[utopeian]

i can be more than just a pretty thing!

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

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

࿐𝄞𝄢℘ atla the bear dc fashion film literature marvel music photography top gun: maverick

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

[percyfraser]

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 :)

[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]

antonio cipriano’s voice is so beautiful i’m PISSED

[utopeian]

i’ve gotten an overwhelming number of new followers recently (thank you!), so i’m letting y’all know my inbox is always open for your thoughts, suggestions, or you can just drop by and say hi!!! :)

[mona-l1sa]

[sanguineterrain]

noise | john logan

Summary: 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.

Pairing: John Logan x fem!reader 

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings/tags: drinking, a guy harasses reader. reader being a little weird (affectionate). maybe a little ND coded <3 misunderstandings. reader is friends w/ hannah. logan being a sweetie pie.

Notes: hi hello i am writing for off campus apparently (?) we'll see. i love u john logan

the divider

“That was so good!” Hannah says in your ear, her arm around you. “Wasn’t it?”

“It was,” you say, your smile a little strained.

She’s flushed from the excitement of the game. She cheered and clapped almost the whole time. You did a little. It’s not that Briar didn’t do well—they crushed Eastwood, in fact, 6-2. But you’re a little overwhelmed by all the noise. You’d like to leave as soon as you can.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” Hannah asks as you go down the bleachers.

“I’m okay. I have a paper to write.”

She pouts. You don’t know why—after all, you weren’t invited. You couldn’t attend Dean and Beau’s birthday party even if you wanted to.

“Okay,” she says, finally acquiescing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure. Good luck with your hard launch.”

Hannah bites her lip, her eyes shining. “Yeah, we’ll see what Garrett has planned. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to the dorm?”

“I’m alright, really. I can take the shuttle.”

She’s not happy about it. Something you like about being friends with Hannah Wells is that she wears almost every emotion on her face. Once you deciphered her expressions, it was easy enough to figure out from there what she’s feeling. It makes everything much simpler. You wish everyone were as easy to read as Hannah.

She lets you go with one last affectionate goodbye. You start walking, not sure where you’re supposed to go to find the shuttle from the stadium. Part of you doesn’t really care as much about that. Mostly, you want to get away from the noise. Tonight was just a cacophony of buzzers and slammed pucks and chants and shouts. Players getting shoved against the glass was the worst. You jumped every time.

You pull out your phone. It feels like you’ve gone in a circle. The stadium is a maze.

“Hi.”

You look up. John Logan—everyone calls him Logan, which throws you off—is about ten feet away, and he’s coming closer. He’s still in uniform, even his skates. You’re always impressed when you see players walk on skates. His hair is damp with sweat and at its curliest. Usually, it’s in fluffy waves.  

“Hey, are you coming to the party?” he asks, coming to a stop in front of you.

“I wasn’t invited,” you say.

He tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching. You focus, trying to figure his face out. A look like that usually means you’ve said something that doesn’t make sense, but you can’t imagine what that would be. You don’t even talk much with Logan, so how can he already be confused by you?

“You’re friends with Hannah, right?” he asks. “And Hannah’s bringing her friend Allie?”

You nod. “Yes, they were invited.”

“It’s a campus-wide invite,” Logan says. “No one got invited specifically—Dean and Beau posted the details expecting the entire student body to show up.”

“Oh. That’s confusing.”

He shrugs. “It’s usually the same group of people who go to the parties, so I guess people don’t think about it. But uh, you know, if Hannah and Allie are going, it’s safe to say that you can go too.”

People don’t think about a lot of things. They tell you even less, which makes you feel stupid and lonely sometimes. But you don’t say any of this, because your mother would say those are inside thoughts. Instead, you shove your hand in your pocket and play with a silica gel packet that came in your new camera box.

You like to roll the beads inside the packet, and you’ve discovered that if someone asks what you’re fiddling with, it’s acceptable if you show them the silica gel. You used to fiddle with a ball of plastic wrap, but that made too much noise in class.

“Okay, well, congratulations on your game,” you say when Logan says nothing else. “Bye.” You turn to leave the stadium.

“Wait!” Logan jogs around to face you again. “Uh, wait. Did Hannah not invite you?”

“She asked me to go, but I declined because I have a paper due next week, and because I wasn’t invited. It’s rude to go to parties you aren’t invited to.”

