out a sigh of relief, visibly deflating.

Jason points at him with vigor reserved for his siblings, “And you need to learn how to knock. First, you make a fist, right? And then, you lift it to the door, and—“

“Alright, alright. I know how to knock.”

“Then remember how to next time.”

He rolls his eyes, completely disregarding his younger brother’s snarkiness. “Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted, I was going to say that we need extra hands for dinner. Come down when you’re… done.”

The door promptly shuts. You can clearly hear Dick’s footfalls this time without the distraction you had earlier. He’s barely out of earshot when you break out into a teasing grin. You start mindlessly playing with his locks again as if nothing had happened, zoning out on his wisps of white hair.

“Y’know, he could’ve caught us in a worse position.”

He buries his head in your neck, his exhale causing chills to run through your entire body. “I wish we were in one out of spite.”

A relevant memory pops up in your head; you’re quite eager to share your reminiscing with Jason. “Do you think Dick knew you snuck me in here when we were way younger?”

Blinking at the sudden throwback, his eyes dart around the ceiling, really thinking about it. Jason pulls you back into his lap as he squints at nothing in particular, “I think he got a whiff of your perfume, but that was it. I’m surprised I didn’t get shit for it, actually.”

Your nose scrunches, recalling the time you had to crawl under Jason’s bed under three seconds.

“Thank god for Alfred because if it were mine instead, I know it would’ve been dusty as hell down there.”

“I remember your poor excuse of a bed. I would not have fit under there.” You both chuckle at the thought of trying to hide him from your family in your teen years. He makes no effort to get a move on despite the mood completely shifting. You initiate it because you know he won’t.

“We better go.”

He doesn’t let go of you.

“Yup.”

You sigh. “…We’re not going downstairs any time soon, are we?”

“Of course not, sweetheart.”

[utopeian]

i have a logan wip, it’s at 1.6k+ words and they haven’t interacted yet

[utopeian]

hii!! can you please write Jason todd x fem! reader where Reader if Jason’s first girlfriend (so high school Jason) and Dick barges in on them making out in his bed?. thank you!!

thanks for the request! i switched some things up, like them being high school sweethearts & a gn!reader, but i still hope you enjoy :)