Summary: You should’ve known better to study at your boyfriend’s house if you wanted to be actually productive.
Warnings: Fluff! Established relationship
Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the positive response to the last post!!! Here’s another draft that’s been sitting around. Stay tuned for more!
Main Masterlist
“Can you come to bed now?” Logan whines pathetically from his bed.
Despite being the same size of a small bear, he gives me large puppy eyes when I glance over my shoulder. I bite my lip to hold back a snicker. What would his teammates think?
“I’m almost done with this section,” I say, turning back to my notes.
“That’s what you said half an hour ago.”
Even though I’m not looking, I know for a fact he has his lips in an adorable pout. One day I’ll sneak a photo of him begging and pouting and send it to the entire hockey team. Logan always acts like a tough guy for the rest of Briar U but when it’s just us, he turns into a softie. Normally I appreciate this side of him but right now I’m having serious beef with this gen chem textbook.
“Sorry if I don’t wanna fail my quiz. I have to finish this section by tonight or else my whole study schedule is messed up.”
“For a quiz that’s three weeks away,” he grumbles, to which I roll my eyes and try to understand the sentence I’ve been rereading for the past few minutes.
I don’t hear another complaint from Logan which makes me smirk in victory.
The quiet doesn’t last as a pair of arms warp around my shoulders and the smell of aftershave invades my nose. A shiver goes down my body when I feel Logan’s stumble scratch against my skin as he buries his face into my neck.
“Logan please,” I squeak out.
“How about you study in bed baby?” He murmurs, lips brushing my ear.
I turn my head slightly to raise my brow at him.
“No funny business, I just wanna hold you,” he assures, giving a peck to my temple.
I pretend to think about it even though the answer is yes. He gives me a grin, releasing me from his arms to grab my textbook and notes and saunters to the bed.
“Why don’t you teach it to me?” he says, patting his lap, “It might help.”
I let out another scoff but it has no real heat to it.
I settle in the space between his legs, letting him pull me flush against his hard chest. My cheeks grow warm at the proximity but I force myself to open back up my notebook
He lets me angle the textbook on his leg while one of arms snakes around my waist to hold me close, drawing circles with his thumb against his my hoodie.
“Ok so this is basically…” I begin to explain, pointing at the textbook image and then jotting down my notes into the book balanced in my own lap. It’s not the best surface for writing but I’m not complaining when I feel Logan press his lips into my hair.
He hums a response, giving me a squeeze which takes everything in me not to melt into him. I continue to ramble about the different molecules and sometimes he’ll press a kiss on my temple and mumble something along the lines of “smart girl” or “good job baby”. And every time I have to give myself at least ten seconds to slow my heart rate.
Even though we’ve been dating for a couple months, he still has this effect on me. Probably forever.
I wasn’t even expecting him to listen but he surprised me by asking a few follow-up questions which helped me solidify my confidence in the topic. Even though Logan lives a completely different life with insane expectations and priorities, he always manages to still make me feel like the most interesting and important thing in his life.
After a few minutes go by, I feel his lips brush against the shell of my ear.
“You’re distracting me,” I murmur.
“Well I just saw we finished the section but you haven’t closed the book yet.”
Damn him. I forget how observant he is.
“Come on baby,” he says, “It’s almost one in the morning. You know I need my full eight hours.”
I glance over at the clock on his nightstand to see that it was way past the time I had planned to stay up. I blame Allie and Dean taking forever to make dinner tonight. What do you mean you forget to preheat the oven?
But Logan’s right, I’m already feeling the tiredness creep into my bones. No use fighting it. Especially when Logan continues to stroke my sides which makes me feel all fuzzy.
I let out a sigh of defeat and began to tidy up my things. Logan loosens his grip to let me quickly shove all the material into my bag by the desk. He shuffles to lay down and outstretches his arms when I turn to face him. He has a stupid grin plastered on his face making you think he just won a hockey game.
Nope. The smile is just for me which makes my heart clench.
“You’re so clingy,” I chide but take my proper spot next to him.
His eyes are already half closed when I shuffle to face him. I feel bad keeping him awake knowing that he already had a long practice.
Not too bad about it though because he was the one blowing up my phone insisting I come over tonight.
“You love it,” he hums.
One of his arms wraps around my waist to pull me close and his legs tangle with mine. He gives me a kiss, cupping my face with his free hand. Before I can even react, Logan is pulling away to settle into his pillow. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the soft rhythm of his heartbeat. His breath tickles the top of my head while his fingers are warm against my back.
𓏲⋆ TELLING THE OFF CAMPUS BOYS TO GET ON THEIR KNEES WHEN THEY ASK FOR SOMETHING
( cw: suggestive/explicit dialogue & topics, no smut )
DEAN DI LAURENTIS
“Babe,” he whined, “Baaaabe.”
You turned around from the stove, facing your annoying boyfriend.
He knew it got on your nerves when he stood behind you while you were cooking. Especially when he whined the whole time.
So when he asked, “Can I taste test it?” you didn’t immediately shut him down like you normally did.
No, instead you said, “If you get down on your knees and ask, maybe I’ll consider it.”
Why you didn’t expect him to actually do it? Who knows.
He was down on his knees within seconds, his hands pawing at your hips. “Please, baby. Can I please taste test it?”
You had to hold in your laugh, but you felt like he earned it.
Putting your hand on his head and petting him like a dog, you said, “Yes you can, for being such a good boy,” in a very mocking tone.
It didn’t phase Dean one bit though, if anything, he seemed to enjoy it. He pushed his head into your hand like a cat and then stood up with an expectant look on his face.
You rolled your eyes and pulled out a piece of pasta, dropping it directly in his open mouth. He moaned when he tasted it, then gave you a quick kiss on the lips.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmured against your shoulder, already standing right behind you again.
GARRETT GRAHAM
Garrett had been annoying you all day.
You convinced him to go shopping with you, leaving out the details of where you were going and how long it would be.
He knew it could take a while, but 3 hours? After the first hour he was complaining at every store. You offered to leave early, but when he saw the small pout on your face he changed his mind.
But that didn’t mean he was going to stop groaning and moping.
When you stopped to look at two different tops, he took it as an opportunity to rest his head on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.
“Garrett...” you trailed off, a subtle warning to do too much in terms of PDA. He hummed, his free hand—the one not holding all of your shopping bags—coming up to rest on your hips.
“I have an idea,” he mumbled, pressing another soft kiss to your shoulder. “Let’s get you some new stuff from Victoria’s Secret. I’ll buy.”
You rolled your eyes, deciding on the black top instead of the white one.
“If you want me to go try on lingerie for you, you’d better get on your knees and beg,” you joked, walking further into the store.
When you stopped to look at a pair of pants, you saw Garrett drop to his knees in the corner of your eye.
“Please, gorgeous. Let me buy you some new lingerie. I’ll be so good from here on out,” he pleaded, his hands pressed together in a praying motion.
Your eyes darted around, seeing the mostly empty store. “Stand up, oh my god.”
He shook his head, “not until you say yes.”
“Garrett.”
“Princess.”