That’s a rule that took a few times to learn in middle school, but you’re very proud that you know it now. Except apparently it doesn’t apply in college. Rules are always changing, and sometimes it makes you so frustrated, you could spit.

“Well, what if I asked you to go? Invited you officially. I live with Dean, and I helped set up the party. Is that enough of an authority?”

“I don’t really know what constitutes an authority to invite people to parties,” you say. “Why do you want me to go?”

“Uh, well…” Logan steps forward, bowing his head a little. One thick curl falls into his eyes. He has such beautiful hair. You wonder what conditioner he uses. A few times you’ve sat next to him in class, and he smells like apples. “I feel like we’re kinda friends now.”

“We are?”

He winces. “I mean, kinda? Is that okay for me to say? We’re in class together, and you stop by with Hannah.”

“I stopped by once because she left her bag. I didn’t come inside.”

“True, fair enough. You can come in though, you know? Like that’s totally okay. Just for the future.”

You doubt you’ll stop by the Hawks House again. You have no reason to. But you nod anyway.

“Plus we compared notes that one time,” Logan says, snapping his fingers. “That’s a friend thing to do, right?”

You let his words wash over you. John Logan says you’re kinda friends. You like Logan. He’s nice to you, and to Hannah. You haven’t spoken much, but he lent you a pencil a few weeks ago in your developmental psychology class. And he always waits and holds the door for you, even if you’re a few people behind him. He doesn’t scare you like athletes often do. He isn’t loud, and he doesn’t say rude things about women, or make fun of how clumsy you are. When you tripped on a step in class, he didn’t snicker like other students—he reached out to catch you, and asked if you were okay.

Then again, you’ve hardly hung out together. There’s always time for him to change his mind, show a different side. Plenty of people have done that.

But you like making friends. You’re not good at it. You want to be. 

“Okay,” you say. “We can be friends.”

Logan grins. “Awesome.”

“You have nice teeth.”

He grins wider. “Thanks. I think that’s the first time anyone’s complimented my teeth.”

“That surprises me,” you say. “I don’t have a costume. Can I still enter the party, or will I be banned for life?”

Logan laughs. You squint. What’s funny?

“Normally, you’d get banned, but as an official party planner, I can get an exception made.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh…”

“I’m kidding,” he says gently, nudging your shoulder. It’s a soft nudge because of his padding. “You don’t need to wear a costume, but if you want, I have an extra pair of wings. You can be a bird with me. Tuck’s a bee.”

You’ve never been a part of a group costume. “I thought it was supposed to be costumes for two people.”

“We make our own rules. I’ll drive you there, okay? I don’t think you’ll wanna be on the party bus. It gets loud.”

You’re relieved. “Yes. Thank you.”

“No sweat. I’ll be out in a sec.”

You watch him disappear into the men’s locker room. You sit on a nearby bench. People are still filing out of the stadium. You put your headphones on, lean your head against the wall, and close your eyes. 

Seven minutes later, a hand on your elbow makes you jump, eyes flying open. You tear off your headphones.

“Sorry,” is the first thing Logan says. He’s in a gray sleeveless shirt and dark jeans. Water drips from his hair onto his shoulders. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.” 

People don’t really touch you, mostly because you don’t care for it. Hannah and Allie like hugs, and sometimes you give them one, especially if they’re sad, because that’s what you do for sad friends. But mostly, you avoid it. People hug too hard, or too long, or they’re sweaty or smell funny. Logan doesn’t smell bad—he smells like orange Dial soap and his apple shampoo or conditioner, and you realize he must’ve showered. 

“Tuck is waiting for us in the car,” he says. “The wings are in the trunk.”

You follow him outside, into the mild night. His curls are even curlier when wet. You want to reach out and tug one, watch it spring back into place, but that’s definitely not an appropriate thing to do. You shove your hands in your pocket and squeeze the silica.

“What were you listening to?” he asks.

“Brown noise.”

“Is that a band or a song or…”

“No, it’s like white noise, but softer.”

He nods slowly, eyebrows knitting. “Oh. Huh.”

“There’s also pink noise and black noise, which I listen to at night to sleep. White noise feels like needles in my ears.”

“So you don’t listen to music?”

“I love music,” you say. “But sometimes it’s too much. The arena was loud, and sometimes I need something quiet to reset my brain, you know?”

“I definitely get that. I’m gonna check those out.”

“Will you really?”