You sighed, “Fine. Now stand up.”
JOHN TUCKER
“Let me eat you out, sweetheart,” Tucker mumbled against your neck, reaching behind you to lock his bedroom door.
“Uh-uh.”
His lips formed a pout, “Please?”
“If you really want to...” you trailed off, seeing the glint of hope in his eyes, “Get on your knees and ask again, then maybe I’ll let you get a taste.”
For a moment he looked surprised, but he did as you said.
He dropped to his knees, pressing feather-light kissed to your bare stomach and thighs. “Can I get a taste of you, gorgeous?” His hands ran up the backs of your legs. “Please.”
You sighed, your fingers playing with his dark curls. “Okay, fine, but hurry up. I wanna feel you inside me as soon as possible.”
“Yes ma’am.”
JOHN LOGAN
“Come with me,” Logan asked as he pulled on his sweatpants, “The gym is so boring when I’m alone.”
You were already standing, putting on lotion as you listened to your boyfriend try to reason with you to go to the gym with him.
“I showered just last night. You want to make me shower again in less than 12 hours?”
He looked up at you and shrugged, a suggestive smirk on his face. “I’ll help you out?”
“Of course you would.”
Throwing his head back, he groaned. “Why does my girlfriend hate me?”
You rolled your eyes and sighed, “Tell you what. You get on your knees and beg me to come with, and maybe I’ll go and let you ‘help me out’ in the shower later.”
He was on his knees in front of you within seconds.
“Please come with me, gorgeous. The gym is so much more enjoyable with you there,” he pleaded, begging with the way his big brown eyes were looking up at you.
You clicked your tongue, “Fine. Only because I didn’t actually think you would do that.”
He smirked, standing up and pressing a ‘thank you’ kiss to your cheek. “You underestimate me, baby.”
Author's Note: This is a Logan x Graham Reader. It discusses heavy themes like abuse. For more of my writing, check out my Masterlist here.
I wake up early the next morning, still curled into Logan’s side. I pull myself out of bed, careful not to disturb Logan, and make my way straight for the bathroom. I grimace as I catch my reflection in the mirror, the bruises more prominent now. The weight of the decision I have to make is suffocating. I pray that a hot shower will help me get my mind straight.
The secret about my dad is one I have carried my whole life. He abused my mom until the cancer was kind enough to take her. He had hit Garrett early on in high school when hockey did not go the way he wanted. However, by the end of sophomore year, Garrett had been able to physically dominate our father.
But he had never put his hands on me, not until my senior year of high school. Garrett was a grade ahead of me. When he was home, Dad wouldn’t dare to touch me because Garrett would lay him out. But when Garrett had gone to college to pursue his hockey career… I knew that I couldn’t tell him the truth, that he wouldn’t hesitate to throw everything away for me. I would rather hide a few bruises here and there than be responsible for that. So I lied to my brother until I was able to join him at Briar University the following year.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about getting the police involved. But it was a delicate situation. My dad was a celebrity, one of the best hockey players to ever play. That kind of fame often caused people to just look the other way.
I remember the one time that my mother had tried to get help. She threatened to leave him, to expose the monster he was. He almost put her in the hospital that night and threatened to take Garrett and I and never look back. He had the resources, which meant he held all of the power.
Even now, he was the one who was paying our tuition. He paid for our vehicles, for Garrett’s hockey expenses, all of it. That was a fact that he was quick to hold over our heads when he thought we were stepping out of line.
If I tell Garrett, he’s going to confront our father, and things will get messy. I don’t want to make things difficult for my brother. He had spent his childhood protecting me, so the least I could do in return is protect him now by hiding this from him.
Logan, on the other hand, was a whole other story. He knew too much for me to just pretend it didn’t happen. I am not willing to lose him over this. I wish I could shield him from the truth, that I didn’t have to be the one to ruin the image he had of my father, a man he had looked up to. I didn’t want him to have to carry the weight of that secret, that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about. It wasn’t a matter of trust; I trust Logan with my life. It something else that makes me hesitate, something I can’t name.
I exit the shower, getting ready for the day, taking the time to conceal the bruises. I head into my kitchen, making breakfast and coffee. I try and fail to plan out the conversation, I would be having shortly. I’m so caught up in my head that I don’t even hear Logan come into the kitchen.
He sits quietly, just observing me. He notices the bruises are hidden now and that I seem to be doing okay. He wants to break the silence, but the heaviness of the previous night stills his tongue.
I turn around and am startled to see him sitting there. I let out a surprised yelp, thankful I wasn’t holding anything, because I would have dropped it.
“God Logan, a little warning would be nice,” I say.
A smile graced his face, “And miss out on what I just witnessed? Not a chance.”
I turn around and grab him a plate of food and pour him a cup of coffee, adding the cream and sugar exactly the way he likes. This is so routine that I can almost forget the conversation that awaits us…almost.
“You’ve been busy,” Logan says as he looks at the plate filled with pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and potatoes.
“Can’t let my favorite hockey player starve,” I reply.
I sit next to him with my own plate, and we eat. Simple enough.
“What are your plans for today?” I ask.
“Nothing specific, just some chores and errands, might put a few hours in at the shop. You?”
“I don’t have anything going on.”
We are skating around each other and the conversation we really need to have, and I hate it. But I also haven’t quite worked myself up to it either.
That is apparently not the case for Logan, “About last night…”
“I’m sorry,” we both say at the same time.
“What? Logan- you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”
“I was pushy, I was overstepping. I just saw you hurt and…”
“You were right,” I interrupt him.
He looks at me, slightly taken aback.
“I’m going to tell you, all of it, if you still want me to,” I explain, “But first I need you to understand that just because you know doesn’t mean you’re going to be able to stop it or fix it. I trust you and I don’t want to keep things from you, but this is bigger than just you and me.”
He nods.
“When I was a child, my father abused my mother. Then it was Garrett. Then, when Garret left for Briar, it was me. Which Garrett doesn’t and can’t know, because it would destroy him and he would do something that would jeopardize his future. My father has always been an aggressive person and a narcissist, which is part of the reason he was such a good hockey player. To the outside world, he seems very put together. But when things don’t go his way, he doesn’t cope well. I shouldn’t have gone home last night. I know better, especially after Garrett loses a game. Those nights were always the worst. But I guess some part of me thought that maybe now that I was in college, things would be different. He started running his mouth about me, which is whatever. But then he said things about my mother and Garrett. I made the mistake of responding, which earned me the bruises.” I subconsciously reach my hand up to my neck again.
Logan's grip on his coffee mug tightens, so tight I'm surprised the ceramic doesn't crack.
I continue before I lose my momentum altogether, “Before you tell me that I should call the cops, we tried a couple of times through the years, but they always look the other way, because he is Phil Graham. And now it's worse because he pays our housing, our tuition, and for Garrett’s hockey equipment. He can also make or break his career with one phone call.”
Logan doesn't speak.
He just stares at the table.
At his hands.
Anywhere except me.
Because if he looks at me right now, I think something in him might break.
The silence stretches so long I start to regret telling him.
"Logan?"
His jaw flexes.