Logan looks surprised. “Yeah, I will.”

You meditate on that, trying to figure out how that makes you feel, Logan meaning what he says.

Tucker greets you happily, and says that more’s the merrier when you tell him about Logan’s idea to join their costume. He has a girl named Kayla with him, and they sit in the backseat on the ride over, kissing and giggling. So you sit in the front with Logan, who keeps the radio turned low.

“If you wanna wear your headphones, I don’t mind,” he says.

You don’t, but the offer makes you beam at him.

Before you go inside, Logan gives you a pair of glossy black bird wings to wear. He steps back, smoothing the feathers, and looks at you.

“You look good. Those really suit you,” he says, and you wonder if he means that too. You’re not brave enough to ask.

The party is already in full swing by the time you arrive, which astounds you, considering the game officially ended less than an hour ago. Dean and Beau are at the center of the party, doing shots. Everyone cheers when they finish. Tucker and Kayla go to greet Dean, but Logan hangs back with you. He leans in to talk in your ear.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I don’t like drinking.”

“That’s cool. I’m gonna get a beer. Do you want to come with me?”

You eye the swell of people in the kitchen and grimace. “No, that’s okay. I’ll be here.”

He smiles, dark eyes warm. Your stomach flips. “Okay. Be right back.”

As he goes, you scour the room for food. If you’d known you were going to the party, you would’ve eaten before the game. But you find an untouched plate of pizza rolls, which is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened tonight, besides Logan telling you that you’re friends.

You put three on a napkin and stand to the side, watching people dance. Allie’s in a beautiful green dress, and you see Dean dance with her. Jealousy strikes you—not because you want Dean, but because you wish you were adept at all of this. Dancing, talking, making friends. Making a boyfriend. Going to college. Living. Hannah understands your struggle a little, but even you can see how well she and Garrett are hitting it off, fake relationship or not.

You finish your pizza rolls and fold the napkin, bouncing your head in time to the music. You don’t like parties, but this isn’t so bad, you suppose. It’s certainly reasonable enough to withstand in the name of friendship, and that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?

“Can I refresh that for you?”

You squint at your now empty napkin, where your pizza roll crumbs now lie. Then you look at the guy who asked. He might be a hockey player, you’re not sure. You pretty much only know Logan and Garrett, because Hannah’s your friend. You know Tucker, you suppose, since you’ve now ridden in a car with him. You know of Dean, because it’s impossible to go to Briar U without learning Dean Di Laurentis’ name and seeing his bleach blond head of hair on campus. But you couldn’t pick any other player out of a lineup. 

“It's a napkin,” you say. “It had food, not a drink.”

He holds up his hands and laughs. “Yeah, duh. It was an opener. I wasn’t being literal.”

Opener to what? You don't ask. He keeps talking, evidently not needing you to participate in the conversation.

“I’m Ben Pembroke. I just tried out for the team, but I’m pretty much a shoo-in. My dad played for Briar. Do you come to a lot of games?”

“No,” you say. “I came to this one because Logan asked me to.”

Ben frowns. “Are you together?”

“He drove me here in his car.”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean, are you dating?”

“No,” you say. “I'm not dating anybody.”

His smile returns. It looks wrong on his face. He has nice teeth too, but they don’t look as nice as Logan’s. “Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because.” Ben suddenly creeps a hand up your back. “It means you're available tonight. You're cute.”

You push his hand off. “Don't touch me. I don't like strangers touching me.”

Ben scoffs. “C'mon, enough with the ‘hard to get' act. I get it, you're ‘not like them.’ You're a nice girl. Whatever.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, but whatever it is, I want no part of it. Leave me alone.”

Ben gets closer to you. You flinch. He's tall and he's angry. You think so, anyway. 

“The fuck? You were sending me signals. You want me.”

Definitely angry. You ball up your empty napkin in your fist. You hate arguing. You usually have to get loud to make people take you seriously, and shouting gives you a headache.

“I was not sending you signals,” you say, voice rising. “I don't want anything to do with you. You came over here.”

Ben smiles again, full of ice. “Look, babe, it's cool, okay? None of your nerdy little friends will know we were together.”

“Together for what? Sex?”

Ben winks. You make a noise of irritation. 

“I did not send you sex signals, you creep. I don't like you! Go away!”

Ben reaches for you again. You yell, throwing your napkin on the ground. 