"How long?"
The question is barely audible.
"Since my senior year, he wouldn’t have dared put his hands on me when Garrett was still living at home."
He closes his eyes.
"How did I not know?"
“Because I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. And honestly, I naively thought that it might be over once I made it to college.”
"I was right there."
My chest tightens.
"Logan—"
"I was right there."
The way he says it makes my chest hurt.
"You didn't miss it because you weren't paying attention."
Logan's eyes lift to mine.
"You missed it because I made sure you did."
"Y/n—"
"I'm serious,” my voice wavers, "You were there for everything else. Every bad grade. Every panic attack. Every stupid decision I've ever made."
I swallow.
"This is the one thing I kept from you."
Logan shakes his head in disbelief, "I had his poster on my wall."
I blink.
Logan laughs once.
"When I was ten, I wanted to be him."
“Logan…you didn’t know…you can’t blame yourself,”
Logan finally looks at me. Really looks at me. And for the first time since I started talking, I see the full weight of it in his expression. The grief. The anger. The helplessness. All of it.
"I don't know what to do with this yet,” his voice is honest.
I move my chair closer. Rest my head briefly against his shoulder, the same way I have a thousand times before.
"I know this isn't fair."
"What isn't?"
“Any of it,” I sigh.
We sit like that for a moment before I break the silence again.
“Thank you.”
An unfamiliar look crosses Logan’s face, confusion, maybe.
“For what?”
I look down at my hands.
"For staying."
Logan doesn't say anything, and the silence gives me the courage to keep going.
"You didn't have to."
His head turns immediately.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I did."
I shake my head.
"No,” my voice catches, "you didn't."
I swallow hard.
"You could've walked away. You could've told Garrett. You could've decided this was too much."
Logan's expression tightens.
"That was never going to happen."
"I know this is a lot…I never wanted you to carry it. It was never about trusting you or protecting him."
Logan looks at me. My fingers twist together.
"I was trying to protect you. Garrett. Everybody."
Something flashes across his face.
"Y/n."
"I know how stupid that sounds."
"No."
His voice is gentle.
"It sounds exactly like you."
I force myself up, refocusing my attention on his coffee cup, which is cold by now. I dump it out and make him a fresh cup.
Logan watches me move, like he’s not entirely sure what I’m doing.
When I place the fresh cup in front of him, Logan wraps both hands around the mug, but he doesn’t drink. Instead, he just sits there, staring into it like it might give him an answer. The silence stretches longer than it should. Not uncomfortable, just loaded. He exhales slowly through his nose.
“Y/n,” My name sounds different in his voice right now.
He hesitates, like he hates that he’s about to shift the conversation at all.
“Can I ask you something?”
My stomach tightens slightly.
“You’ve been asking me things all morning.”
A faint flicker of something almost like amusement crosses his face, but it doesn’t stick.
“This one’s different.”
That makes me go still.
I nod once.
“Okay.”
He shifts in his seat, setting the mug down.
“Are we still…us?”
I don’t know how to answer him.
“I mean, last night might not have been the right way or time to acknowledge my feelings, but I’m not going to take it back or pretend that I didn’t mean it.”
I don’t answer immediately; my fingers curl into my sleeves.
“I don’t want to do this wrong,” I admit, “because I have wanted this with you for so long…but last night was so heavy…”
I pause, trying to sort through the words and emotions.
"I have never told anyone the truth about my father. It was never worth the risk. But the idea of losing you over it..."
My voice catches.
"There's nothing I would trade for what we have."
Logan doesn't move. Doesn't interrupt. Just watches me.
“I'd be lying if I said I didn't have feelings for you. I mean, you're the only guy I've ever trusted the way I trust you."
The words leave me in a rush, like once they started, I couldn't stop them.
"I think I've been in love with you for a long time, and I—"
I don't get any further. Logan is out of his chair before I can finish the sentence. One hand cups my jaw gently. Giving me every chance to pull away, every chance to change my mind.
His forehead rests against mine for a second and a shaky breath leaves him.
"Thank God," he murmurs.
The words are almost a laugh, an answered prayer. Then he kisses me. Slow and careful. Like he's spent years wanting to do it and is still making absolutely certain it's okay. For a moment, everything else disappears.
When we finally pull apart, neither of us goes very far. His hand is still resting against my face, his eyes search mine. Like he's making sure this is real.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then I laugh, catching him off guard.
"You have absolutely terrible timing."
He stares at me.
"What?"
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
"I've been in love with you for years."
The confession is so matter-of-fact that it steals the air from his lungs.
"Years?"
"Years."
He blinks at me.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
"Exactly."
That earns a real smile from him, the first one I've seen all day. It fades after a second, replaced by something softer, more serious. His thumb brushes lightly against my cheek.
"You scared the hell out of me last night."
The words are quiet.
Honest.
"I know."
"No." He shakes his head. "I don't think you do."
His eyes hold mine.
"Finding those bruises. Knowing somebody hurt you. Thinking there was a chance you were carrying all of this alone..."
His jaw tightens.
"I've never felt that helpless before."
My chest aches.
"Logan—"
"I'm not saying that to make you feel guilty."
His voice softens immediately.
"I'm saying it because we're done pretending we're just friends now."
The words settle between us. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
"You don't have to carry this by yourself anymore."
My eyes sting.
Neither of us is talking about just my father anymore.
And we both know it.
Logan's hand is still resting against my face. His thumb brushes across my cheek once before dropping away, like he's reminding himself not to rush this.
"I don't know what this is supposed to look like," he admits.
That catches me off guard.
"What?"
A small laugh escapes him.
"This."
He gestures vaguely between us.
"I've spent so many years trying not to want this that I never actually planned for what happens if I get it."
The honesty makes my chest tighten.
"Get it?"
His eyes meet mine.
"You."
The word lands softly, like it isn't a question.
Heat rushes to my face immediately.
Logan notices, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"There she is."
I narrow my eyes.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Get cocky."
His laugh is quiet.
"I just found out the girl I've been in love with for years loves me back. You're lucky I'm still functioning."
I groan and cover my face.
"Logan…"
"What? It's true."
My laughter escapes before I can stop it.
The sound seems to do something to him.
His shoulders loosen.
Some of the tension he's been carrying since last night finally eases.
For the first time since he walked into my dorm and saw the bruises, he looks like he can breathe.
His smile fades gradually as reality returns. The bruises. My father. Everything waiting outside this kitchen. His gaze drops briefly toward my neck before returning to my eyes.
"We're gonna figure this out."
The certainty in his voice makes my throat tighten.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"How?"
"Because you're not doing it alone anymore."
I stare at him. He’s steady as he has always been. My best friend. The boy who showed up when I didn't answer my phone. The boy who stayed. The boy who somehow became everything. I reach for his hand.
His fingers immediately lace through mine. Instinctive. Like they've been waiting to do it for years.
A smile pulls at my mouth.
"So what now?"
Logan looks down at our joined hands, then back at me.
"Now?"
His expression softens.
"Now I take my girlfriend on an actual date."
I blink.
The word girlfriend sends a ridiculous amount of warmth through my chest.