“Get away from me!” People start to look at you. You scream without words, so angry you feel like you might die. “Go away, go away!”

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Ben snaps, but you ignore him. You don’t care what he calls you as long as he leaves.

“Hey.”

Logan’s wings are suddenly in front of you. He glances at you. 

“You okay?” he asks, holding out his hand behind him. He doesn’t touch you—you think his hand might be an offer, if you need it.

You chew the inside of your cheek. You don't feel okay, but you don't know if this is one of those times when you should lie. Sometimes lying makes things easier, but you never know when that is. 

Logan turns back to Ben after you take his hand. “What the fuck, Pembroke? You're harassing women?”

“Man, she wanted me, I swear—”

“I did not send you sex signals,” you shout. “I don't like you!”

Ben's face spasms. Logan puts a hand on Ben's chest. 

“Take it somewhere else. She's not interested.”

Ben flings a finger at you. “But she—”

“Get. The fuck. Out.” Logan's hand curls in Ben's shirt. A warning. Jules said that in one of their videos about Briar’s games. When John Logan touches people and gets in their faces, he “means business.”

Ben scowls at you. Logan steps back so he can block you from Ben's face. 

“Fine. Fucking whatever.”

He stomps away. You squeeze the silica gel so hard, the beads dig into your palm. You fear the packet might burst. Your brain aches with the fight and the anger and anxiety that accompanied it. You promised yourself you wouldn't make a scene like you always do. It's why you can't keep friends, and you brace yourself for Logan to tell you something similar. 

He leans in so you can hear him over the music. “Let's go outside. It's too loud here.”

Relief softens your body, even if Logan’s only taking you somewhere quieter so he can tell you off. “Okay.”

You pick up your napkin and throw it away. Then you follow him to the backyard. It's big too, and you're glad everything is well-lit and marked. It'd be too easy to get lost in this house. Logan takes you to two chairs on the deck where there's less people. Most of the guests are inside since Beau didn't fill the pool.

You sit. People hate it more when you defend yourself, but Logan has to know that you really did try not to make a scene. You care about things that your friends like, and you want to keep Logan as a friend. You like him, especially after tonight. 

“I tried to tell him I wasn't interested in my quiet voice,” you say. “So many times. I didn't want sex. I swear I didn't send him signals, Logan, I didn't even approach him firs—”

“Whoa, hey.” He pushes his hair back, leaning in. “Hey, hey. I know you don't like Pembroke, and you don't have to try to convince me that he started it. He was a total jerk.”

You’re miserable. “People don't like when I use my loud voice, but sometimes they just won't listen to me. I had to.”

“Is it okay if I take your hand?” Logan asks softly. 

You nod. Logan takes your hand in both of his, resting them on his knee. He’s quiet for a moment. 

“You didn't do anything wrong,” he finally says. “When someone is harassing you, you have the right to be as loud as you want. It fucking sucks, and I’m sorry he did that. I’m gonna tell the guys and make sure he doesn’t make the team next year. He’s a shit player anyway.”

You fiddle with the silica gel again. “I wanted to be good at the party. You like parties, and a video I watched about making friends in college said that I should do things that other people like to become their friend.”

“Oh,” he says gently, rubbing your knuckles. “We’re already friends. You don't have to go to any parties to be my friend. Parties are fine, yeah, but they aren't the only thing I like. I'm not Dean.” He rolls his eyes and laughs. 

You smile, pleased to catch onto his joke. “He was dancing with Allie.”

“Yeah, I think we may have witnessed a historical event: Dean Di Laurentis not getting what he wants.”

“Because she didn't kiss him?”

Logan snorts. “Exactly. Look, do you wanna ditch this party and do something else? There's a guest house on the property if you just wanna chill. I would drive you home, but I’m still a little tipsy.”

He's still holding your hand. You like it. You like how rough his palms are, his cool skin against your warmth. You link your fingers with Logan's. He looks down, then looks back up at you.

“I'm hungry, actually,” you say. 

He hums. “Good.”

“How is that good?”

“No, I mean, it's good you're being honest with me and telling me what you want. Don't force yourself to go to any more parties, okay?”

“Okay, Logan. Is there a Taco Bell nearby?”

****

“You’re a genius,” Logan says, his mouth full of Crunchwrap. He chews, then swallows before speaking again. “Taco Bell should be a post-game tradition. Garrett’s a health nut, but I think I could convince him.”