His grin widens instantly.
"Oh, you liked that."
"Don't ruin it."
"Too late."
I laugh again.
And for the first time in a very long time, the future doesn't feel quite so frightening.
Author's Note: This is a Logan x Graham Reader. It discusses heavy themes like abuse.
For more of my writing, check out my Masterlist here.
I don’t know what possessed me to go home. I should’ve known better. I should’ve---I have to close my eyes and force myself to breathe as I wipe the tears from my eyes and pull out my phone. I don’t even know who to call. Definitely not Garrett. My brother is quite possibly the worst person I could call right now.
I debate just getting an Uber back to campus, maybe I could keep my hood up, and the driver wouldn’t ask questions…
Maybe I could manage the drive. Besides, if I didn’t drive my car back, I’d have to come back for it eventually. That would raise questions, too many questions.
Ugh. Why did Phil Graham have to be my father?
“You’re worthless, just like your mother. You don’t even realize how lucky you are to have my last name. Ungrateful-”
The words replay whether I want them to or not. I’m used to them. That’s the worst part—I’m used to them. But I forgot how quickly he can shift, how fast it escalates when he’s already angry. Garrett’s game must’ve put him on edge before I even walked in the door.
I drag in another shaky breath, forcing my shoulders down, forcing my body to cooperate.
I get in my car, start the engine, and pull out before I can talk myself out of it. The drive back to campus blurs together in stretches of road and streetlights, and I let the numbness settle in because it’s easier than anything else right now.
Streetlights smear across the windshield in soft, unfocused streaks. I keep both hands on the wheel even though there’s nothing technically difficult about the drive—just straight lines, familiar exits, the quiet hum of tires on pavement. Still, my grip doesn’t loosen.
The numbness smooths the edges of everything sharp enough to cut: the voice, the words, the way my name sounded like something unpleasant in his mouth. It lets me function. It lets me drive. It lets me exist.
Somewhere past the halfway point, my jaw tightens without permission. My throat feels like it’s closing around something I didn’t swallow properly. I blink too hard at a stoplight that turns green, and I don’t move right away, like my body is a second behind my mind.
When I finally pull into a parking spot, I sit there with the engine still running. My phone is in my hand, messages from the group chat with Garrett, Hannah, Allie, Dean, and Logan, and then additional messages from Garrett, Hannah, and Logan. They’re checking in, asking me if I wanted to join them, etc.
I don’t reply.
I finally turn the engine off, silence filling the air.
Campus is calm in that late-night way it gets—dim dorm lights, a couple of distant voices, the occasional car passing through like it doesn’t belong to anything here. I just sit there taking it all in.
When I step out, the air is colder than I expected. It cuts through the leftover adrenaline and makes everything feel more real again. Each step towards my building is automatic, survival mode disguised as routine.
I stand in front of my dorm for a second longer than necessary, like there might be something on the other side that’s changed while I was gone. The moment the door closes behind me, the quiet shifts—not better, not worse, just different. Contained. Mine. My brain tries to decide what comes next now that I’m not actively moving anymore.
I force myself into my bathroom to shower. When I’m done, I stare in the mirror evaluating the damage. It’s nothing that a little concealer won’t be able to cover. I force myself to breathe through the emotions trying to consume me again.
There’s a knock at the door, which startles me. I quickly throw on some clothes and go to answer it.
It was Logan. He’s standing there like he’s waiting for something. Not impatient. Not pushy. His eyes flick over me once—quick, subtle—but it’s enough. Enough to register the damp hair, the too-bright look in my face that doesn’t quite match the rest of me.
“Hey,” he says carefully. Like the word itself is fragile. “I wasn’t sure if you were awake.”
I realize I’m still holding the door like you might need it as a shield and step back, inviting him in.
“I missed you after the game, and you weren’t answering your phone.”
“Sorry, I ran home to grab something and then shower…”
Logan doesn’t call you out on it, but something in his expression shifts—just slightly, like he heard the shape of what you didn’t say. “Okay,” he replies, soft but unconvinced. Then, after a second, “I’m headed back to the house, do you want to come with?”
“I think I’m gonna call it a night.”
He looks at me, really looks. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired,” I lie.
Logan doesn’t answer right away. He just holds my gaze for a second too long—like he’s trying to decide whether to believe me.
“Okay,” he says finally, but it lands carefully, like he’s placing it down instead of agreeing with it.
A pause stretches between us. I expect him to leave it there. Most people would.
Instead, he shifts his weight slightly, still in the doorway, “Do you want me to stay?”
My fingers tighten around the edge of the door without me noticing.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, quieter this time.
Logan’s eyes flicker—not hurt, not annoyed. Something closer to understanding that doesn’t feel comfortable to receive.
“Yeah,” he says gently. “I know you’re trying to be.”
That land hard. For a moment, neither of us moves.
“I’m not gonna push,” he says. “Just… text me if you need me. Okay?”
I hesitate, then give a small nod that I’m not fully committed to.
The movement allows him to see the bruises on my neck that I hadn’t had a chance to hide yet, and everything shifts. He just goes still. His eyes drop, not in judgment, but in focus. Like his brain is trying to assemble something it doesn’t want to understand.
His voice changes, lower now. “What happened to your neck?”
I move without thinking, one hand already rising to my neck like I can erase it by covering it.
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly.
Logan’s expression tightens—not anger at you, but something sharper underneath it.
“That doesn’t look like nothing.”
Silence presses in immediately after. I can feel my pulse in my throat.
“I just—” My voice catches, and I hate that it does. I try again, smaller. “It was an accident. It’s over.”
Logan doesn’t accept that. He doesn’t argue either. He just looks at you like he’s recalculating everything he thought he knew about the situation—and about how far away he actually is from it.
“Did someone do that to you?” he asks carefully.
The question isn’t loud. It’s worse than that—deliberate. Steady. Unavoidable.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out right away. And in the space where your answer should be, everything shifts again.
“Logan, please don’t make a big deal out of this. I just want to go to bed. I’m fine. I promise.”
Logan’s jaw tightens at the word fine, but he doesn’t interrupt. He exhales through his nose, slow—like he’s trying to keep something steady that wants to break loose.
“That’s not an answer,” he says quietly.
“It’s not a big deal. I just don’t want to talk about it.”
Logan’s gaze flicks over my face again, like he’s looking for confirmation in places I don’t want to be seen. His voice drops even more when he speaks.
“Someone hurt you,” he says. Not a question this time.
The certainty in it makes my chest tighten.
“I said I’m fine,” I repeat.
Logan’s expression shifts—not into anger, not into panic, but into something controlled that’s clearly costing him effort.
“Okay,” he says finally, “But I’m not leaving you alone right now.”
My eyes snap up to his.
“That’s not—Logan, I don’t need—”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he cuts in gently, not harsh, just firm enough to stop you mid-sentence. “And I’m not arguing with you. I’m staying. That’s it.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, like he’s choosing each word carefully:
“You don’t have to explain anything. But I’m not walking away from this.”
I have known Logan for years. He is my brother's best friend, and I know better than to argue with him.