The Taco Bell is only a few blocks away from the house, so you and Logan walked here. He paid for your food even though you have money. He said it was to make up for the shitty party. You told him he didn’t need to do that. He said he wanted to.

“It’s my favorite fast food,” you say, working on your potatoes. You stick a fork into one, then carefully dip one corner in sour cream and the other in the nacho cheese.

“I thought they put the sauces on top,” he says.

“Normally they do, but I ask for them on the side because otherwise all the potatoes don’t get an equal distribution of sauce.”

It’s quiet, and you find Logan staring at you as you chew. You swallow, frowning.

“What?”

He shakes his head, grinning. He does that a lot. “Nothing, just… you’re different.”

“Oh.” You pull your food closer to you, shoulders curling in.

“Not in a bad way! I like it. You know what you want.”

“Not really.” You suddenly remember Allie and Dean dancing. “Or if I do, I don’t know how to get it.”

“I think that’s pretty common,” Logan says, resting his chin in his hand. “I’ve been in that situation plenty of times.”

“What did you do?”

“Hmm.” He takes a long sip from his coke. “Depends on what I wanted. For the most part, I just went for it. No one else is gonna give it to you, you know?”

“I guess so.”

“What do you want?”

It strikes you now that Logan’s eyes are not just brown; they’re speckled gold, like spattered sunlight on tree bark. They’re lovely even in the harsh fluorescent light. He’s like some kind of fantasy novel angel with the wings and his swoopy curls. His lashes are long and thick. He licks his lips, and now you can’t stop staring at his mouth. Your heart starts to pound, the longer he looks at you.

Oh no, you think. Oh no. I don’t want to be his friend. 

Yet another thing you’ve misunderstood. 

“I don’t know,” you say hoarsely. You clear your throat. “I really don’t know.”

“Well,” Logan says. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. And whatever it is, it’ll be there for you.”

You can hardly speak. You twirl the silica gel between your fingers. You do that the whole car ride home. Logan leaves the radio on low again. He gets out and opens your door after he pulls up to your dorm. Again, he offers his hand, and again, you take it.

“You look really pretty in those wings,” he says, like he’s telling you a secret, even though he already told you that earlier. He must really mean it. 

It’s just you two here; campus is pretty much dead because almost everyone else is at the party.

“So do you.”

He laughs, and you think you’d really like it if he gave you a hug right now. But you’re not a hugger. You don’t know how to ask for such a thing from John Logan.

“You played really well,” you say.

Logan hums. “Thanks. I’m really glad you came.”

He’s still holding your hand. He squeezes it. 

“Well, um, bye,” you say, letting go.

“Goodnight,” he says after you.

It’s only after you get to your room that you realize that you’re still wearing Logan’s wings.

[utopeian]

Oh no. I don’t want to be his friend.

the realization sinking in only after the quiet observing, i get it

[utopeian]

something about logan organizing the fundraiser really made me feral, on top of him being a mechanic and a hockey player. i love a man who works!

[utopeian]

ija’s verdict is in: i watched off campus for logan, ended up loving everybody, especially hannah and allie

[hagihino]

[9e978e]

[utopeian]

one of many days

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

PAIRING john logan x gender neutral!reader

GENRE comfort, fluff, established relationship

WORD COUNT 1.1k

CONTENT there's slight angst if you squint but overall, it's fluffy, one swear word, communication of emotions over the phone, reader's outfit goes to waste, the contact name angel is his pet name for reader! no use of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE i gave into the off campus craze. sue me! hope you guys enjoy this quick lil fic :)

Logan had left the comfort of your dormitory with the promise of coming right back after practice to pick you up for a planned evening out.

About forty minutes before your agreed time to meet, your phone buzzes on your desk. Your heart flutters in anticipation.

my no. 22 Hey baby Bad news, I can’t make it to dinner. Coach wants us to train overtime today Ik we’ve been looking forward to this for so long I’m really sorry I’ll make it up to you

You blink at the sight of his messages coming through, a pit of disappointment opening up in your stomach, widening by the second.

It takes you three minutes to read them over and over again and two minutes to respond.

angel oh ok i’ll see you when you get here afterwards then Take care and good luck

Immediately after your last message, an incoming call from the man of the hour (and your every hour after that) pops up. You answer after the third ring.

There’s the usual distant chatter in the background; he wastes no time to point out the obvious. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not.” You are.