“You have to promise not to say anything to Garrett,” I plead.
Logan closes his eyes for a second. Not because he's annoyed. Because the fact that that's my first concern tells him more than I intended. When he looks at me again, there's something grim in his expression.
"What happened?" he asks quietly.
"Promise me first," the words come out too fast, too desperate. "Please, Logan."
I know the look he gives me. I've seen it a hundred times over the years when Garrett was about to do something stupid, and Logan was trying to decide whether to stop him or help him.
"Y/n—"
"Promise me."
A long silence stretches between you.
"If Garrett sees those bruises—"
"He won't." The lie is immediate. Reflexive. "I'll cover them tomorrow."
Logan's gaze drops briefly to my neck before returning to my face.
"That's not what I'm worried about."
Of course it isn't.
"Promise me you won’t tell him," I whisper.
His jaw clenches. I already know he hates this. Hates being put in the middle. Hates keeping things from Garrett. Hates the fact that I’m asking him to sit on information that is obviously making every protective instinct he has scream. But he also hates seeing me look like this. Finally, he lets out a slow breath.
"Okay."
I blink.
"Okay?"
"I won’t tell your brother."
Relief floods through me.
"But," he adds immediately, pointing a finger at me before I can thank him, "I reserve the right to revisit this decision if whatever is going on gets worse."
"Logan—"
"I'm serious."
“Whatever, get inside. I wasn’t lying when I said I was tired.”
Logan glances around my dorm room before dropping his backpack onto the floor beside my desk like he's done a thousand times before.
He belongs here in the same effortless way I belong at the hockey house, in Garrett's kitchen, on the couch during movie nights, in the passenger seat of his truck.
The routine has existed for years. I change into an oversized sweatshirt while Logan grabs the blanket folded over the back of my desk chair and tosses it toward the bed.
"You still keep this thing?" he asks.
"It's my blanket."
"It's ancient."
"It's comfortable."
"It belongs in a museum."
I sit down on the edge of the mattress, rolling my eyes, "Get out."
"Can't. I promised to stay."
Despite everything, a laugh escapes me.
Logan's shoulders visibly loosen at the sound. Only for a second, then they're tense again. This banter between us is so natural. We know each other's schedules. We've spent holidays together. He knows how I take my coffee and which movies make me cry. Comfort has long since replaced self-consciousness.
Which is exactly why this is destroying him, because Logan knows something is wrong. He knows somebody hurt me. He knows I’m covering for them. And for the first time in years, there is a wall between the two of us that he can't climb over.
We stare at the TV that's playing some show neither of us are actually watching.
After several minutes, Logan finally asks the question plaguing his mind, "Are there more?”
“More what?” I ask, confused.
“Bruises. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Oh. “No, those are the only bruises.”
There is another long silence, which again Logan breaks.
“You don't have to tell me."
My eyes stay fixed forward, "I know."
Another pause.
"But I wish you would."
The honesty in his voice hurts more than any pressure ever could. It's what makes it so hard. I had never lied to Logan, never hid anything from him other than this. But this was not just my secret; it affected Garrett, and I knew all the things my father had threatened to do if either of us ever said anything.
“It’s not that easy.”
"I know," his answer comes immediately.
I finally look over at him, "You do?"
A humorless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "No." He shakes his head. "I don't know whatever you're dealing with. But I know you."
My throat tightens. He’s not wrong; Logan is probably my best friend. He knows me better than anyone. But this secret, I’m not sure it survives being spoken aloud.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it sincerely. I’m sorry that he had to see me like this. I’m sorry that I can’t tell him the truth. I’m sorry this secret has changed things between us. I’m sorry that I’m asking him to keep it from Garrett.
Logan studies my face for a second before looking away again.
"You don't have to tell me tonight, but," he says carefully, "you should tell somebody."
The words make my stomach twist, "I'm okay."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
This time, Logan actually laughs. It's short and completely devoid of amusement.
"No, it's not."
The bluntness catches me off guard. He immediately looks guilty for saying it, but he doesn't take it back.
Instead, he reaches and pulls my chin towards him, forcing eye contact.
"I don't need details," he says quietly. "I don't need names. I don't need some dramatic confession. I just need to know if you're safe."
The question hangs in the air. He's asking whether it's over. If whoever did this can do it again. Whether he should be worried about me leaving tomorrow.
I stare at the television screen until the colors blur. I’m at a loss for words. Then, after a long moment, I answer honestly, “I was stupid tonight, I provoked something that was easily avoidable.”
Logan's eyes close. For a second, he doesn't say anything. When he opens them again, there's something in his expression that makes my stomach drop. Disbelief. Not at me. At what I just said.
"No."
The word is quiet.
"What?" I ask.
"No."
He shakes his head and leans back slightly, running a hand over his face.
"That's not what I asked."
I swallow.
"Logan—"
"You said you provoked something." His jaw clenches. "You said it was avoidable."
I immediately regret answering at all.
"I shouldn't have said anything."
"Y/n."
The warning in his voice makes me look at him. He's staring at me now, all traces of casual comfort gone.
"What exactly do you think you did that justifies this?"
My hand instinctively moves toward my neck.
"I didn't say it justified it."
"Then stop talking like it did."
The words hit harder than I expected, because the truth is, I've spent years doing exactly that. Explaining. Rationalizing. Calculating how I could have handled things differently. If I hadn't argued…If I hadn't pushed…If I had just kept my mouth shut.
Logan watches me struggle through the thought process. He knows me too well. His voice softens again, "I'm asking because somebody hurt you."
I hate how gentle he sounds. I hate that it makes my eyes burn.
The silence stretches. Then—
"Do you know how hard this is?"
The question catches me off guard.
"What?"
"I've been sitting here for the last hour trying to figure out how much I can push before you shut down completely."
"Logan—"
"No, just…" He shakes his head. "Just let me finish."
Something in his voice makes me stop. He drags a hand through his hair. "You won't tell me who hurt you. You won't tell me if you're actually okay. I have no idea how long this has been going on. And I promised not to tell Garrett."
A small smile tugs at my lips despite everything.
"You're still mad about that."
"I'm furious about that."
The smile disappears as quickly as it came.
Logan looks at me then, the intensity of it makes my stomach flip.
"Do you know what the worst part is?"
My pulse starts to pick up.
"What?"
“Watching someone I love hurting when I can’t protect them,” he swallows hard.
I don’t miss that he said love, and he doesn’t take it back. The confession hangs between us.
My tears come fast, messy, like my body has been holding them back on pure stubbornness alone. I turn my face away instinctively, like that will hide anything.
Logan exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s trying to stay in control of himself more than anything else.
“I need you to listen to me,” he says, softer now. “Not think. Just listen.”
I finally look at him again, eyes blurry, chest tight in a way that makes it hard to tell where panic ends and exhaustion starts.
“We are not talking about us right now,” he says firmly, like he’s setting something down between us both. “Not what I feel. Not what you feel. None of that matters right now.”
“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want this to ruin us.”
“Just breathe, that’s not what’s happening right now,” he promises, “I am not going anywhere,” he adds.
I shake my head once, small and helpless. “You don’t know that,” I whisper.
“I do,” he says. “Because I’ve been here long enough to know what I’m not willing to lose over one night.”
A pause. His eyes flicker over my face—still careful, still controlled.
“Listen to me,” he says again, firmer now, grounding me. “Nothing you said just changed what I feel. And nothing I feel changes what matters right now. I know this is a lot,” he says. “And I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to fix anything tonight. Not us. Not what I said. Not any of it.”
Logan felt guilty for letting his feelings slip at what he had decided was the worst possible timing.
“Can we just call it a night?”
“Yeah, I think that’s a great idea.”
We climb into bed the way we have countless times before. He lifts his arm for me to roll into his chest, his heartbeat lulling me to sleep. He runs his fingers through my hair, grounding himself. As he lies there, he tries to figure out what the hell he is supposed to do tomorrow, until he eventually drifts off.
I stared out the window of the patrol car as we pulled onto Greek Row, the familiar houses blurring together through exhausted eyes. A few hours ago, I'd been walking home from work, thinking about nothing more than getting into pajamas and collapsing into bed. Then someone had grabbed me from behind.
They'd taken my wallet, my phone—everything I had on me. For several terrifying minutes, I was convinced they weren't going to stop there. Even now, my stomach twisted at the memory of their hands on me, the panic that flooded my body as I fought to get away, praying they would leave before they decided to take something I could never get back.
I still couldn't believe I had made it out.
I'd managed to escape long enough to stumble into a nearby restaurant. The employees had rushed to help me, locking the door behind me and calling 911 while I sat there shaking, trying to answer questions through tears.
An ambulance came and checked me over. A blur of bright lights, medical questions, and people telling me I was lucky. They checked me over and eventually cleared me to go to the police station, where I gave my statement and answered every question I could remember how to answer.
Now, a police officer was driving me back to the hockey house.
Back to Logan.
I didn't have my phone anymore, which meant I hadn't answered a single one of his calls or texts. Knowing him, he had been losing his mind. He'd probably called my work, driven around looking for me, and convinced himself something horrible had happened.
This time it had.
The patrol car came to a stop in front of the house.
The porch lights were on.
I swallowed hard.
"You want me to walk you to the door?" the officer asked gently.
I looked at the front entrance, suddenly feeling much smaller than I had all night.
"I..." My voice shook. "I don't think I can do it by myself."
He nodded immediately.
"Of course."
He stepped out first, waiting until I was steady before walking beside me up the driveway.
The front door opened before we even reached the steps.
"Y/N?"
Logan's voice cracked.
He was standing there with his phone still in his hand, like he hadn't put it down in hours. Behind him were Dean, Tucker, and Garrett, all of them frozen in place.
The relief on Logan's face lasted less than a second.
Then he saw me.
The bruises.
His expression completely changed.
"Oh my God. What happened?"
I looked to the officer, silently asking him to spare me from explaining it again.
The officer gave them a moment before speaking.
"I'm Officer Miller.”
The officer continued, keeping his voice calm.
"Y/n was mugged while walking home from work tonight. She was able to get away and make it to a nearby restaurant, where they called emergency services."
Logan's face went pale.
"She's been checked over by EMTs," the officer added quickly. "She's medically cleared. The injuries are mostly bruises, but she should take it easy tonight and follow up if anything changes."
Garrett let out a shaky breath.
Dean's expression hardened.
"Did they catch who did this?"
"Not yet," the officer said honestly. "The report has been filed, and detectives will follow up with her. Right now, the important thing is that she's somewhere safe."
His eyes shifted back to me.
"You did everything right tonight. You got away, you found help, and you reported it."
I nodded, but I couldn't find my voice.
The officer looked back at the guys.
"Make sure she isn't alone tonight. She may feel fine physically, but after something like this, the adrenaline wears off, and things can hit harder later."
Logan immediately nodded.
"She won't be alone."
"I figured she wouldn't be."
The officer gave me one last reassuring look.
"If you need anything, the number on your paperwork will connect you with the department. Don't hesitate to call."
"Thank you," I whispered.
He nodded and walked back toward the patrol car.
The four of them stayed silent until the car pulled away.
Then Logan looked at me again.
And the fear he'd been holding onto all night finally broke through.
He didn't know what to say.
For once, Logan—who always had something to say, some joke to break the tension, some reassurance ready before anyone even asked for it—was completely silent.
His eyes kept moving over me.
Not in a way that made me uncomfortable.
In a way that made my heart ache.
Like he was trying to piece together what had happened. Like he was searching for every injury, every sign that I was hurt worse than I was admitting. His eyes flickered over the bandage on my arm, the bruising along my face, the exhaustion written all over me.
Like he was trying to convince himself I was really standing in front of him.
That I was alive.
That I was okay.
"Logan..." I whispered.
His lips parted, but nothing came out.
He looked like he wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Who did this?
Were you scared?
Did they hurt you?
Why didn't you call me?
But he didn't ask any of them.
Because he knew.
My phone was gone.
I was standing there shaking.
And whatever answers he wanted, he knew I probably wasn't ready to give them.
Garrett stepped forward quietly, breaking the silence.
"Let's go inside."
His voice was gentle, steady—the kind of voice you used when someone was barely holding themselves together.
Nobody argued.
Logan immediately moved to my side, but he still hesitated before reaching for me.
That hesitation hurt more than anything.
Because normally, Logan was the person who hugged first and asked questions later.
But tonight, he didn't assume.
He waited.
I gave the smallest nod.
Only then did his hand gently settle against my back.
Not holding me tightly.
Not trapping me.
Just reminding me he was there.
The four of them surrounded me as we walked inside, the familiar warmth of the hockey house hitting me all at once.
The same place I'd left hours ago.
The same place that suddenly felt completely different.
Dean shut the door behind us, locking it before turning around.
Tucker immediately grabbed a blanket from the couch.
Garrett disappeared toward the kitchen, probably looking for water or something I might be able to eat.
And Logan stayed right beside me.
Like if he looked away for even a second, I might disappear again.
"Do you need anything?" he finally asked, his voice rough.
I looked at him.
At the fear he wasn't hiding anymore.
At the guilt he was already carrying for something that wasn't his fault.
And all I could manage was the truth.
"I just don't want to be alone."
Logan's expression broke.
"You won't be."
He didn't hesitate this time.
"I promise."
The first few days were the hardest.
Not because of the bruises.
Those were healing.
The headache that had followed me home eventually disappeared.
Everyone kept asking about the physical injuries because those were the ones they could see.
The ones they could understand.
But the hardest parts weren't visible.
It was the way I stopped walking anywhere alone.
The way I flinched when someone came up behind me too quickly.
The way my entire body went tense whenever I heard footsteps getting too close.
The way I stared at my bedroom door every night, even though I knew it was locked.
Logan noticed everything.
Of course he did.
He noticed when I stopped sleeping through the night.
He noticed when I started checking the locks three times before bed.
He noticed when I would go quiet in the middle of a conversation because something had pulled me back to that night.
He never pushed.