“You signed your ‘OK’ with one K instead of two.” His voice is rugged and you can only imagine it’s from the drills and distress.

“Typo.”

“You didn’t add any emojis.”

You shrugged even if he couldn’t see you. “Not in the mood to.”

“Your ‘take’ started with a capital T.”

“Oh. Didn’t notice.”

“Baby.”

“John.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m obligated to ask: don’t do what?”

“Shut me out.” He sounds upset; you can only imagine him running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “Dance around the fact that you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” you murmur into the microphone, phone held up to your ear as you carefully eye yourself in the reflection of the mirror.

You had initially felt good in the outfit you came up with, but now you’re twisting and looking at yourself dubiously, head spiraling with all the negativity in the world.

“I’m… processing.”

While your wording is too diplomatic for his liking, he’ll take what he can get. “Okay. Walk me through it.”

You both had agreed in the past that no matter how stupid the other felt talking about their feelings, it was better than saying nothing at all and letting unspoken feelings build up to eventually burst.

Still, you couldn’t help how silly you felt sometimes when attempting to verbalize your emotions out of thin air instead of aggressively writing it on your journal as if it had done you wrong.

“I got dressed up. I got ready with you in mind,” it comes out quiet, but it’s enough to crack Logan’s heart in two. Your eyes trail away from the mirror and space out on one of the dozen photo booth strips you took with Logan on your wall. Your heart skips a beat at the sight.

The silence that he leaves open is an indicator for you to continue on.

“Not—not that I’m guilt tripping you, of course. I feel like we would’ve had a lot of fun… It’s been a while since our last night out. I also just felt and looked good and I thought you’d appreciate it, too. But c'est la vie, y’know?”

Logan sighs for the nth time during the duration of your call, clearly frustrated with himself and the circumstances. “I really would’ve loved to see you all dressed up and I agree we would have had fun, too. I’m sorry.”

You let out a noise that seems to be a light laugh. On the other end of the line, Logan straightens up at the sound to gauge what kind it was.

Out of nowhere and without any context aside from Logan’s composure, Dean skates by and yells out, “whipped!”

You vaguely hear the disembodied yell through the phone earpiece and laugh again. He discerns it as vulnerable.

“You know, me from eight months ago wouldn’t believe if I said all this.”

“Wouldn’t believe what?”

“How much I care about a man’s opinion.” You share with a nearly teasing lilt in your voice. Half a beat passes before you add, “How much I care about a man at all. A hockey player at that.”

He chuckles, a comforting warmth spreading throughout his entire body. “Me from eight months ago wouldn’t have believed that I just disappointed you after pining over you for so long.”

The humor drops again, you shake your head forgetting he can’t see you, and whisper back to him as if it were a secret. “It’s not exactly your fault.”

“Logan from months ago would have definitely decked me if he could. I deserve it,” Your boyfriend smiles again when he hears you chuckle again.

“But, I’m still sorry. I mean it.”

“I know you do. Thank you.”

“You take any photos of yourself in the outfit?”

“‘Course I did. You know I love a good pre-outing photo shoot.” Somewhere along the call, you hadn't even realized the void of despair in your stomach had closed.

He groans, imagining what he missed out on. “I cannot believe I have to settle seeing photos instead of the actual thing.”

“Hockey’s important, my love.”

“But so are you.”

Heat sneaks up your to face unwillingly. Before you could respond teasingly, a different disembodied yells out to resume practice.

You take that as a sign to wrap up the call before he tangents to delay the inevitable. “Hey. It’s fine, we’re fine. Okay? This is just one of many days, we can always reschedule.”

You can hear him let a breath out, finding his patience in your comfort to get through a long evening of droning drills. He speedruns his goodbye with a long, rushed string of words.

“Yeah. Okay. Send the photos, I’ll make it up to you later. I promise, and I mean it this time. I love you.”

“I love you, too. See ya.”

When the call ends, Logan already has your direct message between one another opened, anticipating your photos. However, you already beat him to it with a stack of three media: a shot of your reflection in the mirror, a video equivalent of it, and a cute selfie.

my no. 22 Oh my god Baby you look divine I hate myself, I hate it here The next two hours are going to be the longest hours of my fucking life I miss you already

angel dramatic much?

my no. 22 Only for you I love you

angel stop using your phonee... i love you too

[dozydawn]