That was the thing I loved most about him.
He never made me talk before I was ready.
He just stayed.
The first night after I came home, he slept on the floor beside my bed.
Not because I asked him to.
Because when I woke up from a nightmare, gasping and shaking, he was already there.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
His eyes opened immediately.
"What are you sorry for?"
"I woke you up."
His expression softened.
"Y/N."
I looked away.
"I just... I don't want to be this person."
Logan sat up slowly.
"What person?"
"The person everyone has to worry about."
His face tightened.
"You think that's what you are?"
I didn't answer.
Because maybe I did.
Maybe I felt like I had become this fragile thing everyone had to protect.
Logan moved closer, sitting beside the bed.
"You know what I was worried about that night?"
I looked at him.
"I wasn't worried because you were a burden."
His voice was quiet.
"I was worried because I love you."
The words settled heavily between us.
"I spent hours not knowing where you were. Not knowing if you were hurt. Not knowing if you were safe."
He swallowed.
"And then you showed up at that door, and all I could think was, 'She's here.'"
My eyes burned.
"You're not something I have to deal with, Y/N."
He reached out slowly, giving me the chance to move away.
I didn't.
"You're someone I choose."
The guys handled it in their own ways.
Dean got angry.
Not at me.
Never at me.
But at the idea that someone had hurt me and he couldn't do anything about it.
He started walking me home from class when Logan couldn't. He checked in constantly but pretended he wasn't.
"You eaten?" became his version of "Are you okay?"
Tucker tried to make things normal.
He would sit with me in the living room while everyone watched movies, even when I barely paid attention. He'd make stupid comments just to get me to roll my eyes.
"You know, this house was already full of dramatic hockey players," he'd joke. "We didn't need you joining the club."
And somehow, that helped.
Garrett was the quietest.
Maybe because he understood what it felt like to have something happen that changed the way you saw the world.
He never told me I should be over it.
He never said I was lucky and left it at that.
He just sat beside me when the memories got too loud.
One night, I found him in the kitchen making tea.
"You okay?" he asked.
I shrugged.
"I don't know."
He nodded like that was a perfectly acceptable answer.
"I know that feeling."
I looked at him.
"The worst part isn't what happened," he said quietly.
"It's realizing the world kept moving afterward."
My throat tightened.
Because that was exactly it.
Everyone else went back to normal.
Classes.
Practices.
Games.
Life.
But a part of me was still standing on that sidewalk.
A few weeks later, Logan found me sitting on the front steps of the hockey house.
It was where I had been dropped off that night.
The place where everything changed.
He sat beside me without saying anything.
For a while, we just watched people walking across campus.
"You know," he said eventually, "you don't have to prove you're okay."
I looked down.
"I know."
"Do you?"
I smiled faintly.
"Maybe not."
He bumped his shoulder against mine.
"That's okay."
The silence returned.
Then I whispered, "I hate that he still gets to be part of my life."
Logan looked at me.
"The person who did this."
I nodded.
"I hate that he gets to take up space in my head."
Logan was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "Maybe right now he does."
I looked at him.
"But eventually?"
He squeezed my hand.
"Eventually, he becomes a memory you survived."
My eyes filled.
Not because I believed him completely.
Not yet.
But because I wanted to.
And for the first time since that night, I could imagine a version of myself who did.
Ummmm I don’t know if this is how I make a request but … oh well
Could you please make a John Logan fic where it’s his long time girlfriend (like from high school) and she meets Hannah for the first time and hannah gets like jealous thinking she’s after Garet but after when she finds out that she’s Logan’s girlfriend she’s like really embarrassed and apologises
Thank youuuuu
Logan's GF visits | John Logan
John Logan x F!reader, Garrett Graham x F!reader (platonic) | word count: 1k
NOTE: hehehe this was such a cute idea and thx sm much for requesting it! i love it when random drama starts but fizzles out before smth bad/stressful can happen lol (it's def my anxiety talking 🥲)
Off Campus Masterlist
The late afternoon rush at Malone's had finally started to thin out.
The coffee pot hadn't stopped brewing since noon, and Hannah was pretty sure the smell of grease had settled into her uniform for good. She wiped down the counter out of habit more than necessity, eyes drifting toward the same corner booth she'd been glancing at for the better part of an hour.
Garrett hadn't moved much.
Every few minutes he'd rewind the same clip on the tablet, scribble something onto a legal pad, then look across the table at the girl sitting opposite him.
Hannah didn't recognize her.
She looked about their age, dressed comfortably, sleeves pushed to her elbows with a stack of papers spread between them. Every now and then she'd steal Garrett's pen without asking, circle something on one of the stat sheets, then slide it back across the table.
Garrett would groan. She'd grin.
Then they'd go right back to arguing over whatever they were looking at. From across the diner, it looked easy. Familiar.
Hannah tried to tell herself she was reading too much into it. She and Garrett were fine. More than fine.
But still.
She caught Garrett laughing at something the girl said, and before she realized what she was doing, she'd already wiped the same section of countertop three times.
The bell over the front door chimed.
"Please tell me my order's almost ready."
Logan shrugged off his jacket as he walked in, looking far more awake than anyone should on a Tuesday afternoon.
"It'll be another couple minutes," Hannah said. "You picking up dinner?"
"Yeah. Y/N got into town earlier than I expected."
Hannah nodded absently, her attention already drifting back toward the corner booth. Logan followed her gaze. The second he spotted the familiar head of hair, he laughed under his breath.
"Well...there she is."
Hannah frowned.
"You know her?"
Instead of answering, Logan headed straight across the diner. Hannah watched him weave between the tables before stopping behind the booth. The girl didn't even look up.
She simply reached one hand back without thinking.
Logan slipped his fingers through hers.
"Hi."
That finally made her glance over her shoulder.
"There you are."
Her face softened in a way Hannah hadn't seen all afternoon. Logan leaned down, kissed her temple, and slid into the booth beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She immediately shifted closer, making room without either of them saying a word.
Garrett looked up from the tablet and let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Finally. Please take your girlfriend back."
"I'm trying," Logan said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders anyway.
"You've had her all afternoon."
"I borrowed her."
"You kidnapped me," she corrected.
Hannah stared for a beat longer than she probably should have. Heat crept up the back of her neck. Oh.
Oh, no.
She grabbed the coffee pot mostly to give herself something to do before making her way over.
"You guys need anything?"
Logan looked up first.
"Hannah, have you two met?"
The girl smiled.
"I don't think so."
"This is Y/N."
Logan glanced between them.
"My girlfriend."
Hannah felt every ounce of embarrassment settle squarely onto her shoulders.
Well. That explained everything. She let out a quiet laugh at herself before rubbing a hand against the back of her neck.
"I owe you an apology."
Y/N looked up from the scattered stat sheets.
"For what?"
"I've spent the last hour convincing myself there was something going on over here." Hannah gestured vaguely between her and Garrett before shaking her head. "Turns out I was just making myself look ridiculous."
Understanding crossed Y/N's face. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she glanced across the table at Garrett.
"I mean..." she said with a soft laugh. "Looking at us right now, I probably would've thought the same thing."
Garrett leaned back against the booth.
"See?" He gestured toward the mess of papers spread across the table. "I've been the victim here."
Y/N reached over without looking and flicked the edge of his notebook closed.
"You panicked."
"I did not panic."
She only raised an eyebrow.
Garrett held out for all of two seconds before rolling his eyes.
"Maybe a little."
Logan laughed under his breath as he reached for one of the fries sitting forgotten on Garrett's plate.
"So you actually play?" Hannah asked.
"Grew up with it," Y/N said, absentmindedly straightening one of the pages Garrett had scribbled all over. "Garrett wanted another set of eyes before this weekend, so I came by for a couple hours."
"A couple?" Garrett scoffed. "You've been roasting me since lunch."
"Somebody had to."
Logan bumped his shoulder against hers. Y/N smiled into her coffee as Hannah laughed.
"I definitely owe both of you an apology."
"You really don't," Y/N said.
She reached for her mug, turning it slowly between her hands before looking back up.
"If I'd walked in and seen Logan sitting this close to another girl, I probably would've wondered what was going on too."
That earned a small smile from Hannah.
"Thanks."
Her eyes drifted over the papers covering nearly every inch of the table.
"You know," She pointed toward the hallway behind the kitchen. "We've got a private room in the back that's usually empty on Tuesdays. If you're planning on turning Malone's into a film room again, you'd probably be more comfortable back there."
Garrett looked at the mountain of papers spread across the booth.
"That actually sounds amazing."
"I'll go make sure nobody's using it."
As Hannah walked away, Garrett gathered the loose pages into one pile while Logan reached over to help, sliding stray papers back into a neat stack before Y/N could stop him.
(NOTE: i've opened up a google form to manage the taglist! if you wanna be tagged pls answer the form so i know which series/fic you'd want to be included in. thankiesss)
mr. handyman. literally every single thing that falls apart in your life, logan’s there to fix it. kitchen cabinets coming loose? great, he’s fixing them. doors squeaky? he’s already on it. something wrong with your car? perfect—he’s taking his shirt off (for your eye candy) and getting to work. and he’s not one of those sexist assholes who thinks men have to fix things while women just stand there and yelp when things fall apart. he actually makes a habit of fixing things with you there, showing you how to do it so next time you can handle it yourself in case he’s not around.
this sweet, sweet man with those pretty doe eyes cannot stay mad at you for more than a day. if he has to go to sleep without fixing things with you, he feels like he might actually die. he just can’t do it. so when you two argue, like normal couples do, he always gives you both time to cool down before coming back to you to offer your favorite takeout, lots of kisses and cuddles, a movie night, and his heart practically in his hands just so you could forgive him. anything. he’ll do anything. just don’t stay mad at him.
as much as he’s a homebody, he actually loves going out—especially with you. restaurants, new cafés, movie theaters, hiking spots, even loud busy bars he’s not usually a fan off. and he’s always patient, giving you all the time you need to get ready without rushing you. and when you’re finally done and looking pretty, he’ll have you leave a bright lipstick kiss on his jaw, visible for everyone to see he’s taken, before you head out together. his favorite part about this whole thing is walking with your hands intertwined and sharing food.
again, he’s big on acts of service. waking up a little earlier to make you breakfast because you’re too lazy to make something yourself and usually skip it. taking the time to draw you a bath after a long day. making your drinks exactly how you like them—no ice, because you hate the watery taste when it melts, buying you things you’ve run out of, whether it’s your favorite snacks or products. taking your makeup off for you when you’re too tired. giving you massages, filling your gas tank—he’s all about it.
he’s so starved for you, so don’t expect him to leave you alone when you’re both home with nothing to do. he constantly has you laying on top of him, just lazing the day away. cooking simple meals together, which he’s surprisingly good at. he believes staying practically glued to you the entire time is good for his mental health and it’d be cruel to deny him.
this man figured out your weakness long before you even started dating that you can never keep your hands to yourself when he’s sweaty, fresh out of the gym. so when you move in together, he starts timing it, leaving the gym just a little after you get home. the second he walks through the door, your eyes snap to him, the sight of him making your knees weak, heat pooling in all the right places. and you don’t even try to fight it. you just walk up to him, grab him, and kiss him deep, fully intending to have those sweaty, ripped biceps wrapped around you in a tight headlock.
₊ ֹ ˖ JOHN LOGAN MAKES YOU WANNA CRY . . IN A GOOD WAY ᱺㅤㅤ ୨౿
he’s got like ten tabs full of assignments waiting for him at home. a comfy bed that’s screaming his name. a hungry stomach he’s forgotten to feed after having a granola bar in the morning. in deep need of a shower post a really long and hard practice.
but there he is in his brother’s garage at eleven at night, shirtless, so goddamn patient, bent over the hood of your car, dealing with a fizzy, angry battery that could explode and kill him, while you stand in the corner biting your lip, so fucking guilty for calling him to help because your car was producing a really weird smell after you came back from driving a friend home from one of those frat parties.
you had to stop by the curb and wait for thirty minutes, the soonest he could come get you after you called, and he picked up after one ring, worried.
without a single complaint. oh god, your boyfriend was too selfless for his own good when it came to you.
your week had already been really emotional for no reason, and seeing logan just being his sweet self doesn’t help but let fat drops of tears run down your face silently as you stare at him.
ten minutes have passed, and logan has to move to clean something quickly with a rag he has over his shoulder, and while discarding it to grab another one, he can’t help but see his pretty girl crying.
“woah, woah, woah, what’s wrong, gorgeous?” he frowns, leaving his work behind, quickly striding over to you, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, hands curling around your neck.
his sweaty chest be damned.
“i’m sorry i ruined your night,” you sniffle as you pull away, looking up at him, your hands by your side, not knowing what to do with them.
“oh baby, you didn’t ruin anything. that thought didn’t even occur to me when i rushed to come get you,” he gently moves his hands to cradle your face, kissing your tears away. “i was actually kinda giddy that you called me for help.” he flashes you that pretty smile that makes you melt, trying to make you feel better.
“but you’re—you’re all tired from practice and you need a shower.” he chuckles, and even despite that, you lay your face into his chest as he holds onto your waist, gently rocking both of you side by side. “and you need to eat.”
logan thinks he could genuinely marry you right now.
“how about this,” he says gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek, wiping the last of your tears. “give me ten more minutes to finish this—it’s basically done anyway.”
his tone is light, reassuring, like he’s easing you back down piece by piece.
“and then we go home,” he continues, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. “and you help me do all that, yeah?”
his nose nudges yours slightly when he pulls back, his smile small but warm.
“does that sound good?” he knows he’s satisfied when you nod and wipe your eyes with the back of your hands.
“there she is,” he murmurs, softer now, leaning in to press one last gentle kiss to your lips—slow, reassuring, meant to settle you more than anything else.
he shakes his head with a small smile as he turns back to the car, grabbing his rag again, finishing up the last few things.
like you didn’t just cry over something so stupid.
john logan really bagged a girl way too sweet for his own good.
